Codename: UnSub (The Last Survivors Book 2) Page 17

  “Bad time?”

  Kevin started so badly, he fell through the window the rest of the way, broke into a roll, and came up on one knee, holding a gun with both hands.

  Sitting on the bed at the other end of the apartment, Nevaeh Kraft merely looked at him, brows arched. She wore a white blouse and a set of blue jeans, and a wry smile on her face that reminded Kevin a lot of his own.

  Kevin blinked, and controlled his breathing, willing his heart to slow down a little. “Hi.”

  She gave a short laugh, her midnight blue eyes twinkling. “Hi. Not a good day?”

  He sighed, lowered the gun, and stood. “It’s been a long day, and it’s not even noon yet.”

  Nevaeh nodded. “Well, if you were driving out to the Muir woods, I can understand that. A 90-minute round trip is never fun.” She rose from the bed. She didn’t stand so much as she flowed.

  I wonder why I notice this so much about her, Kevin wondered. Kaye’s just as good-looking…then again, Kaye has that distinct ’black widow’ feel. I think I’d be more comfortable around her if she were a six-foot praying mantis. And Nevaeh…I wonder why she doesn’t have my spidey-senses tingling.

  Nevaeh strode over to him, sparing a glance at the wall of weaponry. “Did you find anything?”

  “Yeah. And I’m not entirely certain that I want Harris Derringer to be our killer. Having a serial in charge of the entire Forsaken is more than I want to consider. We won’t even go into his hand-to-hand combat skills.”

  Nevaeh raised a brow. “How so?”

  “I didn’t know that the SAS taught capoeira, for one.”

  She gestured to the collection of weapons mounted on the wall. “You mean your little wall o’ death isn’t enough?”

  Kevin laughed. “Oh, I’m sure I can put a bullet in him if I have to, but I have no idea how much of his time he spends training other people to be…almost as good as him.”

  Nevaeh smiled. “Almost?”

  “I can’t imagine someone in charge of a cult would want any equals around to supplant him. Then again, I’m sure that slight inferiors will be more than enough.” He looked around the apartment, as though expecting a booby trap. “So, what brings you into my home?”

  Nevaeh picked up on the tone, and the suspicion inherent in the question, and promptly ignored it. “I’m here to tell you that there’s no need to worry about Derringer anymore.”

  Kevin’s brows shot straight up. “Why?”

  “You said that you saw him in the Muir woods not too long ago, didn’t you?” she asked.

  Kevin nodded, and asked again, “Why?”

  “Because there’s been another death.”

  Kevin rolled his eyes. “To be technical, there’s always another body. This is San Francisco, after all. How can you tell that it’s the same guy? And why would you say it can’t be Derringer?”

  Nevaeh gave him a little smile. “Just a guess.”

  Chapter 20: Killing time

  Father Jim Grayson was an ex-marine, if there was ever something like a “former” marine. He was over six-feet tall, sturdy, and very quiet. He was the sort of person who only spoke when he needed to get a point across, and did it with the economy of words usually reserved for someone who wanted there to be no misunderstanding for when he killed you.

  But that was before he became a priest, and a member of the Holy Order of St. Patrick.

  Now he was broken, right across from St. Peter’s-St. Paul’s Cathedral. Only blocks from Chinatown’s border.

  The bear claw had ripped half his face off. His bones were all shattered, one by one. He had been beaten to death by someone’s bare hands.

  Kevin Anderson’s eyes narrowed as he looked over the dead and desecrated priest. “I’m going to find this sonovabitch and I’m going to feed him through a woodchipper by the time I’m done.”

  Father Patrick Itzhak “Jack” Patel stood next to Kevin, and said, “Get in line, son.” The ex-cop looked to the ex-spy and asked, “So, this was done by a friend of yours?”

  Kevin spared him a glanced before he crouched down to examine the body closer. “After a fashion. He’s expanding his range outside of Chinatown, but not by much.”

  Father Jack said nothing for a moment, looking at Kevin study the remains like a bloodhound. “Is this much different from the first victim.”

  Kevin leaned in closed, studying the break patterns on the victim’s hands and arms. “Only in some of the defensive wounds.” He pointed at the fingers on the right hand. “It looks like Father Grayson broke his knuckles on this guy, which means he was disarmed.”

  Father Jack shook his head, even though Kevin wasn’t watching him. “Disarmed twice. Gray carried two batons.”

  Kevin frowned, and looked around, but didn’t see either baton. “He took them with him.” His eyes narrowed. “He takes souvenirs,” he muttered to himself. “Good to know.” He looked back to Father Grayson. “Aside from some of the defensive wounds, not too many differences.”

  Father Jack arched his brows. “He’s already got a set pattern and habits.”

  Kevin nodded, mostly to himself. The priest had voiced what he had concluded. “He’s not new to this. I can only guess how many times he’s done this before.”

  “You’re assuming a serial killer?”

  Kevin’s eyes were riveted to Father Grayson. “With this degree of skill, I figure someone who either did or does this for a living.”

  Father Jack touched Kevin on the shoulder. “You’re thinking this was a hit?”

  Kevin shrugged. “I think that it’s not impossible.” He sighed and stood, finally turning to the priest who was still alive. “You and yours haven’t exactly been shy about making enemies since you arrived. It’s been, what, two months since then? The drug ‘brokers’ hate you, the Forsaken hate you; that’s over a million people and a billion dollars that don’t like you. You’ve got a few people who might have had a motive. However, we’ve got a dead Asian businessman in the middle of Chinatown who’s victim number one. So either we’ve got a serial killer with a liberal attitude towards victimology, or we’ve got a trained professional who’s taken up as an assassin.”

  Father Jack nodded. “Anything else?”

  “The first victim was a target on Kyle Elsen’s little list of people who won’t be missed.” He glanced at Father Grayson. “I have the feeling this one isn’t. You folks are on his list of people he doesn’t go near. And if Gray was someone who needed killing, Kyle’d just tell you, and he’d probably end up falling down a flight of stairs.”

  Father Jack smiled. “Now, Kevin, do you really think I’d do such a thing?”

  Kevin laughed and looked back at him. “You’re joking, right? After all, stairs are a blunt object.”

  Jack sighed. “I’ll have you know that it’s not actually a hard and fast rule about priests not being allowed to shed blood. That was the medieval church, and mostly monks.”

  “Right.” He sighed, and put an arm around Father Jack. “And now, you and I are going to the bar, and we’re going to have a very long conversation.”

  “About?”

  “Police procedure when there isn’t a police department, or DNA, or fingerprint databases.”

  *

  “So, you’re profiling the UnSub?” Father Jack asked, using the law enforcement shorthand for Unknown Subject.

  “I have to,” Kevin explained. Kevin grabbed his water off the bar and sipped carefully. After all, the glass had been served to him by Mickie, whose hobby in toxicology appealed to Kevin’s paranoia. “He’s not leaving any physical evidence. No one sees him – and this is Chinatown, remember. Even if he was local, if the locals had seen anything, they would have said something. They know where their bread is buttered. I’ve got exactly one witness, and he’s a terrified little schizophrenic with a tooth fetish. I know this UnSub is really skilled, and can trash really talented people, but most of the people with that level of skill have alibis thus far.”

  Fath
er Jack nodded. “True. However, he has the ability to kill in public. He knows this city.”

  Kevin blinked, and thought it over. He knew that every city had its own rhythms and flows. But to get those down pat, it required years of study, walking the streets. These were parts of the city that would be affected by the April Fool’s war, but some observation would catch most of the adjustments. In fact, it was something that led to only one conclusion. “Which means he’s local. He’s probably not even a long-term Exile.”

  Jack nodded. “You’re welcome. And if you can narrow down people with skill sets like that and who have lived here for years, you’ll have him.”

  “Great. Sadly, that also includes any ex-Assassins I can pick out of a crowded room. Maybe I should just start harassing Kyle about getting some mug shots or graduation photos of old assassins classes–”

  Kevin noted movement, and glanced around the bar. There was Kyle, wearing one of his usual dark outfits – dark green, today, which probably meant that he had been hunting (green blended in better than black, which was usually darker than night) – however, he looked like crap. Not a “I’ve been in a bar fight and lost” condition, but more of a “I’m still trying to function without any sleep” condition.

  Even Mickie looked at him from the bar and then jogged around it to come toe to toe with Kyle. “So nice of you to come back. Did you talk with Lotus?”

  Kyle blinked at her, and tried to go around her, but she just got in his way. He sighed, his shoulders slumped, and he said, “Not yet. She was busy.”

  “Want to tell me what happened to you now? Or should I beat it out of you?”

  “I was up late,” Kyle said with a yawn. “Missed someone this morning. I’ll get him next time.”

  Mickie looked him up and down with a frown. “What the hell were you doing so late that made you miss a kill?”

  “Research.”

  She blanched. “You what?” She reared back and punched him in the arm with enough force to have fractured his nose or loosen some teeth, had she hit him in the face. “What the hell do you think you have us for?”

  Kyle blinked, rubbed his arm where she hit him, and furrowed his brow, confused. “I can do my own research.”

  The redhead (okay, more of an orange-head) rolled her eyes. “Obviously not, Kyle. You can’t seem to do research without falling into the damn screen.” She punched him again, in the shoulder, above her last strike, and which Kyle was still rubbing. “Rookie move.” Her lips bunched up, her blue eyes flickered up and down his body, wondering what to do next, and then she simply kicked him in the shin. “Douche. Now go talk to Lotus and have her do your research for you, like you should have in the first place.”

  Mickie pivoted more than turned, and stormed off in a huff. Kyle merely stayed where she left him, stunned and perplexed. He blinked several times, completely confounded by her outburst. He calmly moved over to the stool next to Kevin, sat, and said, “What was that?”

  “That was the wrath of she who must be obeyed,” Kevin told him. The spy patted Kyle on the back and said, “You might want to get to Lotus first, then order a drink. You never know what Mickie might put into it.”

  Kyle blinked again, shook his head, then moved awkwardly towards the back room where Lotus had her office. Kevin watched the assassin move off, then looked to the priest, and shrugged. “What do you think she sees in him?”

  Father Jack blinked, shrugged, and said, “No idea. Any idea of how long they’ve known each other?”

  “Not a clue.” Kevin took another sip, watching Kyle disappear into the back. “At most, it’s four years. I can’t see Kyle associating with a lot of people outside of the Assassin’s Guild when they were still in business. Hell, the only reason I think he hangs around with me some days is because he needs someone to play with—and I mean training. He’s a flake.”

  The priest arched his brows. “A flake who kills people.”

  “That, too.”

  “Are we talking about Kyle?”

  Both men jumped and turned around. Nevaeh Kraft stood behind and between Kevin and Father Jack. She smiled at Kevin, dark blue eyes twinkling, and then held out her hand to the priest. “Nevaeh Kraft. You’re Father Patel?”

  Jack nodded, and took her hand delicately, as though worried about crushing her dainty hand with his large paw. “A pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a few things about you from our local Exile population. I believe you’re responsible for keeping some of my parishioners alive while the area was a religious no man’s land.”

  “You could say that.” Nevaeh slid around Kevin’s shoulders as she sat next to him. “Are we talking about Kyle, or about serial killers?”

  Jack arched a silver eyebrow. “May I ask how you know about that?”

  Kevin tore his glance away from Nevaeh, and looked at the priest. “She’s been helping me sort through multiple suspects. Rohaz referred me to her.”

  “Uh huh.” Jack looked from Kevin, to her hand around his body, then back to Kevin. “Nice to see you making new friends, Kevin.”

  Kevin chuckled. “Yeah, everyone wants to be my friend. The Hackers want to hire me. Miss Kraft wants me to join her merry network of Exiles, and I have no idea what’s next. For all I know, the UnSub will turn out to be my friend, too.”

  “UnSub?” came Kyle’s voice. The trio looked to him exit from the back of the bar with Mickie. The assassin was holding a few sheets of paper in hand, and looked confused about Kevin’s statement. Then his eyes flickered to Nevaeh Kraft.

  Then the strangest thing happened. It was stranger than anything that Kevin Anderson had ever seen in all his months in San Francisco.

  Kyle Elsen smiled.

  “Nevaeh!” He hopped over the bar, and he and Nevaeh embraced each other.

  Kevin’s eyebrows went up, but he said nothing. Instead, he glanced to Mickie, who’s blue eyes looked like ice. Kevin expected Nevaeh to turn to ice under that glance.

  Hmm. No. She’s not jealous at all, Kevin thought. He blinked as the hug went on, and thought, Wait. Am I jealous? I can’t be jealous. I just met the woman. “Nevaeh Kraft, have you met—”

  “Kyle and I go way back,” she said, breaking off the hug. Her glance went to Mickie, and Nevaeh’s arm quickly snaked itself back over Kevin’s shoulders. Mickie’s icy glare suddenly warmed up, and there was a big smile back on her face. “We practically grew up together.”

  Kyle nodded. “Nevaeh’s mother was an assassin, and I apprenticed with her at one point.”

  Mickie grinned. “You’re practically family.”

  Nevaeh nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Well then, free drinks for all of you.”

  Mickie wondered off to grab a few bottles. Kyle blinked, shook his head, and said, “That was strange.”

  Nevaeh giggled. Kevin’s heart melted a little. Why do I like her laugh so much? “So, Kyle, what’s the paper for?”

  Kyle held it up for them to see. “Research for the leader of the Burners. Alex Soubel. For some reason, his father gives him money, even though they haven’t talked to each other since some sort of medical experiment years ago.” He flipped a page. “He was in San Diego around the same time several military ports had been burned down. Two sailors had been burned alive when one of the fire extinguishers had been filled with gasoline. He had been chased out of Orange County right before yet another major fire.”

  Kevin blinked. “Really?”

  Nevaeh asked, “Didn’t he have a real job?”

  Kyle shook his head. “The closest he came to employment was when he was offered a job on a Hollywood film set.”

  Father Jack smiled. “Let me guess, he was the pyrotechnics guy?”

  Kyle shook his head. “As the featured monster in a horror film.”

  Kevin cringed. “Fun.”

  Kyle nodded absently, looked over the paper a little longer, and then folded it up and tucked it away. “What were you saying about an Unknown Subject?”

  Kevin blinked. “
I didn’t know you were familiar with standard law enforcement shorthand.”

  Nevaeh leaned into Kevin and said, “Assassins need to know when we’re the ones being mentioned on police channels.”

  Kevin blinked, a little disconcerted by the contact. “Ah. Gotcha. As far as our UnSub, he’s the guy who killed your target in Chinatown, and he killed Father Grayson.”

  Kyle’s hazel eyes darkened. “He killed a priest?”

  “Yup. At least we know he’s not poaching from your list of clients. We’re certain you wouldn’t have taken a contract for one of Father Jack’s people, and–”

  “I didn’t,” Kyle told them. “I refused it.”

  Without any warning, Mac came out from the VIP lounge. He was carrying a metallic suitcase. “Hey! Kyle! You’ve got a payment dropped off for you, here!”

  All four of them – including Mickie – turned to him. Kyle said, “What payment? I haven’t killed anyone.”

  Mac blinked, looked down, shrugged, and hefted the suitcase onto the bar. “I wouldn’t complain about free money, but I’m not you.” He popped the latches, and turned it around. “Fifty-five thousand. You want it or not?”

  Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “That is odd.”

  Kevin shrugged. “What is? I’d figure that you’d be paid a lot more to take out one of Jack’s people.”

  “That’s it. When the Guild was still around, the Guild would take a 55% cut of everything an assassin earned. After all, the Guild trained, fed, sheltered, armed, and did everything for us short of give birth to us.” He had a small, absent smile, glancing to Nevaeh. “Though in some cases, it did that too.” He took a bundle of money, raised it to eye level, and said, “I was offered one hundred thousand dollars to kill Father Grayson.”

  ***

  “I wonder if that means that the UnSub knew that Kyle was approached with the hit on Father Grayson,” Kevin wondered aloud as he walked the streets of San Francisco, “or if that means the UnSub was hired when Kyle refused the assignment.”