Storiesonline.net ------- Protect and Serve by Paul Phenomenon Copyright© 2005 by Paul Phenomenon ------- Description: What would you do if you woke up in a hospital with no memories? To complicate your answer, add that for some reason you can also read minds. Could you read minds before someone beat you senseless and left you for dead behind Circus Circus in Las Vegas, or is your telepathy the result of a neurosurgeon's scalpel? You know no one. You don't even know your own name. You have no money. You are without recourses of any kind. Then you discover that someone you don't know wants you dead for reasons you also don't know. What would you do? Protect and Serve is the story of such a man. Codes: MF mf Mf FF ff Mm Mult pedo rape oral mastrb exhib voy ------- ------- Chapter 1 My eyes opened, but I couldn't see, not at first. There was light, though, and finally the room came into focus. I didn't recognize the room, but it wasn't in a house, not with fluorescent lighting and an acoustical dropped ceiling. I also had the mother of all headaches, so I closed my eyes again. I opened them when I heard the sound of feet shuffling across the floor. The sound came from a middle-aged woman, a nurse, I gathered from the way she was dressed, which by inference made the room I was in a hospital room. That's when I noticed the wires and tubes hooking me to equipment - monitoring devices, I figured. An IV dripped something into my arm. Ah, he's awake, the nurse said. No, she didn't speak. Her lips didn't move. There was no sound. Still the words were clear in my mind, and they came to me from the nurse. She smiled at me. One of her front teeth was chipped. She spoke out loud then, fussed over me, and told me she'd let the doctor know I was awake. When she turned to leave, I grabbed her wrist, which surprised her. When I tried to speak but only croaked, she removed the tubes from my mouth and nose and gave me a sip of water. "Where am I?" I asked, my throat feeling like raw meat. "Valley Hospital." "What city?" "Las Vegas." "What's wrong with me?" "I'll let the doctor tell you - that is, if you'll let go of my wrist so I can let him know you're awake." "Sorry," I mumbled and released her. The doctor was younger than the nurse - Doctor Birch, he announced, a neurosurgeon. He looked way too young to be a neurosurgeon. Rosy plump cheeks. Mischievous eyes. "You arrived at the emergency room ten days ago, Mr... ?" I opened my mouth to give him my name, but... I didn't know my name! How could that be? The fact that I didn't know my own name terrified me. He noticed my agitation. "What's wrong?" I closed my eyes. "I can't remember my name." Unlike me, he seemed unconcerned. "That happens sometimes after a concussion. Don't worry about it." "My clothes, my wallet. My wallet would have ID. Find my wallet." The rosy-cheeked doctor looked at the nurse. She shook her head. "No wallet," she said. "What do you remember?" Dr. Birch asked. I concentrated. Nothing came to me at first, and then I saw a playground. My hands moved from one bar to another, swinging as if I were Tarzan from tree to tree in a jungle, a concrete and gravel jungle, not a green one. I told the doctor about the memory. "A childhood memory?" he said. "I guess." "Anything else?" I tried. "Nothing." While I pondered the black hole that was my past, Birch told me about my injuries. Along with large masses of bruises, contusions and cracked ribs, I'd arrived at the emergency room with a serious concussion. The doctor operated, stopped the bleeding and removed the blood clot. The swelling, he said, wasn't severe, so he buttoned me up - his words. I spent the next four days in the hospital's nuerosurgical intensive care unit. More swelling occurred, but they handled the problem with medication. During my stay in the ICU, they kept me on a ventilator and sedated, but even after curtailing the sedatives, consciousness had eluded me. I'd remained in a coma for an additional six days. "Any brain damage?" I asked. Other than the fact that I can hear your thoughts, I wanted to add, but didn't. No, hearing his thoughts wasn't accurate. I experienced them. His thoughts moved through my mind just like my thoughts, no sound, more like the sensation of words. The words had inflection but no volume. "Memory loss, of course, but that's temporary," he said. "I saw nothing in the CT scan that indicated dangerous contusions, or bruising. Your prognosis is good. When you're up to it, we'll do some more tests." "Tell me about the memory loss, Doc," I said. "Amnesia, probably retrograde amnesia," he said. "There are two stages of retrograde amnesia: an early one that lasts only minutes or hours and corresponds to intermediate-term memory, and a late stage that extends back days, even years from the point of trauma, in your case a severe concussion." I snorted. "How do I get my memories back, another bonk in the head?" He chuckled. "No, that's Hollywood amnesia, screenwriters mixing a few facts with a lot of artistic license. Another bonk on the head would, in all likelihood, make the memory loss worse." "If I can't remember my name, why can I remember how to speak and understand English, for instance?" "Some cognitive learning ability survives into amnesia. Memory is complex, but for the most part, amnesiacs are missing only one kind of memory - the memory for events." I frowned. "I don't understand." "Hmm, how to put this? There are two types of memory: one that stores the skill acquired through practice and another for remembering the practice experience as an event. Usually, amnesia affects the event memory but not the skill memory." "So, I remember how to do something but won't remember how or when I learned how to do it?" "That's oversimplified, but essentially correct. "The holes, the blank spaces are irritating. How long will I be without my memories?" "Usually, not very long. Experiencing stimuli associated in the past with missing events often stimulates the retrieval of memories lost in retrograde amnesia, although the memories aren't truly lost; they're where they always were. The retrieval processes to access the memories are malfunctioning. I know of an amnesiac who was unable to recall anything from the preceding twenty years of his life who went home for a visit and began to remember immediately. While standing in one room, he suddenly visualized the contents and arrangement of an adjoining room without looking. The sight of a neighbor's house evoked a memory of the neighbor's name. Bit by bit, association by association, you'll retrieve most of your missing memories simply by experiencing stimuli linked to the lost memories." "My head hurts," I mumbled and closed my eyes. ------- Other than telepathy and memory loss, my doctors could find no other brain damage. I told no one I could experience thoughts. Intuitively, I feared revealing my telepathic ability could create serious problems for me. If I brought up the subject, I figured an army of doctors would descend on me and run me through a maze of tests like a lab rat. Besides, I didn't know if the paranormal ability preceded the concussion or was caused by Doc Birch's scalpel. I did explore the parameters of the ability. I couldn't experience thoughts that were farther away than about a hundred feet, and if there was an obstruction between the thinking person and me, then that distance dropped to about thirty feet. To my delight, I also discovered I could turn off someone's thoughts. I was delighted because the thoughts of more than two or three individuals at the same time were... not noisy, but very confusing, like listening to two or three ratio programs at the same time, all set to the same volume. Two days later, two police officers questioned me about the accident that brought me to the hospital, but with my memory loss, I couldn't tell them anything, and they weren't helpful either. A person - anonymous - noticed me lying in a parking lot behind Circus Circus and called 911. The officers who responded to the call, called an ambulance. "You were mugged, sir," one of the officers said. "Someone hit you on the back of your head and turned your pockets inside-out." As soon as possible, I spent some time in front of a mirror. I hoped seeing what I looked like would trigger some memories. Nothing, dammit. The face in the mirror didn't trigger even one memory. Not bad, though, I thought as I gazed at myself. My half-shaved head looked funny, so I lathered and shaved my head completely bald. Better. Except for my baldpate and the last-gasp remnants of the bruises inflicted by whoever had attacked me, I considered myself relatively good-looking. I guessed my age in the late twenties and my height at six feet, give or take an inch. Brooding dark eyes looked back at me. My nose was slightly crooked. Had it been broken? I had a strong jaw and chin and, when I smiled, good teeth. I fingered the pucker of a bullet wound in the crook of my left shoulder, and twisting, could see the scar of the exit wound. Surely I'd remember being shot! I didn't. Three other scars disfigured my skin, from cuts, not bullets. Considering I'd just been through brain surgery and had lain in a coma for ten days, and spent another ten days in a hospital bed, I appeared to be in pretty good shape. I had thick wrists, I noticed, and the wrists stirred a memory. Images flashed. I felt a saber in my hand. Twisting, flying through the air, I slashed the saber left, right, and then... the memory faded. Did the cut scars on my body come from a saber? The hospital wasn't happy with me. I presented a conundrum they'd never experienced. Oh, they'd had emergency patients who couldn't pay their bills before, but when they asked me to sign a stack of documents that included a promise to pay, I asked them what name they'd like me to scribble as mine. "Use an X," the snotty female administrator said. Her stern, unforgiving look matched her personality. Did her job make her unhappy, or did she have the job because she was unhappy? "Should I use cursive or print it?" I asked. "Whatever." I signed the X boldly with the left-to-right slash offering a sinuous curve - half-cursive, half-printed, so there. A few days later, Doc Birch said, "At my objection, I've been told to release you." I nodded. He grinned. I liked the guy. "Where will you go?" I shrugged. "You'll need clothes, money," he said. "Got a set of scrubs I can borrow?" I asked. He laughed and said, "We're about the same size. I brought in a set of clothes for you, and I passed a hat around for donations. It isn't much, but it'll get you through a couple of days if you're careful." The black beret the doc gave me was a nice touch to cover my shaved head. I adjusted it to a cocky angle as I walked out of the hospital into bright sunlight. ------- At blackjack tables in four casinos, I ran the $200 collected in a hat at the hospital to $5,000. It helps to experience the dealer's thoughts. Each dealer silently told me his hole card when he looked at it. Three days later, the $5,000 became $50,000, and I was told I was no longer welcome at the blackjack tables. "At any casino," the large man, obviously a security officer, added. "Your picture has been circulated." "May I play poker?" "Sure." I met Gloria Conner playing poker. I put her age at thirty, thereabouts. She had thick, auburn hair, a beautiful face and, later when I first saw her standing, a gorgeous body. I was having a drink in a lounge when she walked up to me. "How did you know I was bluffing?" she asked. "Your sensuous ears laid closer to your head." She laughed and sat next to me. "Liar. You took all my money. Buy me a drink." I motioned to the cocktail waitress, and Gloria ordered a margarita. "With salt on the rim, please." While she waited for her drink to arrive, we talked. I adored the sound of her voice. It had a low, guttural quality reminiscent of a young Lauren Bacall. Early on, I realized I needed a name. X just didn't do it, so I flipped open a phone book at random and dropped my finger to a name - Wayne Johnson. (In truth, I rejected the first two names my finger found.) When Gloria introduced herself, I gave her my made-up name. "Why do you wear that beret all the time?" she asked. I took it off and ran my hand over the stubble growing on my head. "Brain surgery. About a month ago, the hospital shaved my head for the surgery; in another week or two, I'll lose the hat." Her thoughts told me she believed I was putting her on. I pointed out the scar, and her eyes widened. "Got mugged," I added. "A concussion that required an operation. Also, for what it's worth, Wayne Johnson isn't my name. I picked it randomly from a telephone book. I don't know my name. I'm suffering from retrograde amnesia, Gloria. No memories." Humph, not likely, she thought, and then said, "For a man with no memories, you play a hell of a hand of poker." I explained the difference between skill memories and the memories for events. "Poker is like language, a skill set that I can call on, but I can't tell you how and when I learned to play poker, which were events." I've always wondered about that, she thought, referring to how amnesia worked, I assumed. "Having no memories is troublesome," I said. "No name, no social security number, no bank account, no credit cards, and what's more, I can't open a bank account or acquire a credit card. It's as if I don't exist. Do you have a cell phone?" "Yes." "I don't. I don't know anyone I want to call, except perhaps Doc Birch, my neurosurgeon, and he's a busy man." She grinned coquettishly. "You can call me." "Ah, an incentive, for sure. I use this casino as my bank, and with the substantial amounts I maintain with them, they allow me to rent a room. Still, I can't rent a car, or buy one, for that matter. Otherwise, I carry cash, which could get me mugged again, and I owe the hospital an amount that approximates the national debt. I signed papers promising to pay them with an X." She shook her glorious auburn mane, and the corners of her eyes crinkled with doubt. "That doesn't make sense. You're gambling with a hefty stake at the poker tables." I smiled sheepishly and told her about the hospital personnel who had donated what they could to carry me for a few days. "I multiplied their donation a few times at the blackjack tables until the casinos declared me a card counter and banned me from the tables. I'll play poker until my luck changes, pay off what I can at the hospital, and then search for my past." "Are you a card counter?" I shrugged. "I watch which cards have been played, and except for past events, I have a good memory, but..." I shrugged again and flashed a smile when a new urge grabbed me by the gonads. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?" She hesitated. I widened my smile and said, "As far back as I can remember, which admittedly isn't very far, I haven't had a date. If you say yes, you'll be my first date. Waddaya say?" What the hell? Why not? She nodded. Harry won't arrive for a couple days. Live a little. Have some fun. Harry, huh? What did you expect? I asked myself. That Glorious Gloria would be footloose and fancy-free? Not likely, not with the face and body of a movie star. Was Harry a husband or something less than a mate? Gloria wasn't wearing a wedding ring. She had the situation pegged, though. Why not? Live a little. Have some fun. Did some fun include some sex? I had to admit some sex was becoming important to my continuing mental health. Masturbating wasn't getting the job done anymore. ------- I called the concierge. I'd previously spoken to him about my problem and laid some cash money in his palm. He remembered me and said he'd be pleased to send flowers to Gloria's room in another hotel, arrange for the use of a limo for that evening, and to make reservations for two for dinner at Le Cirque, Bellagio's best restaurant. As a guest of the hotel, I could sign for the meal. The flowers and limo would also be charged to my account with the hotel. I told him to add a twenty-percent tip for his effort, which pleased him. While dressing for my first date in my new life - I'd purchased new clothes with some winnings before I was banned from the blackjack tables - I had an eerie feeling that something was missing from my wardrobe. Images marched in front of my eyes. Another memory! A shoulder holster and a pistol, a Springfield Armory XD-9, to be specific. What I knew about the XD-9 wasn't a memory, but rather a part of a skill set. I knew it held ten rounds and combined the best of both Glock and SIG designs. However, that the XD-9 was my favored weapon was definitely a memory. I normally wore the pistol in a shoulder holster. Why? The memory expanded. I was at a shooting range. A target settled 25 meters in front of me. I took aim and emptied the clip in about five seconds. Without retrieving the target, I knew every round had struck the ten rings. While I mulled over the new memory, I combined it with my one other memory, the saber, and the way I moved with the sword. I could shoot a pistol and use a sword. Besides being slightly weird, what did that make me? Was I a bad guy or a good guy? Questions I couldn't answer. The urge to strap on a shoulder holster and fill it with an XD-9 was strong, strong enough that I made a few calls to some bartenders and cabbies I'd used. I couldn't buy a legal weapon, not without ID and a background check, but illegal weapons were available for a price. Was this knowledge a memory? No, I decided, it was part of a skill set. I knew how to search for and purchase illegal weapons. Did that make me a crook? Possibly, but I didn't see myself on the wrong side of the law. I was gambling like crazy to pay the hospital and doctor bills I'd accrued. Wouldn't a crook merely walk away from them? Frustrating. The two memories I'd retrieved hadn't answered any questions about my past. They only made me ask more questions. One call produced a name and telephone number. I dialed it. "Yeah," said the gruff voice on the line. "Benny, I want a Springfield Armory XD-9," I said. "How did you get my number?" I gave him the name of the bartender. "Don't have an XD-9," he said. "Gotta HK USP Compact 9mm." "I'd prefer the XD-9." Stubborn, I thought. The Heckler and Koch was a good weapon. "Can you give me a few days?" Benny asked. "Sure. In the meantime, I'll take the HK with a couple of boxes of ammo, two extra magazines, and throw in shoulder and hip holsters." We settled on an amount and a place to meet the next morning. You'll be breaking the law, an inner voice warned me. A different inner voice urged me to proceed. In the end, I knew I'd meet Benny at the appointed time and place. ------- Gloria appreciated my scruffy look; at least, her thoughts regarding the stubble on my head weren't negative. The beret didn't ruin the fashion statement I was trying to make with the navy Armani suit I'd donned, but it came close. With a sigh, I'd left the hat in my room. I loved the sexy, sophisticated look she presented when she opened the door to her suite of rooms in Caesar's Palace. She wore a black sheath dress with a scooped bodice that accented alluring cleavage set off by opera-length pearls. The dress was short, displaying her slim, shapely legs. The long-stem roses I'd sent her were arranged in a vase sitting on the coffee table in the living room of the suite. She thanked me for the flowers by wrapping her arms around my neck and giving me a soft kiss. Good, she thought, he's well enough to get a hard-on. I've gotta admit it. The thoughts of women I'd experienced since I came out of the coma had shocked me, particularly at first. Their thoughts ranged from naughty to downright raunchy, and for the most part, female minds used dirty words without qualms, especially the nurses at the hospital. "I'm famished," Gloria said with a winning smile and, other than the thought, ignored my partial erection. When my driver opened the limo door for her, Gloria looked surprised. "Didn't you tell me that you couldn't rent a car?" "I didn't rent the limo. The hotel rented it for me." "Oh." She showed a lot of leg as she squirmed into the limo. Good, she thought. He noticed and likes my legs. What's not to like? She teased me during our meal, and her thoughts soon moved from naughty to nasty. I figured I'd get lucky because her thoughts also told me what she wanted or didn't want from a man. One thought informed me that she didn't like her hair toyed with. I didn't touch her hair after the first time. She appreciated my attentiveness when she told me about herself. I became even more attentive by asking questions and listening attentively to her answers. I took her hand in mine. It would be so sexy if he turns my hand and kisses my palm, she thought. I kissed her palm, letting her feel just the tip of my tongue, which made her shiver with passion. I enjoyed the taste of her hand and anticipated other flavors that might be offered later. The food and service were exceptional, and the wine flowed. When we reentered the limo to return to her hotel, she moved into my arms and kissed me with passion. Please, please, don't grab my tits. Just kiss me. I left my arms around her waist and kissed her again. Nice. Is he hard? I took her hand and placed it over my erection. "You excite me, Gloria," I whispered as I kissed her neck. Higher, she thought, referring to my lips on her neck. I moved my lips higher to a spot just under her ear. Perfect! She gently squeezed my erection, and moved her fingers, estimating its length and thickness through my trousers. Perfect cock, too. She didn't want her tits grabbed. Would she mind my hand on her inner thigh? She answered my silent question by opening her legs a little, allowing my palm to caress her soft flesh. As we continued to kiss, my hand moved slowly up her leg until it cupped her cunt - she referred to it as a cunt. She hunched forward slightly to press against my fingers as she gasped into my mouth. The ride to her hotel was short, and at her door, she invited me inside for a nightcap. Once inside, the offer for a drink was ignored when her passion became aggressive. I didn't mind. Our clothes fell away as we continued to kiss and touch and fondle, and her thoughts told me that she hoped I'd eat her before I fucked her. Sex is a skill set. I couldn't remember the first or last time I'd placed my mouth on an excited cunt, but I knew how to give a woman oral pleasure. Her flavors and scents were strong. Was that a memory? Didn't matter. I loved the taste of her and inhaled her pungent fragrance as my tongue traveled from below her slit up through her crease to find her throbbing clitoris. Suck it. Suck my clit. I sucked it. Lashed it with my tongue, too. Stick a finger in my cunt. I pushed a finger inside her as far as it would go. Another one. I added a second finger, and a few seconds later a third, and that's when she climaxed on my mouth. With only stubble to grab, she used my ears to pull my face tighter to her cunt as her hips started an orgasmic dance, but only briefly, because they suddenly stiffened high off the bed as her body convulsed with the thrilling pulses of an orgasm. She screamed with pleasure. When she collapsed, I moved up on the bed and took her in my arms. She whimpered and clung to me. So there, Harry. Some men can make me come. Yeah, so there, Harry. "Fuck me," she said. "I wanna be fucked now." I moved over her, and she helped guide me to her opening. One thrust took me fully inside her. I groaned with pleasure and started to fuck her. My thrusts remained slow and rhythmic while I waited for her to match my arousal. I won't be able to come again unless I can touch myself. Maybe he'll hurry, come in me, if I... "Touch yourself," I said. Fuck, can he read my mind? Yeah, I said, silently. Out loud, I said, "I like the feel of a woman's hand touching herself while I fuck her." She reached and wet her fingers where we were joined. When I felt the back of her hand start a rhythm that moved faster than my thrusts, I increased my pace. Nice. Would he get upset if I played with my tits, too? I didn't respond. She already suspected I could read her mind. Fuck it. He won't say anything. He's too fucking hot. She gave me a defiant look as her fingers tweaked a nipple. I smiled at her and kissed her, a soft kiss. Five minutes later, we climaxed together. How about that, Harry? I came while being fucked. I'm not the frigid bitch you think I am. An hour later, I decided Harry was a dumb shit when Gloria went down on me to get me hard again. Her oral talent was amazing. I was a little disappointed when she mounted and rode me while she rubbed her clit furiously with her fingers, climaxing before I could come again. She redeemed herself, though, by taking me into her mouth and swallowing my semen with enthusiasm a few minutes later. ------- I met Benny at our appointed time and place. After checking the weapon he placed in my hand, I paid him in cash, which was fine with Benny. He didn't take credit cards. "Do you still want the XD-9?" my illegal gun dealer asked. His black, baldpate shined in the morning sunshine. "Yes." "Call me tomorrow afternoon. I should have one by then." "Will do." While playing poker that afternoon, I wore a sport coat to conceal the weapon, and it's weight felt comfortable and right at the small of my back. I had a good day. I figured I could pay off the hospital if my luck held for another few weeks. Yes, luck was involved. Although from their thoughts I knew the cards the other players held in their hands, I still needed the best cards for the big-money pots to win big. I deposited $20,000 in my Bellagio bank when I quit for the day. While wandering through Bellagio's shops, I bought a cell phone and called Gloria. A man answered - Harry I assumed. He must have arrived early. I hung up without speaking. A few minutes later, my new cell phone rang. I pushed the talk button, but remained silent. "Wayne?" Gloria said, whispering. "Yeah." "Did you just call?" "Yes, a man answered, so I hung up." "Ah... damn it. Wayne, I'm... well, I'm in a committed relationship." I didn't say anything. "About tonight..." I let her off the hook. "I take it our dinner date is off." "Yeah, sorry. If..." "Goodbye, Gloria. It's been fun." I hung up. She wasn't the woman for me. I never saw us in a long-term relationship, but still I was disappointed. I'd made arrangements to take her to "O" Cirque du Soliel, the floorshow at the Bellagio. I wondered what she was thinking, and suddenly, my mind connected with hers, which really surprised me. Surely she wasn't within the hundred-foot radius needed for a telepathic connection. It took me a minute to realize I was hearing one-half of a conversation, not her thoughts. I could hear what Gloria was saying because she thought the words before she spoke them. I told you, Harry. I called to book a dinner show for us. If you'd let me know you were flying to Vegas early, I would've called earlier... Why do you want my cell phone?... Redial? I don't understand... Harry! Fuck. Wayne will answer the call... My phone rang. I grinned, hit the talk button, and said, "'O' here. How may I help you?" "O?" "Yes, sir. This is the ticket office for 'O' Cirque du Soliel, Bellagio's homage to the magic of theatre." "Never mind," Harry said and hung up. Had I saved her unfaithful butt? Maybe, but sooner or later, Harry would catch her in the arms of another man. Gloria couldn't come unless she or the man paid a lot of attention to her clitoris, which frustrated her, both mentally and sexually. She'd climaxed three times with me the previous night, so she'd search for other men to give her the satisfaction she needed. I grinned. The satisfaction she deserved. There was nothing really wrong with Gloria's sexual response. Her problem was named Harry. I turned off the cell phone. I wouldn't deal with Gloria or Harry again, but the fact that I could connect with her when she as at Caesar's Palace and I was at the Bellagio kept popping up in my mind. Could I connect at a distance with someone else? My jaw gaped when I experienced a thought coming from Doc Birch's mind. No, once again it was a conversation, and I gathered he was speaking with a nurse I knew. I tried to connect with the nurse, as well, and suddenly I could follow both sides of their conversation. I switched back to Gloria. She was wondering how she'd dodged the bullet, so I tried to connect with Harry. Nothing. I moved back to Birch and the nurse and connected with both of them again. Further experimentation gave me the answers I needed. I had to be within approximately one hundred feet - thirty feet behind an obstruction - to make an initial connection with a new mind, but once I'd made the connection, I could reconnect with the same mind at... well, any distance, at least, if the subject were in Las Vegas. I'd need to leave Vegas to test greater distances. My telepathic ability was evolving, becoming more powerful. That pleased me. ------- My luck changed the next day, and I'm not referring to my luck with cards. During a gambling break, I was sipping iced tea in a lounge when an extraneous thought intruded. See. It's Morgan, just like I told you. See him. He's sitting in the first booth. I was sitting in the first booth! A second man thought, Yeah, I see the son of a bitch. That's him, all right. You called it, Norm. I'll call Gino. Without being obvious, I spotted the two men talking about me. From my glance, I labeled them thugs. The thug named Norm called me Morgan. Was that my name? If it was, it didn't trigger any memories. Gino, it's Sal, the other thug said into a cell phone. I can see Morgan from where I stand. The fucker isn't dead, after all. Waddaya want us to do?... You've got it, boss. I watched the caller hang up his cell phone. Gino wants us to keep tabs on him. He's sending over some shooters, Sal said. Fuck, we could take him, Norm said. We could do him right now. In front of a hundred witnesses! Are you nuts? Time to disappear, I thought, rose from the booth and walked directly to the cashier. "I'll need half my funds in cash, Barry," I said. "Could you put the money in a small satchel or bag of some kind for me?" "Certainly, Mr. Johnson. Is there a problem?" the cashier asked. I smiled reassuringly. "Just a small family emergency, Barry. I must leave Las Vegas right away for a short time. Could you send a messenger with the other half of my funds to Doctor Birch at Valley Hospital?" "We could, but we'd prefer to give it to him in the form of a cashier's check." "That'd be fine. Make the check out to Valley Hospital, though, not the doctor." I wrote a note thanking the doc and explaining the check. I also promised to pay the rest of my hospital bill as soon as I could. I sealed the note in an envelope. "Include this note with the cashier's check you messenger to Doctor Birch. Oh yes, check with the desk and hold back enough to pay my hotel bill, including a twenty percent tip. I'll call them and tell them I'm checking out." My tail was with me when I walked away from the cashier's booth with a little over $100,000 in cash in what looked like a gym bag. I needed to disappear, but I'd need cash to disappear. I'd also need clothes, which required a trip to my room. The two men followed me into an elevator already occupied by a middle-aged couple. She was nagging him about his gambling losses. My floor was below the floor selected by the couple, so I pushed a button for a higher floor. I wanted to be alone with the men following me. Since my stay at Bellagio, I'd felt uncomfortable whenever I entered an elevator. A trap, I thought a few times. The thought wasn't a memory. It was a warning from a skill set, and a different word entered my mind - tradecraft. Interesting. Staying out of elevators to avoid being trapped was part of a skill set I labeled tradecraft. I found it curious that I felt no fear, and further introspection gave me a reason for my calm attitude. I could take the two thugs following me. Furthermore, it was necessary for me to remove the thugs from the game before Gino's shooters arrived so the thugs couldn't report my whereabouts in the hotel. The man and his nagging wife exited the elevator on their floor. The thug who had wanted to take me in the lounge decided to be a hero and kill me as soon as the elevator doors closed. Unfortunately for him, my reaction time was much faster than his. I threw my elbow into his nose, crushing bone and cartilage. At the same time, I kicked the side of my other assailant's knee. Both men screamed with pain, and to avoid attracting more attention, a few swift, well-placed blows rendered them unconscious. I took their cell phones but left their weapons, and quickly pushed the button for the floor directly above us at the time, and then selected the highest possible floor. I stepped out of the elevator and pushed the down button, wondering if it were wise to pack my clothes. Fuck it. I'd need clothes wherever I disappeared. I checked out of the hotel from my room, and ten minutes later, exited the hotel at a side entrance. A cab took me to the airport. Another cab took me back downtown to the bus depot. Buses didn't check for weapons, and I wasn't about to travel without a weapon. The ticket clerk also didn't ask for ID and was happy to take cash. I purchased a ticket for Phoenix, Arizona, and Lady Luck hadn't abandoned me entirely. The bus for Phoenix left ten minutes after I purchased the ticket. Why disappear? Someone I didn't know wanted me dead for a reason or reasons I didn't know, either. Other than my clothes and money, I had no resources. I knew no one I could call on for help. Disappearing was my only option. As the bus rumbled through Henderson, a suburb of Las Vegas, I reviewed a skill set called disappearing. To truly disappear isn't easy. I'd need a new identity. As of that moment, Wayne Johnson was dead forever, which presented few problems for me. But a new identity was more than a new name. An identity involved documents for proof of identity, to start with a forged green card, which I could acquire in Phoenix. I'd be an immigrant from Canada, and I'd need a back-story, which I'd make up and memorize. With a green card, I could acquire a legal driver's license, and as an immigrant, I'd be required to apply for a legal social security card. With a social security number, I could open a bank account, and with a bank account, I could acquire a debit card or pre-paid credit card that didn't require a credit check. Step two in disappearing involved changing my appearance. I didn't wear glasses. I'd wear non-corrective lenses. My hair was growing in, and it was brown. I'd wear a wig until my hair was long enough and then dye it blond. I was clean-shaven, so I'd grow a beard or a mustache. In high-risk cases, plastic surgery would be appropriate. Fuck that. I judged my risk moderate. Step three involved money - the reason I'd hotfooted it out of Vegas with $100,000 in cash. If I were careful, I could live six months, maybe nine, with that much money. If need be, I could poor-boy it and last a year. Six months ought to do it. I only needed to disappear until my memories returned. Surely I'd recover my lost past in six months! Step four usually presented the most difficult adjustments. A person disappearing can't contact anyone he knows. That'd be easy for me. I didn't know anyone. Well, there was the doc and Gloria, but not contacting either of them wasn't a problem for me. The fifth and final step was a problem, though. Besides isolating myself from loved ones and acquaintances as dictated in step four, I had to change or avoid any habits I'd formed in the past. That could prove troublesome. I wasn't aware of some of my habits from my past. Gambling was a no-no, I figured, so I'd avoid the Indian casinos around Phoenix, and from my brush with the thugs in the elevator, I couldn't visit a... kwoon. Kwoon! The word just pooped into my mind. A kwoon is another word for a dojo or training hall but specific to kung fu. Was my martial art specialty kung fu? Yeah it was. Hoo boy! Another memory! That's what the saber memory was all about. I was practicing with a Shaolin wushu weapon, one of four I favored. The other three were the cudgel, spear and the broadsword. No doubt about it. Until my memories returned, I'd need to stay away from any kwoons. Gun clubs, too. Did I play golf? I didn't know. Maybe I'd take up golf. Naw! Smacking a little white ball around a lot of green grass sounded like the height of boredom to me. Why disappear in Phoenix? Phoenix was a major city close to Vegas. It was February, winter weather north of Vegas, and I detested cold weather. Whoa! That's another memory! Besides, I sensed a kinship with Phoenix, nothing specific, but the city and I had a connection of some sort. Vegas hadn't evoked many memories. Perhaps Phoenix would be a better trigger. Morgan, huh? Was my name Morgan? Unlike Phoenix, I felt no kinship with the name. Why? ------- The occupants of a bus often represent a cross-section of Americana, and my traveling companions did that in spades. My seatmate was a little, old lady. I wouldn't be surprised if she told me she was from Pasadena. Her name was Agnes, and her knitting needles rarely stopped clicking until the bus rolled into Kingman, Arizona. Her face was long, her short gray hair short with tight curls. She wore half-glasses with connected to a chain around her neck. I occupied the aisle seat next to her. The aisle gave me more room to operate, and I sat in the first row behind the driver to his right. My seat also offered the quickest exit from the bus. Agnes, the knitter, had to be seventy years old and had a delightfully naughty mind. No, make that raunchy. She likened me to her first husband who was a randy fucker with a big dick. She liked big ones, the bigger the better. Size queen, she thought with a sly, secret grin. That's what I am, a size queen. Mo, the bus driver, was gay. He liked my cute, tight ass. I won't tell you what he wanted to do with it. A Mexican woman sitting two rows back across the aisle nursed her baby and wondered if I'd like a taste of her milk - or hairy cunt. A dirty, old man in the aisle seat directly across from the nursing mother would've given her all he owned for a taste from her plump titty. Admittedly, he didn't own much. A family of six occupied a group of seats farther back in the bus. A boy, age twelve, hoped his thirteen-year-old sister would jack him off under a blanket after dark. The girl, given her preference, would fuck her older brother. Both of them. At the same time. The oldest boy daydreamed about his mother giving him a blowjob. With more privacy, according to her thoughts, the mother would've gladly made the boy's fantasy a reality. The father seemed blissfully ignorant of the incestuous fantasies rampant in his family. He was just plain tired from his dogged efforts to keep their bellies full and a roof over their heads. The incestuous family was relatively benign when compared to the evil mind of a young man near the back of the bus. He didn't fantasize about the joy of sex. His thoughts involved inflicting pain, reveling in the screams of his victims, watching the light in their eyes grow dim when they died as he choked them with his bare hands. Surprisingly, he didn't look evil. He wore a long-sleeved, heavily starched white shirt and freshly pressed chino pants. His fantasy object was a young woman sitting at the back of the bus. The woman's thoughts told me she'd just turned nineteen. She daydreamed about starting college in Kingman, Mohave Community College, to be specific. She cared about her future. Somehow, someway, she'd go to college. She was moving to Kingman to get away from her slut mother, who'd tried to turn the girl out, make a whore of her. She'd live with her father in Kingman, find work and take as many college courses as she could. I liked her spunk, but knew without more support she wouldn't achieve her dreams. Her name was Charlotte, and for what it's worth, she was a live wet dream, which she tried, unsuccessfully, to play down. She made Gloria look plain by comparison. Sometime after crossing the Hoover Dam, the evil young man moved in on Charlotte. She rebuffed his overtures, but he persisted. I decided it was time for a potty break. The restroom was in the back of the bus near Charlotte. I actually took a leak while experiencing the young man and Charlotte's conversation and thoughts. When I exited the bathroom, I turned to them, grabbed the young man's face in my meaty hand and put my face in his. "She told you she's not interested," I said with menace in my voice. "Leave her alone, or you'll answer to me. Got it?" I'd misjudged him. I'd considered him a bully, and someone unafraid of bullies usually handled them with ease. I thought he'd back off; instead, he became furious. His rage was immediate and consumed him, destroying his reasoning capacity. Extreme anger flashed in his eyes. He turned his face and bit my hand as if he were a rabid dog. At the same time, he reared up out of the seat and swung at me with a wild overhand fist that I barely avoided. With his gnawing teeth still attached to my hand, I had no choice but to smash the side of his head, which ended the altercation almost as soon as it started. He slumped unconscious - I hoped. Was he dead? I hadn't pulled the chop from the side of my hand, and I could kill that way. A memory? After quickly wrapping my bleeding hand with a handkerchief, I felt for a pulse at his carotid artery and breathed a sigh of relief. The pulse was strong and steady. "He's evil," I said to the girl. "Sit up front close to me and away from him." Without a word, she gathered her things and moved to the vacant aisle seat behind mine. "What happened to your hand?" Agnes asked when I sat down. "The mean little shit at the back of the bus bit me when I told him to leave a girl alone." The human mouth is nasty, loaded with germs, Agnes thought. His hand will become infected. She became a nurse. At the direction of the driver, she located a first-aid kit, disinfected the wound and applied a bandage. Charlotte helped. I was her hero. Argh! After a short conference between Agnes and Charlotte, Charlotte became my seatmate, and Agnes went back to her knitting and fantasies about big dicks. The evil young man remained unconscious. I worried about him. Like me a month ago, he'd have a concussion. "Where are you going?" Charlotte asked. "Tucson," I said. "Will someone be meeting you there?" Like a wife, she added silently. I chuckled. "No. I'm a novelist. My latest book is set in Tucson, and it's been too long since I walked the streets in that city." Enough about me. "What's your goal in life? Marriage, children, career?" She gave me a winning smile. "All of the above." "At the same time?" "Career first." She giggled. "And hopefully I'll be married when I become a mother." "Which brings all three together at the same time." "I suppose. What is the title of your last book? I want to read it." I made up a name and a fake storyline when she persisted, and tried to direct the conversation back to her. She had a one-track mind, though. She wanted to know everything about me, and her thoughts were starting to get a little raunchy as the bus slowed to pull off I-40 into Kingman. The evil one roused about that time, but his thoughts were disoriented. Would he fly off the handle again when he remembered what happened? No. He glared at me with abject hatred, but he wouldn't take me on again. The side of his face hurt. I'd struck him across the jaw and cheekbone. Good. No concussion - maybe. The airbrakes whooshed when the bus stopped at the depot in Kingman. "Dinner break," the driver announced. "One hour." I'd gathered my things, including the gym bag with my money, which I carried with my left hand, and I was the first person off the bus. Charlotte was right behind me. There he is! I heard from a mind about thirty feet in front of me. All hell broke loose. ------- I pushed Charlotte to the ground and followed her down, pulling my pistol from the holster at the small of my back at the same time. I managed to get off one shot before I hit the asphalt. My round struck one of my assailants in the neck - a miss; I'd aimed for his chest. I attributed the miss to the throbbing teeth marks on my hand. A body fell on me, which probably saved my life because two more bullets slammed into Agnes before I could roll her off me. The little old lady's knitting needles had been forever silenced. Her unnecessary death pissed me off. Peripherally, I saw Charlotte scramble under the bus. Smart girl. I did the same, but backwards, firing my pistol as I crawled. Two more assailants fell. I rose to my feet on the backside of the bus with my gym bag in one hand and my smoking gun in the other. "Follow me!" Charlotte said and ran away from the bus, keeping it between her and the shooters. If I followed her, I'd put her in further jeopardy. On the other hand, I didn't know Kingman, and I'd need to disappear in the small town for a day or two, and then locate alternate transportation before continuing on to Phoenix. I needed the anonymity of a big city. Kingman wasn't big enough to effectively disappear in for an extended time. I followed her. That girl could run! She darted right around a building and plunged down a small hill. A glance over my shoulder told me we could no longer be seen from the bus. She turned right at the bottom of the hill, and I watched her leap over something, an old mattress I discovered seconds later. My leap wasn't as graceful as hers, but I cleared the obstacle. The ground started to rise again, and Charlotte zipped left before the top of the ridge and disappeared from my view behind another building. Smart. She'd avoided becoming a silhouette against the darkening sky. She was bent over with her hands on her knees gasping for breath when I caught up with her. I was short of breath myself. "We need to get on the other side of the freeway," she said between gasps. "My dad has a small place there." "That'll do for an hour or two," I said. "Why just an hour or two?" she asked. "Did you give the ticket clerk your name?" "I gave him a name, not my real name, though. I... I'm... It's my mother. She wanted me to turn tricks. I ran." I grinned. "Lead on, Charlotte." "Who were those men?" she asked as we walked away at a fast clip. "Don't know." "But... Chad, they were waiting for you." I'd told her my name was Chad Josey. She'd been honest with me. I owed her some honesty, too. "True, but I don't know who they were. Someone wants me dead, Charlotte. I don't know why, and I don't know who. I don't know much of anything. I'm suffering from amnesia. The name I gave you isn't my name. I don't know my name." As we walked, I told her my story, omitting the fact that I could experience her thoughts, finishing the story about the same time we arrived at her father's small place. His place was a shack, not a house. More trouble awaited us inside. Her father was home, but he was dead. ------- I held Charlotte while she wept. From all indications, Tom Hilton, Charlotte's father, had died from natural causes. He'd been dead for a while and was starting to get ripe. "The goddamned fool drank himself to death," she blubbered and did some more crying. There isn't much you can do for a crying female, or a male, for that matter, except hold them, let them know you care, and give them some time to get a handle on their emotions. "He was worthless but I loved him, and he loved me," she said as she started to come around. "I came here to get away from my mother and go to college, even brought my high school transcripts from Vegas. Fuck! The transcripts are on the bus! My clothes, too. Fuck!" Her grief became anger, an easier emotion for me to deal with. "Now what? We can't stay here," she said. "You can; I can't. After I leave, call 911. I'll..." "No way. Take me with you." Ten dollars, that's all I have. If I stay here, I'll end up back with my mother. I'll become a whore. I can't do that. I can't! Regardless, I won't go back. I'll find a job. I can take care of myself. I didn't say anything. "You're not a writer, are you?" she said. "No." "What are you?" "I don't know. I don't have a past." "If you leave me here, I won't have a future." Not a future worth living, anyway. He's a good man. With him, I might have a chance to be all I can be. "Very soon, the police will join my enemy searching for me. If you come with me, you could be killed." She snorted derisively. "I know all about the threat of death. I grew up with the threat. I've been raped and beaten. A john murdered one of my mother's prostitute friends, murdered the woman and her child." Her statement - reliving some moments in her past - devastated her, and she slumped on a chair. "Give me a future, Chad. Please," she begged, looking up at me with tears streaming from her pretty eyes. A future. I didn't know why, but her request resonated deeply inside me. Had someone stepped up and given me a future sometime in my past? My question didn't pull out any memories that would give an answer, but her request tugged at my heartstrings, silly, romantic phrase, I know, but that's how I felt. "What about your father?" I asked. "His death should be reported and funeral arrangements made." "I'll call 911 from a pay phone. I don't have the wherewithal to arrange his funeral, Chad. Please, take me with you." I said nothing, waited for her to offer herself in trade. If she did, I'd walk away. A chance, she thought. That's all I want. A chance. "I'm not going to Tucson. We'll disappear in Phoenix." ------- I broke the law again; I stole a car. My bus ticket said Phoenix, so we couldn't go directly to Phoenix. The sun was coming up, and snow was falling when I pulled the stolen car into Flagstaff, Arizona. "God, I hate winter," I muttered as I entered the rental office of a sleazy motel. Surprise, surprise, the desk clerk was happy to take cash. As I'd requested, the room had two double beds. The towels were thin and small, the carpet threadbare, and the TV was bolted to the wall - culture shock after a month at the Bellagio. Depressing. We weren't prepared for an overnight stay anywhere, so I drove the car to a shopping mall, where I abandoned the vehicle after carefully wiping away any and all fingerprints. We went shopping. I sensed the day was unique for me. I had no way of knowing, but I don't believe I'd enjoyed shopping in my past. Charlotte made shopping a delight. She'd try on an outfit, rush out to show me, watch my eyes, my expression, and know immediately if the outfit appealed to me. Besides clothes, we bought personal items, luggage, lotions and potions - a laptop computer. Fun. We had fun, just what we needed. We were sipping a coke and resting in the food court when she brought up my gym bag. "What's in the bag?" she asked. "My money." She giggled. "That's what I thought. Are you rich?" I laughed. "No, but I have enough for us to hide out for six months if we're careful. Hopefully by then I'll have my memories back and can get on with the rest of my life." After I take care of the thugs trying to kill me, I added silently. "Is the money stolen?" I frowned. "No. Charlotte, since I woke up in the hospital a little over a month ago, I've only broken the law twice, once when I purchased an illegal pistol, and again when I hotwired the car in Kingman. I won the money gambling." "Good," she said and smiled. "I'm happy you have a gun. We need the protection it gives us, and I understood why we needed to steal that car, but I... well, I... I'm really happy you're not a criminal, Chad." I couldn't love a crook, she thought. And I think I'm falling in love with him. Uh-uh, I know I'm falling in love with him. Oh, oh, troubles ahead. Charlotte was a living, breathing wet dream, and I'd be a liar if I said she didn't tempt me, but if we became lovers, I'd hurt her, the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to protect her. I'd started to think of her as a little sister. "We need to talk," I said. She groaned. "You're sounding like my mother." I laughed. "Good, I want you to think of me as a parent." She grinned. "Never happen, Chad." "How about big brother?" "Uh-uh. That'd be incest." Argh! I'm going to fuck him so good he'll never want another woman. "I'm too old for you, Charlotte." He doesn't have a chance. "You're what? Eighteen? Nineteen?" "Nineteen going on twenty-five," she said. "I have no past. For all I know, I'm married with six kids." Holy crap! That's possible. Uh-uh. He doesn't act like a married man, and I know about married men. A lot of Mom's johns were married men. One of the fuckers who raped me was a married man. "You're not married," she said. "I'd know. Are we finished shopping?" "No. We need a few things that'll help us alter our appearance. You're about to discover if blondes have more fun." And you - Chad Josey or whatever your name is - are about to discover how much fun I can be, blonde or otherwise. Argh. ------- Chapter 2 "How about I just cut it?" Charlotte said, running her fingers through her long, dark hair. She studied her face in the cracked bathroom mirror, mentally resisting dyeing her hair blonde. "Both would be better," I said as I headed for the door. "Charlotte, I need a new weapon, which will take some time to arrange. While I'm gone, cut and dye your hair, and then pack your new things, mine, too, please, except leave out a change of clothes for me. I'll bring food back with me." She gave me a hard look. "If you ditch me, I'll never forgive you." I laughed. "I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind, but we're talking trust here, Charlotte, mutual trust. Hopefully during the next hour or two, I'll be meeting with an illegal gun dealer. As a group, they're not the trustworthiest bunch to deal with. Accordingly, it'd be less than prudent for me to meet a gun dealer with my bag of money in hand." I pointed at the bag sitting on one of the beds. "So, I'm trusting you with our future." I grinned. "If you ditch me and steal my money, I'll never forgive you. Question. What do you know about guns?" "Diddly squat, but I'm a quick study regarding anything involving eye/hand coordination. Why?" "Would you like me to teach you about guns?" "Yes." Among other things. Her eyes went to the gym bag. "I'm happy you trust me." "Lock and chain the door when I leave. Don't let in anyone but me for any reason. Got it?" "Got it. I'll look like a cheap slut as a blonde, Chad." I groaned. "Okay, what color then? I'll buy the dye while I'm out." "Auburn. A few red highlights ought to do it, and you can't be a blond, either, not with your complexion. Dye yours black." Tall, dark and handsome. Tall, blond and handsome doesn't cut it. "All right." "About food. I detest pizza. I love Chinese, anything kung pao, and ask for house mustard, not that stuff in plastic tubes." She's something else. "I like crab puffs," I said. "Me, too, and egg rolls." As I was leaving, she added, "Love the Stetson, cowboy. Be careful out there." Part of perfecting a disguise involves attitude and posture change, and the clothes you wear can alter your attitude. In Vegas, I wore what I called tropical casual. For Phoenix, I'd opted for Western wear, mostly because men in Western gear often wore hats. Part of Charlotte's disguise, although she didn't know it, was a more in-your-face display of her amazing body. As a form of self-defense, she'd worn bulky clothes designed to hide her charms. No more. Not that her new clothes made her look slutty, just the opposite. When I noticed she was selecting her clothes to please me, I nodded and smiled when she modeled classy, sophisticated clothes that let her gorgeous curves shine through without being too blatant about it. The added benefit of her new look was her apparent age. Instead of barely nineteen, in her new clothes she looked more like twenty-one. ------- No XD-9s, dammit, but I couldn't complain otherwise. The gun dealer sold me two SIG SAUER pistols, a classic full size P226 for me, and a smaller classic personal size P239 for Charlotte. Navy SEALS used the P226. The magazine held ten rounds, the P239 only eight, but I didn't see Charlotte in a firefight anytime soon, and it was a good weapon to learn how to shoot. I also bought extra magazines for the weapons, holsters and 120 rounds of 9mm ammo. "I need a late-model sedan for two weeks," I told the gun dealer. He was a skinny man, frail, and his face was crooked, one eye a half-inch lower than the other. "I don't want a stolen car, and it must be insured for any driver. I'll pay cash, half Kelly Blue Book price, but I won't take title, and I'll leave the vehicle somewhere in Arizona so the owner can retrieve it at the end of two weeks. If it's not retrievable at that time, the owner can report it stolen." "Will the car be used to commit a crime?" With that bandaged hand, the dealer thought, he could be the man the police are lookin' for that shot up Kingman yesterday. He hesitated. So what if he is? It ain't my business. They ain't offerin' no reward or nothin'. Fuck. I figured the gunfight in Kingman would hit the news, but I'd hoped the authorities didn't have anything on me yet. They'd find my fingerprints, but there had to be thousands of prints in that bus. Running them through AFIS would take a while. AFIS, or automatic fingerprint identification system, is a computer network that scans crime-scene fingerprints and compares them with the millions of prints collected by law enforcement agencies around the world. That wasn't a memory, just more tradecraft. I also questioned if the Kingman police would go to the trouble of tracking down that many prints from the bus. Witnesses would tell them that I was defending myself. The real culprits were the men who had opened fire with automatic weapons as I stepped from the bus. As a guess, while being questioned, someone on the bus, most likely the driver, had told the police about my bandaged hand. The police probably released my description to the media, a description that included the bandage. It was snowing outside. Gloves wouldn't look suspicious. I'd buy a pair of gloves to wear while in Flagstaff to hide the bandage. To answer the dealer's question, I said, "No, I'll use the car for transportation only. For various reasons, I can't take title to a car, and I can't rent one." "I'll check around. Where can I call you?" "I'll call you." "Fair enough. When do you want the car?" "Tonight or at the latest early tomorrow morning." I was running out of steam. I needed sleep. Unless forced for some reason, we wouldn't leave Flagstaff before morning. "Call me in two hours," the dealer said. "All right. I also need two permanent resident green cards, good enough to obtain valid driver's licenses and apply for replacement social security cards." Useable forged documents, I knew, involved stealing the identities of unsuspecting legal immigrants, but I wouldn't misuse the identities. I wouldn't create tax or credit problems for them because I wouldn't use the identity for employment or to obtain credit, except for a debit card for a bank account I could open with the replacement social security card. "I can give you a name and telephone number in Tucson," he said. "That'd be good." He checked through what looked like a small address book, and rattled off the name and number. "Ain't you goin' ta write it down?" he asked. I tapped my temple. "Good memory." "Use my name when you talk to the guy in Tucson." "I will." The dealer would get a referral fee, which was fair and right. "What happened to your hand?" he asked. "Dog bite. The goddamn dog won't bite anyone else - if you get my drift." The dealer nodded and walked away. I flipped open Wayne Johnson's cell phone and called a cab. The cabbie waited for me at a drugstore while I ran in and purchased a pair of gloves and new hair dye for Charlotte and me. He also knew about a late-night Chinese restaurant for takeout. ------- "While you were out, I watched the news on TV," Charlotte said between bites of kung poa chicken. She used a fork. I manipulated chopsticks. How and when I learned how to eat with chopsticks were events I couldn't remember. It was a good thing I'd ordered three main dishes. That girl sure could pack the food away! "The cops are looking for you," she added. "I heard." "Not by name, just a description, and except for the bandaged hand, it was a crappy description." "Good. I bought gloves to hide the bandage." "I noticed." "Did you count the money?" She blushed. "Sort of - roughly. I counted one bundle and then did the math. Chad, we can live for two or three years with that amount of money." "If we poor-boy it and if we weren't on the run, maybe. Later tonight or in the morning, I'll buy a car to use for two weeks for half its current value, so subtract $7,000 for temporary transportation. Subtract another $5,000 to $10,000 for forged identity documents. Once we've established our new identities, we'll need a different car, which will eat up another $15,000, or more. We can't live in a hotel, not for six months, so we'll rent a furnished house, and although we'll have furniture, we'll probably need pots and pans and dishes, towels and bed linens, those sorts of things. By my calculations, we'll be lucky if the money lasts six months." He's so smart. "If we run short, I'll drive to New Mexico or Colorado and find a poker game or a blackjack table in an Indian casino to replenish some of our stake." "Are you a professional gambler?" No, I'm a telepath, I thought as I gave my head a negative shake. "I don't think so. I'm good with math, can quickly calculate odds in my head, but gambling wasn't how I made a living in my past. I don't know what I did, so I could've been a gambler, but being a professional gambler doesn't feel right to me." "What does feel right?" Should I tell her? Why not? "I'm good with a gun and I know martial arts. I know how to breakdown a locked steering wheel and hot-wire a car. I know how to disappear and how to buy illegal weapons. I know other things, little things I call tradecraft, like elevators can be traps, how to select a place to sit so I can observe everyone around me, those sorts of things, and what's more, I sense I used all this knowledge in my work." I ate the last bit of food on my plate, chewed and swallowed. "Some of what I just outlined is illegal, but I'm not a crook. I had to leave Vegas on the run, but I paid half my hospital bill as I left, and I'll pay the other half when I can. A crook would've kept all the money and ripped off the hospital and doctors and nurses, even if they saved his life. I'm not callous or overly cynical, and I care about my fellowman... if they deserve my respect. I detest evil men and women, Charlotte." I paused to take a drink of water. "You still haven't said what feels right to you," she commented. "With all the knowledge I've put together about myself, I still don't know what I did to make a living in my past. I don't know my name, my age, my birthday, whether anyone besides my enemy or enemies are searching for me. I don't know where I call home, whether I'm rich or poor, if my mother or father is still alive, if I have a brother or sister. I have no one." "You have me." "Yes, I have you. You are my family, Charlotte, my sister." "No, Chad, I am definitely not your sister. Let's go to bed." And I'll prove to you why I can't be your sister. "Can't, not yet. We need transportation, and we need to dye our hair, and, Charlotte, you and I will not have sex tonight. I'm dead on my feet." Tonight, he said. I can live with that. He didn't sleep last night, so he needs his rest, but tomorrow... "Or any night, little sister," I added and yawned. The food and warm room were knocking me out. I flipped open my cell phone and dialed my gun dealer's number. "I know I'm a little early with the callback," I said, "but have you checked on that car for me?" "Yes." He gave me a name and phone number. "Use my name when you talk to him." An hour later I had transportation - a two-year-old Honda Accord, white with a gray interior. Charlotte let me back in the room, helped me dye my hair, and I was asleep ten seconds after my head hit the pillow. ------- I opened my eyes feeling rested and soon realized I felt something else - Charlotte, naked, warm and cuddly, asleep and spooned back against me, against my throbbing erection. My hand held her soft breast, and the small nipple, hard as glass, pressed my palm. My nostrils spread as I sniffed her feminine fragrances, like the scent of apple shampoo in her hair - dark hair, slightly shorter than yesterday and streaked with auburn highlights that made her even more beautiful than before the changes altered her appearance. I wanted to nuzzle her silky neck, taste its flavor with the tip of my tongue, fondle her breasts, kiss them, suck on them, kiss her, kiss her lips, her... cunt, damp cunt, wet with arousal, ready for me, ready to take my cock inside her, cuddle its length with wet heat as her inner membranes squeezed gently, pulsing with her need to satisfy my needs. With a silent groan of frustration, I backed away, removed my hand from her breast, and slid from under the covers to stand on the floor without waking her. My erection poked out of the hole in my boxers, and it was screaming at me. Are you crazy? it screeched. Little sister, you are a trial, I thought as I padded to the bathroom. I locked the door. If she joined me in the shower, I knew I wouldn't be able to resist her. Should I resist her? Yes. The question came from my little head, the answer from my big head. Could I resist her? Maybe... probably not. My little head provided the answer. The more I was with her, the more I wanted her, and it wasn't just about sex. Then again, perhaps it was all about sex. I was a man in my late twenties. Her protestations to the contrary, she was still a girl, barely nineteen. I didn't know if my desire exceeded old-fashioned lust, not for sure, and I wouldn't have sex with her if all I wanted from her were sex. Sex was all Gloria and I shared, that's all we could ever share, but she had her life, and I had mine. We could enjoy some time together and go our separate ways, no harm, no foul. My situation with Charlotte didn't allow that to happen. I'd accepted the responsibility to help her become all she could be. She'd asked me to give her a future, and right or wrong, I'd accepted the challenge. In her mind, she was in love with me, but teenaged girls fell in love at the drop of a hat. Was that a memory? No. If I fucked her out of lust with no other deeper feelings, I'd be using and abusing the love she felt for me. Pretending she was my little sister wouldn't work, not in the long run. She wasn't ready to give up. She wanted to prove to me that she was a woman, not a girl, a woman who could please me sexually so I'd never want another woman. What she didn't know, was probably too young, too inexperienced to know, was the fact that having sex with me wouldn't make her a woman in my eyes. Still, she'd wear me down. Somehow, I had to make her understand how confusing sex would make our relationship, help her understand the dynamics of our relationship, help her understand that I couldn't have casual sex with her and why. Armed with resolve, I turned off the shower and reached for the towel - a wet towel, I soon discovered. Cheap fucking motel. And I'd fucked up otherwise. With my mind fried with lust when I entered the bathroom, I hadn't brought a change of clothes with me. Perhaps she'd still be asleep. With my body still wet, I pulled on yesterday's underwear and walked out of the bathroom. She was wide-awake, and she hadn't dressed. She was stretched out on the bed. The top sheet wasn't covering her. She'd kicked it to the side. She smiled at me and stretched her hands high above her head, offering me a full view of her stunning, young body. Her nipples jutted hard; her skin looked flushed, and lust shaded her dark eyes. A living, breathing wet dream. "Good morning," she breathed. I nodded. She rolled gracefully from the bed to her feet and walked to me. Her arms went around my neck, and her eyes gazed into mine. "I am not your sister, Chad." "I know, but..." She kissed me to shut me up. If she'd kissed me with passion, I could have resisted her, but her kiss was soft and sweet and romantic. She didn't rub her mound against my erection - yes, I was erect. I'd become fully hard when she stretched on the bed. She didn't try to push me beyond the simple, sweet kiss. My arms went around her, and she melted against me. "But what?" she asked when she leaned back from the kiss. "I'm not in love with you." "I know, but sometime soon, you will fall in love with me, Chad." "I won't have sex with you until love happens." "Sure you will." She kissed me again, another soft, sweet kiss. He isn't ready for me, for us, not yet. "But not this morning," she said. "Not in this cheap motel on a lumpy bed, not that they matter a lick to me, but they matter to you." Her hands cuddled my face. "Chad, you will make love with me before you fall in love with me, and you won't fall in love with me because you make love with me. You'll fall in love with me because I'm loveable, and I love you. You're like me. You're a sucker for romance. Did you use all the hot water?" "No, but good luck regarding a dry towel." ------- We drove out of the snow at 4,000 feet elevation as we descended on I-17 from Flagstaff toward Phoenix. The sun came out and offered us a glorious day. "We'll stay in another cheap motel in Tucson tonight, not Phoenix," I said. "Why Tucson?" "I have the name and phone number of a man who sells forged green cards." I explained the system that would allow us to become almost legal permanent residents. She asked good questions, which I answered, and she nodded enthusiastically when I told her she could get a driver's license with a green card. She balked when I told her that she would probably be listed as my sister. "That would complicate things later, Chad." "But..." "Don't to that, please." "We'll see." As I drove, we made up back-stories for both of us. She'd never been to Canada, and because I couldn't remember anything farther back than last month, I told her we'd research the specific areas involved in our back-stories on the Internet. When I finished outlining our made-up pasts, she changed hers, made it more believable, and made certain we weren't related in any fashion, let alone as brother and sister. We met with the green-card specialist, a dapper, middle-aged man named Juan Cortez. He took our photographs, using a half-profile pose, the correct portrait for a green card, I discovered. I became Dr. Kenneth LaPlant, a psychologist. I was a thirty-year-old Canadian from Toronto. Charlotte changed her name to Colleen Melton, a twenty-year-old from Montreal. I was in the country as an EB-2, or a worker with advanced degrees. Our forger told me the real Kenneth LaPlant had returned to Toronto from Dallas, Texas. Colleen Melton had become an immigrant as the fiancée of an American citizen. The love affair had fallen apart before the wedding, and she'd recently returned to Canada. "These identities are clean, no credit problems, no tax problems, no legal problems," Cortez said proudly as he handed me the green cards the next day. He surprised me when he also gave me two social security cards. "These cards are forged, but they're useable. They match the real numbers for your new identities." "May I use them to open bank accounts?" "Si, of course. Most likely, the banks won't ask to see the cards if you give them the numbers verbally." I paid the man, and Colleen and I headed toward Phoenix. "What's next?" she asked. "We'll find a cheap apartment, and rent it for a month. We won't live in it, though. We'll live in a hotel for a few days until we find a suitable furnished house for lease. We'll use the apartment address for our driver's license and bank accounts. When we find the house, we'll put in a change of address at the post office, and we'll be good to go." Four days later, we moved into a three-bedroom house in McCormick Ranch in Scottsdale, a suburb of Phoenix. Colleen and I had bank accounts, debit cards, and valid Arizona driver's licenses. I'd also managed to dampen my libido enough to fend off Colleen's flirtations; no, flirtation is too weak a word for the all-out campaign she'd been waging. ------- I was lying on a lounge by the pool catching some rays and drinking iced tea when Colleen stepped out of the house wearing nothing but lipstick and red paint on her fingernails and toes. She dove into the water, making only a small splash, and surfaced halfway across the pool. Rolling onto her back, she let her legs float apart. She'd trimmed her pubic bush, and her labia had to be as smooth as a baby's bottom with nary a hair in sight. My dick rose up hard and long. She turned and swam to the edge of the pool, lifting herself out of the water with such athletic grace that I felt a catch in my throat. She was the type of female, and there aren't very many of them, who looked beautiful even with wet hair. She didn't dry off, just stretched out on the lounge chair next to mine. "That master bedroom, that's yours. You are the master, but it's mine, too. I'm the mistress," she said without looking at me. "It's our bedroom. Got it?" I huffed with disdain. "We might as well start off in the same bed. You end up in my bed sometime during the night anyway." "Good. We understand each other." She moved to her feet and walked into the house. I followed her inside. "Can you cook?" I asked. "Plain cooking, nothing fancy, but I want to learn fancy." "We'll buy some cookbooks." She turned to me and walked into my arms. Looking up into my eyes, she said, "My father was a drunk; my mother a whore. They didn't teach me how to lead a good life or about the good things in life. They couldn't. They lived with despair and fear, and each day was a struggle, not so much because they were poor, but more because they didn't like themselves. Dad hated himself because he was too weak to stay out of the bottle. Mom hated herself because she believed her only value was as a receptacle for semen. You'd think that with such pitiful role models and their narrow, sad view of life that I, too, would move through each day with despair and fear. I don't. Would you like to know why?" "Tell me." "Because I believe in tender, sweet love, cowboy. I'm not talking about sex. Sex is just one of many ways a man and woman express their love for each other. Love is an emotion, a deep, abiding emotion that has no beginning and no end. It just is, and you love me, cowboy. You love me as deeply as I love you. I can see it in your eyes, your expression, in how you treat me, the things you do for me, usually without even thinking about what you do. But you're fighting yourself and your feelings for me just like my parents fought themselves, and I want you to quit it." "How am I fighting myself?" "I'm too young for you, you say. What I feel for you is just a schoolgirl crush, you say. You've stated that you won't have sex with me. Fine. I don't want to have sex. I want to make love. I want you to wrap me in your tender, sweet love and stop worrying about how much younger I am than you, or wondering if you will hurt me when your memories return and you discover that you're committed to someone else from your unknown past, or..." I kissed her. I'd never kissed her. She'd always kissed me, but this time I kissed her, and then I picked her up and carried her to our bedroom and wrapped her in my tender, sweet love. She was right. I'd been fighting my feelings for her, and they'd grown stronger with each passing day. The motel or hotel rooms I rented had two beds, and she'd let me go to bed alone, but every morning I'd wake up with her spooned against me with my hand on her soft breast. Yes, a lot of lust was involved. I wanted her more and more every day, but I'd also noticed that love was creeping in, and I'd been fighting it, railing against it, afraid of it. No more. I stopped fighting myself, and when I let go, my love for her washed over me like a soft, cool mist. The heat of sex became the joy of love, and I knew I'd never want just sex again because sex without love is barren and edged with a sense of loss. She took all the love I offered and gave me back more. We had sex, but the act was wrapped in emotion, and the exquisite sensations became more intense and long lasting. Her dark eyes shined, and then went soft when I entered her. She didn't cry out with pleasure. She made loving sounds, murmurs... whimpers. She climaxed easily and frequently, not because I was a superior lover, but because she carried her love for me on the surface, up front and open, with no games, no hidden agendas. She had no artifice in her. When she saw pleasure in my eyes she was pleased. When I touched her, she quivered with her own pleasure, and her pleasure pleased me. We gave and took without thought or effort, and her thoughts didn't wander into the obscene. An hour later, she surprised me yet again. With a schoolgirl giggle, she said, "Wanna fuck now?" "Huh?" "We just made tender, sweet love, and it was beautiful, and I want us to make love often, but too much sweetness can be... well, too much of anything can become... boring. So, what I'd like to do now is fuck. Let's get nasty and fuck, cowboy. Waddaya say?" I didn't say anything. I laughed. I also got nasty and did some fucking. While we'd made love her thoughts hadn't wandered into the obscene. When we fucked, they started nasty and whirled down into the truly obscene - the type of obscene that I found endearing, though. Her verbal responses were no different. She was just as up front and open about fucking as she was about making love. Fuck it to me, cowboy. "Pound my pussy. Harder, dammit. Yeah, like that." "Love your cock, cowboy." I can't decide whether I like his cock more in my mouth or my cunt. "I'm coming!" ------- I was getting impatient. I'd traveled to Phoenix because I sensed a connection with the city and figured it would offer me some memories I couldn't otherwise retrieve from wherever they were stored, and Colleen recognized my restlessness, which verged on the edge of irritation. "What?" she said. "Are you getting bored with your life of ease?" Her question pointed out that I hadn't been very active since we acquired our new identities and settled into the house where I planned to disappear until all my memories returned. Sedentary. That was my problem, part of it anyway. "What do you do for exercise?" I asked her. "Our laundry, vacuuming, cooking, swimming..." She giggled. "Fucking. Considering my activity list, I must admit that fucking gives me the best workout and, other that making love, provides the most pleasure. Of course, I could swim until my vision turned black and my muscles screamed at me to stop, but I'm a lazy swimmer." She gave me a hard look, and then grinned. "I am not a lazy fucker." "No you're not. Would you consider running with me each morning a chore or a pleasure?" "Being with you pleases me, cowboy. Every time and always, whatever we do. I will run with you, chore or otherwise. I have a request, too. I watched you this morning again as you practiced dancing in slow motion. I would like it if you'd teach me the steps, and we could dance together after we run together - or before, at your option." Dancing? Suddenly I understood and laughed out loud. "I wasn't dancing, Colleen. That was tai chi, a martial art form, but I use tai chi to find my center. It's more a form of meditation for me than a martial art." With a teasing look, she thought, I knew what he was doing wasn't dancing, and I figured it was tai chi, but I do enjoy his windy explanations. Windy? Humph. "Well, will you teach me tai chi?" That was the moment I remembered her daydreams while on the bus traveling to Kingman. She'd run away from her mother, carrying her high school transcripts with her, to live with her father, find work and realize her dream of going to college. I'd knocked her dream train right off the tracks. "What about college?" I asked. "Later. First, I want to go to your school, cowboy. Teach me tai chi, and I'll run like the wind with you every morning. Also, I want you to teach me what you call tradecraft because, it seems to me, that your tradecraft will protect me. And please teach me about guns. You asked me once if I wanted you to teach me about guns, and I said yes, but the subject hasn't come up again." Protect! She'd said that knowing my tradecraft would protect her. That's what I was, what I did for a living. I was a protector! I jumped up and took her in my arms, twirling her around as I whooped with happiness, and then I set her down and kissed her, and she kissed me, and finally I explained my exuberance. "A protector? You mean like a bodyguard?" she said. I flinched at the word. Bodyguard held negative connotations for me. That I might be considered a bodyguard grated me. "Not a bodyguard, a protector, sweet thing. There's a world of difference." "Explain, please." "A bodyguard is muscle. A bodyguard reacts to a threat to his principal. A protector anticipates threats and eliminates them, if possible, before they happen." "Principal?" "Client, the person the protector protects." "Who did you protect?" she asked. A face emerged and came into focus in my mind. Another memory! The face was old but still rugged, and his eyes were lively. No name. I told Colleen about the man her question evoked. "Two new memories in less than a like amount of minutes. You are a wonder, sweet thing." She nuzzled the crook of my shoulder with her face as I hugged her. "Yes, I am," she said. "And don't you ever forget that. You use tai chi as a form of meditation, not a martial art form. What martial art is your specialty?" "Kung fu." "Like David Carradine as Kwai Chang Caine in that old-time television show?" "Yes." "Are you a Shaolin Priest?" I chuckled. "No... I don't know. Probably not." I snorted. "I'm not the priest type." "That's for sure. If you call me grasshopper, I'll hurt you. Caine carried a stick. Why don't you carry a stick?" "Cudgel, not a stick, although sometimes sparring with cudgels is referred to as stick fighting. The cudgel is a Shaolin wushu weapon, one of four weapons I can use with confidence. It's called the 'father of all weapons, ' because it is believed that all other weapons came from the cudgel. It's a sweeping tool but can be used to chop, jab, or block another weapon. It's powerful and swift, and a practitioner adept with the cudgel becomes one with the weapon, merges with it. The cudgel is my favorite of the four." "Is any of what you just told me a new memory?" "Some of it. I remembered about kung fu and wushu weapons a while back. That the cudgel is my favorite is a new memory. I'm also adept with a spear, broadsword and saber." "Wow. Will you teach me?" I shook my head. "It would be better for you to learn from a teacher, a sifu, at a kwoon or training hall, and it will be years before you graduate to using wushu weapons. If you wish, I'll check around and find the best available kwoon for you." "I wish. Let me summarize. Tomorrow morning we start running together each morning. Also, you will start teaching me tai chi and the tradecraft of a protector, and you will find a kwoon where I can learn kung fu. Correct?" "Yes, except you left out learning about guns. I'll set you up at a gun club for shooting lessons." I explained why I needed to stay away from kwoons and gun clubs." "All right. When does tradecraft school start?" "After lunch. I'm hungry." "Which reminds me. I want to learn how to cook fancy, something you can't teach me. How would I go about learning how to cook fancy?" I shrugged. "A cooking school, I guess." "May I go to a cooking school?" "Of course." Hot diggity dog, she thought. By teaching me things, his phenomenal mind will be engaged. Running together will keep him physically fit, and I benefit every which way from Sunday. "Have I told you today that I love you?" she asked. "Yes, while we were making love earlier." "Humph. We didn't make love earlier. We fucked, and you know it. Doesn't matter. I'm telling you again. I love you, cowboy." ------- We'd been in our house in Scottsdale two months when Colleen asked, "Are you a religious man?" "I don't have a past. How would I know? Why ask?" "Because the fancy dessert I made tonight might kill you, and if you were a religious man I was going to suggest that you make peace with your God before eating it." "Is rat poison one of the ingredients?" "No, it's a flour-less chocolate cake." She giggled. "It's to die for." Colleen's giggles were sounding more mature, less schoolgirlish. I adored the trilling sounds, and she giggled so infrequently that I certainly couldn't accuse her of being giggly. She cut the cake and placed a slice in front of me. Hoping I wouldn't need to fake enjoyment, I closed my mouth on a bite of the cake. My eyes rolled back in my head, and after swallowing, I emitted an honest, small sound of pure pleasure. "To die for," I breathed and took another bite. "Now, that..." I pointed at the cake with my fork. "... is fancy cooking." "That is fancy baking, cowboy, not cooking. When did you start studying kung fu?" she asked. "When I was twelve. Why... ?" It suddenly occurred to me that I'd just pulled an event from my memory warehouse; or rather, Colleen had pulled it out with her question. She looked mighty pleased with herself, too, as she should be. "I have noticed," she said, "that a surprise question about your past often produces a memory." "Well, this one is a doozy," I said as a host of memories tumbled out of the dark where they'd been hiding. "I was at an orphanage, and a bully..." Colleen looked shocked. "An orphanage!" "Yes. I guess I don't need to wonder if my parents are still alive." "Where? Where was the orphanage?" I shrugged. "Don't know." With a chuckle, I added, "I think your surprise question theory only works once a day." "Hah! Go on. You were telling me about a bully." "Yeah, a bully attacked a friend of mine, a skinny, little kid named Nicky. I can't remember his last name, or the bully's name, for that matter. The bully pissed me off big time, so I tore into him. He had to be twice my size, or so he seemed at the time. Still, what I did wasn't an act of bravery. Fear has to be overcome before a person can be called brave, and I wasn't afraid. I was angry. And in the end, my furious, unrelenting assault prevailed. When the bully cried uncle, not literally but you get my drift..." I paused to swallow another bite of the cake. "This cake is marvelous, sweet thing. Anyway, the bully and I were bloody messes, and unknown to me at the time, a man, a visitor to the orphanage, had witnessed the fight. I can't remember his name either. I've tried, because I think his name would be important to me, but I can't remember his name, and I can't see his face. After the fight ended, a woman - I don't know her name either, but I can see her in my mind's eye - after this woman washed away the blood and dirt, applied disinfectant to my cuts and stuck on some Band-Aids, she ushered me into a room where the man was waiting to talk with me." I sipped some iced tea. "The man asked me what I wanted to do with my life, and I told him I wanted to be a cop, that I wanted to protect and serve. Well, my answer must have pleased him, because he said, 'A laudable goal, young man.' That's the way he talked: formal, old-fashioned. I find it curious that I can remember the sound of his voice and the words he spoke, but can't remember what he looked like. Do you find that odd, too?" "Yes, but then everything about amnesia seems odd to me," Colleen said. "Go on." "The man stood up and held out his hand. I took it. 'I shall help you achieve your lofty goal, ' he said, and those were his exact words. That very day he took me to a kwoon and introduced me to my first sifu, and I started my education in the martial arts." "What else?" "That's it." "There has to be more!" "Correct, but I can't remember anymore." "That's damned frustrating, cowboy." "Tell me about it." ------- "Question," Colleen said. "Is it acceptable to make new friends while we are in hiding?" "Sure." "Why haven't you made any friends?" I shrugged. "I think I know why you haven't made any new friends." "Tell me." "Except for our morning run and some sightseeing daytrips we've taken around Arizona, you rarely leave the house. It's difficult to make friends if you never meet anyone new. For a while, I thought your hermit-like approach to living was a necessary security precaution, but I now think that assumption was wrong. I thought about it some more and decided that because you can't join a kwoon or gun club or visit a casino, you don't know what to do with your time." "You're not far off the mark. I considered taking up golf, but the idea of chasing a little white ball around seems downright silly to me. I made a list of some other activities I thought I might enjoy, like rock climbing, mountain biking, skydiving, and gliding, but then I reasoned if I believed I'd enjoy those activities now that it was likely one or more of them would've been hobbies of mine in my unknown past, and like shooting, kung fu and gambling, could alert my enemy to my whereabouts if I took them up as hobbies in my here and now." "Humph. Out of your concern that your enemy will find you, you've stifled yourself. I think you are being too careful." "Perhaps." "Uh-uh, there's more to it than being careful. You've told me you selected Phoenix as the place you wanted to disappear because you felt a connection with the city, and a while back you complained that the city hadn't evoked any memories. How could it, cowboy? You don't go out into the city?" What could I say? She was right. "I bought you a present. Stay there. I'll go get it." She returned with a long box wrapped with a pretty bow. I grinned broadly when I opened the box. "It's an authentic Shaolin cudgel. I had Sifu help me pick it out. He wants you to come to the kwoon and spar with him, and I think you should do it, Ken." The risk was slight, but should I take the risk? I was quivering with excitement inside. "All right as long as no other students are around." "That's what I thought you'd say, so I set it up for this evening. However, one student will be there. Me. I have another gift for you. Stay there. I'll go get it." She returned with a smaller box - no ribbon. She bowed in the Chinese fashion and extended the gift to me with both hands. Inside the box I found a Springfield Armory XD-9. She said, "I have made arrangements after hours at the gun club tomorrow night for you to test fire my humble gift." Tears stung my eyes. "You will meet the range master, but otherwise we'll have the shooting range to ourselves." I nodded. "He has promised me that he will not broadcast your shooting ability. To be honest, he didn't believe me when I told him how well you shoot. I figure by the day after tomorrow that you will have two new friends." "Have I told you today that I love you?" "Yes, twice. Once while we were making love, and the other time while I was cooking your breakfast." "Well, I'll say it again. I love you, sweet thing. I love you to pieces." "I'm not finished yet." "Oh, another gift?" "In a way. Unlike you, I have made new friends. I want to entertain them, invite them to a party at our home this weekend." "How many new friends?" "Besides Sifu and the range master, I want to invite four other friends and their spouses or dates: Kate and Gary from my cooking class, Ellie from the gun club, and Jim from the kwoon. Kate will bring her husband. Gary and Ellie will bring dates, and Jim will bring his sister. Kevin Smith, the range master, will bring his life partner, Clyde Silvers. I don't know if Sifu will bring anyone or not." "Sounds fun. In what way is the party a gift?" "Perhaps one or more of our guests will become your friend." I nodded. "Also, I want your promise that you will go out into the city every day. You need to experience Phoenix, Ken, so you can discover your connection with it." "I promise." ------- Cudgels clanked and vibrated, and Sifu twisted away, his cudgel dropping, sweeping as he turned. I leapt into the air, and his cudgel swished under my feet. We'd been sparring for about ten minutes, and neither of us had struck a winning blow. We wore sparring pads but still pulled our hacks, jabs and thrusts. The adrenaline rush was superb! Just what I needed. I hadn't felt so alive since I woke up in the hospital in Vegas. Colleen's teacher was good. I was better. I knew I'd win three minutes after we started sparring, but I was enjoying myself too much to bring the match to a conclusion. Sifu was Chinese and slightly past middle age, and my youthful speed and endurance gave me the edge. Still, his skill was prodigious, so I couldn't relax, couldn't get too cocky, or his cudgel would rattle my headgear. He was tiring, though, his blocks not as precise, his attempted strikes not as crisp. I backed away quickly, moving, twisting to the other side of the training hall, and then attacked with speed and overwhelming power, ending the match. I removed my headgear and bowed, as did Sifu, my bow deeper than his in deference to his age and position. "I am not a match for you. So sorry," he said. "I am young, Sifu." "Yes, but your skill beat me, not your youth. You had good teachers, and you were diligent." "Thank you." And get out of my mind, he thought. My eyes widened with shock. "Are you a telepath?" I whispered. "No, but you are." "How did... ?" "I felt you reach into my mind." He smiled enigmatically. "I, too, had good teachers, and like you, I was most diligent. Did your teachers make you defend yourself blindfolded?" "Yes." That's why he felt me in his mind. To fight blindfolded requires a connection with your opponent beyond sight. You must feel him. Sifu nodded toward Colleen. "She is a very good student, and she loves you. You love her. Why haven't you told her that you can hear her thoughts?" "I've told no one." "You should tell her." "I agree." "Although I am no match for you, you are welcome to spar with me anytime." "Nothing would please me more, but I am in hiding, Sifu. I have enemies who have tried to kill me. I don't know who or why." "Yes, I know you have no memories." "Colleen... !" "She told me nothing except that you needed to spar with someone in secret. Early mornings would be better for me." I bowed again, and we set up a time for the next morning. ------- "That was amazing, cowboy. I've never seen anything like it, and I suspect I never will again. The speed! The power! Such grace!" She groaned with dismay. "I'll never be that good." I chuckled. "You have it in you to be better than I, sweet thing." Her head spun toward me. She was driving. By choice, she did most of the driving, which was fine by me. "Watch the road," I said. "Surely you jest," she said, her eyes back on the road. "I recognized your potential when you told me to follow you when we escaped my enemies in Kingman. You ran like the wind. You even use that expression when you refer to yourself running. When you soared over that old mattress in the gully, I knew your potential exceeded mine." She shook her head and snorted with disbelief. "Never happen." "True, if that is what you believe. As you know, we can be our own worst enemies. You're parents proved that point over and over again. Say the following words after me." I paused. "I will be diligent..." She didn't speak. "Say them, Colleen." "I will be diligent..." "And someday I will spar with Ken..." "And someday I will spar with Ken..." "And I will win." "You're nuts." I laughed heartily. "Say it. Say it all." "I will be diligent, and someday I will spar with Ken, and I will win." "Good. Make that your mantra. Pick a time, like when you brush your hair; say it everyday and believe it, and someday it will come to pass. I have something to tell you, Colleen, something that will upset you, something I should have told you sooner." He's married! His memories came back and he's married. Her head spun toward me again. Fear filled her eyes, her expression. "Tell me." "Watch the road. After sparring with Sifu this evening, I reached into his mind with mine, and he felt my presence. That hasn't happened before." I hesitated. "I don't understand." "When I became conscious after brain surgery, I had no memories of my past, but I had something else I don't believe I had before the operation. I had the ability to experience the thoughts of others." She frowned. "Like what? Like reading minds?" "Yes." "You can read my mind?" "Yes, if..." "Well, stop it!" "All right. I can stop it. I couldn't always stop it, not at first. The thoughts of others came at me whether I wanted to experience them or not. It was confusing, to say the least, especially with three or four others in a room with me. I worked at it, and finally learned how to turn down my mind's connection with another mind to the point that the thoughts from the other mind didn't intrude." I looked at her. Her eyes were wet with tears. "You can't be in love with me," she said with a whimper and guided the car to the curb. "You drive. I'm going to cry." When she jumped out of the car, I did the same, and met her at the back of the car. I took her into my arms, but she strangled a sob and twisted away from me. "You drive," she said again. Inside the car, she curled up against the passenger door and cried. He can't love me. My thoughts, some of them, aren't nice. I can be mean... nasty... dirty... vile. I drove us home. Her reaction befuddled me. I'd expected anger because I'd invaded her privacy. That's how I would've reacted if our roles had been reversed. Instead, she feared I didn't love her because I'd heard some mean, nasty, dirty, vile thoughts. What she didn't know was that everyone had those kinds of thoughts from time to time. I helped her from the car into the house. She didn't lean against me when I put my arm around her; she cringed away from me, and her thoughts told me that she didn't feel worthy enough to be touched. She sat on the sofa and curled up on one end in the fetal position. "Enough is enough. Stop it, Colleen." "Stop what?" she whined. Now what I do irritates him, not just what I think. "Feeling sorry for yourself, feeling unworthy. Your logic is skewed, twisted in knots. I thought..." She refused to look at me but wasn't so out of it she wasn't following my reasoning, which her interruption proved. She said, "I think bad thoughts. I can be rotten, selfish, mean..." "So?" I said, interrupting her. "Waddaya mean?" "Think, Colleen. I could experience your thoughts from the moment I met you, and I still fell in love with you. Why?" "I don't know why. That makes no sense." "Because your thoughts, taken as a whole, aren't truly mean, nasty, dirty, vile, rotten, selfish, or any other negative adjective you can dream up. Everyone has thoughts they wouldn't think if they knew someone could hear them. When I started to experience the thoughts of others, I quickly realized I had to make allowances for these errant negative thoughts, or everyone around me would upset me. I soon stopped making allowances and started to ignore them as if I never heard them - unless the person is essentially evil, like that young man on the bus that accosted you. So stop it, dammit, stop feeling sorry for yourself. I expected anger because I invade your privacy, the most private place all of us have - our minds, our thoughts. Our thoughts define our sense of self, our individuality, and I took that away from you. You should be furious with me, not afraid I can't love you. I love you! Got it?" She sniffed, and I saw the faint beginnings of a smile. Then what I'd said sunk in, and I saw the onset of her anger - finally. I geared myself for her ire. Which didn't happen. Instead, she leapt into my arms and kissed me a hundred times, saying over and over again that she loved me. Talk about confusing! I took her to bed, and we made sweet, tender love. The next morning after sparring with Sifu, he asked, "Did you tell Colleen that you could hear her thoughts?" "Yes." "How did she react?" I told him. He nodded as if he'd predicted her reaction correctly. I said, "I take it you understand her reaction. Frankly, I don't." "You expected anger, yes?" "Yes." He shook his head. "Her love for you is wondrous and rare. It is so powerful she has subjugated her sense of self to become one with you." I disagreed. "Colleen is not a submissive. She is a very headstrong young woman." "Yes, with others, not with you, unless she believes you are doing or considering doing something that would... ah, diminish you in her eyes. She can only maintain a negative emotion tied to you for a short time. She will act or cause you to act in a way that will allow her to cast away the negative emotion. In this, she will be very determined." I nodded. "In this, you are correct, Sifu." "You have it in you to hurt her deeply, but don't be too careful with her. She can and will adjust to almost everything. She's young, but she is mature for her age, in many ways older than the twenty years she falsely claims. She's street-smart. Also a diamond in the rough that you and I will cut and polish until the jewel inside shines brightly." I nodded. "That is the role I accepted when she asked me to give her a future. I'm happy I have your help. Thank you, Sifu." He bowed. "She is the best student I ever had, or ever will have. In ten or twenty years she will surpass your skill in the martial arts." "I told her the same thing last night." "Please tell her that if she ever needs my help that she needs only to ask." "Wouldn't it be better to tell her yourself?" He smiled enigmatically. "Ah, the student/teacher relationship. Take but don't give. No favoritism," I said. He bowed again. "I will tell her, and thank you, Sifu." "She will surpass your skill in the martial arts, but with your mind skill, you can excel in every other way. You have it in you for greatness, Dr. Ken. Don't misuse your talents." "Yeah, I know. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely." "Colleen will guide you." I chuckled. "No doubt." ------- Chapter 3 The rain wasn't pouring down in sheets. It drizzled, had been drizzling since before I woke earlier. Just what the spring plants in the desert need, I thought as I pulled the car into the garage after my workout with Sifu. Colleen had called it. I had a new friend. Would I have another after our visit to the shooting range? I pressed my finger on the door lock from the garage into the utility room and stepped into the house. Additional security and locking devices were included along with pots and pans and other accessories when we stocked our new home. Fingerprint door locks improved security and created ease of access (no need to carry a house key). I also installed intrusion alarms and mounted some fake video cameras in the eaves easily seen by any would-be burglar. Weak, I know, but available cash limited my security purchases. Colleen was busy in the kitchen. I interrupted her with a kiss. She kissed me back and said, "Will sparring with Sifu replace our morning runs?" "How about running in the evenings instead?" "Okay, I'll change..." "Whoa! Sweet thing, you don't need to change your schedule to fit mine." "Sure I do. I'll practice shooting while you're sparring, which I'd prefer anyway." "Oh, okay." "Did you spar with cudgels again?" "No, sabers." She looked frightened. "Real swords? You used real swords?" "Sure. Tomorrow morning, we'll spar with broadswords and then spears the day after, which leaves Friday mornings open, the weekends, too, so if you'd like to run those mornings, rather than evenings, say so. Your choice." "All right." He could get hurt sparring with swords and spears. "I suppose that's possible," I said, responding verbally to her silent statement, "but with sparring pads and Sifu's skill, that's not likely." He's in my mind. "Yes, a habit. If you wish, I'll connect with you only after you give me permission." To give her back her mental privacy, I'd been prepared to concede this point last night, but the subject hadn't come up. There will be times... "Let's do this," she said. "Instead of you asking permission, how about let's say it's all right to... ah, connect with me anytime unless I ask for some privacy?" Like when I get the urge to mastur... "Oops." She blushed deeply. "You heard that, didn't you?" I laughed heartily. "Yep." "Have you listened to my thoughts while I've been touching myself?" "Yep." "How? I only masturbate when I'm alone in the house." I grinned. "I connected with you briefly from the kwoon this morning - to check on you, to make sure you were all right. I do that all the time. I can be anywhere and still connect with you, Colleen." "Wow. How far away... ?" I explained the distance limitations for first-time connections and added, "But once I've imprinted a mental signature in my mind, I don't' believe distance is relevant. For instance, I can connect with Doc Birch in Las Vegas and Cortez in Tucson whenever I wish." That's amazing! She asked, "Can you communicate silently with another mind?" I frowned. "You mean speak to you with my mind instead of just listening to yours?" "Yes." "I don't know. I've never tried. Other than Sifu, you're the only person who knows about my telepathy." "Well, try, doofus," she said with a smirk. I love you, I thought. "Did you hear that?" I asked. "Nope." I concentrated and tried again. Nothing. Then I tried just one word. That didn't work any better than mental screaming, which was my next try. "Shucks," she said. "It would've been great to have a conversation with you whenever we're apart or, for that matter, when we're together and don't want others to hear us." "Yeah," I said with a chuckle. "We'd also save money on our cell phone bills." We'd drifted into the living room; or rather, I'd followed Colleen into the room. "That, too. You're not upset that I still masturbate?" "No." "Do you?" "Rarely, but yes." "I fantasize when I masturbate." "I know." "I wouldn't actually do most of the things I fantasize about." "I know that, too." "Do my fantasies make you hot?" She slipped the robe off her shoulders and rubbed the palms of her hands over her nipples. "Yes," I said, "some of them, most of them." "They make me hot, too. That's why I explore them in my mind." Sit on that chair across from me, she said silently as she settled onto the sofa. After I sat down, she said, I want to see you while I play with myself and fantasize, see your expressions, your reactions to my thoughts. I nodded. A test, I figured, to see what turned me on or off, that and to make sure I wasn't upset about her masturbating habit. She raised her feet to the sofa and dropped her knees to each side, exposing her cunt to my view. Obscene, huh? "No, beautiful," I said. As you know, my fantasies can be obscene. "Sexy, yes. Obscene, no." Sexy obscene. Her fingers spread her labia, and she dipped one inside her. A friend, the daughter of another whore, taught me how to masturbate. I was ten years old; she was thirteen. Two fingers rubbed slowly back and forth over her clitoral shaft. I was hard - and uncomfortable. "May I join you?" I asked. Do you mean masturbate with me? "Yes." Knock yourself out, but stay in that chair. She watched me kick off my pants and wrap my hand around my cock. Sexy. Jack it off, cowboy. Jack that big cock off. Her eyes moved from my erection to my face. I usually use dirty words in my mind. "I noticed." The fingers on her cunt moved faster, occasionally dipping inside to retrieve more moisture. I was telling you about Kathy, the girl who showed me how to get myself off. She didn't just show me. She finger-fucked me, and she taught me how to finger-fuck her, and it wasn't long before she had her face between my legs. I liked that. I liked it a lot, so I went down on her. Fair's fair, after all. We had sex once or twice a day for about six months, maybe a little longer, and then her mother was arrested, and the authorities put Kathy in a foster home. I never saw her again. I told you about her not only because I fantasize about her, as you know, but also to tell you that I'm bisexual. Not that that matters. I'll never have sex with anyone but you. She huffed a small moan of pleasure as her fingers flashed back and forth over her pussy. For a while, I believed I might be a lesbian, but... well, I went a little boy crazy a few years later. I won't tell you about how I lost my virginity. If I did, you'd lose your hard-on, but when I was thirteen, a boy named Jimmy Carter, not the president who lusted in his heart, but the boy who lived down the street from me, needed a helping hand, so I jacked him off. Then I taught him how to go down on me, and I practiced giving head on him, and it wasn't long before I fucked him. His mother caught us, though, threw a fit and forbade Jimmy from even speaking to me, but Jimmy put the word out that I'd fuck, and I had a lot of offers, most of which I accepted. That's what I meant when I said I went boy crazy. I brought up the boys because sometimes I fantasize about fucking boys. Boys get so hard, cowboy, much harder than men, and their recovery time is really short. Thinking about boy-cocks makes me hot. I could come right now thinking about them. One day, I fucked three of them, one right after the other, and when the last one was finished the first one was ready to go again. Whew! That was fun. I fantasize about that time a lot. What happened afterwards wasn't fun though. The boys... well, they talked, and I overheard some girls I liked talking about me, calling me a whore, and that put an end to my boy-crazy period. I wasn't a whore; I didn't take money for sex, but I was a slut, and a slut is right next to a whore, so I stopped being a slut, which isn't easy when everyone knows you're a slut, but I was very determined, and I did it. My fantasies to the contrary, I stopped being a slut when I was fourteen. I didn't stop having sex, but I became very discriminating. Then I found a boyfriend, the boy I told you about who let me drive his car, who helped me get a driver's license, but... well, he found out about my mother, that she was a whore, and he dropped me like I had leprosy. That hurt, and after that, I sort of dropped out, not out of school, out of a social life. Then Mona befriended me, and... well, you've experienced some fantasies or memories I have about Mona. Mona was a problem for me, though. Boys turned her off, but they didn't turn me off, just the opposite, and at a party one night, I... well, I disappeared, and she came looking for me. I was with this hunk, a college boy. I was fucking him, cowboy. I was fucking him and enjoying it, I mean really enjoying it, and I didn't stop even after I noticed Mona. I hurt her, hurt her like that boy hurt me when he dropped me because my mother was a whore. Mona loved me, and I hurt her, but I didn't love her, not that way. After that, I went a little boy crazy again, but not for long. I graduated from high school and took a job waiting tables, planning to save enough to take some classes at a community college in Vegas, but living with my mother became too much, so I moved in with two other women, a cocktail waitress, and a dancer. Dancer! Hah! Stripper, that's what she was, and a whore, like my mother. The cocktail waitress wasn't much different. She was a party girl. When I refused to join them for some of their more lucrative parties, they called me Miss Goody Two Shoes, told me I didn't know how the world worked, and my mother echoed their sentiments. Fall came, and I took one class at the community college. That's all I could afford, and then I got sick, the flu, and I couldn't pay my share of the rent, and my roommates wouldn't carry me until I could get back on my feet. I moved back with my mother. A big mistake cowboy. She tried to set me up with a rich john for a lot of money, and the second I felt tempted, I busted out of there to go live with my dad. I could see tears filming her pretty eyes. There, you know everything. If you still love me, you'll come over here and make tender, sweet love with me, because I don't want to fuck. I wanna make love and... Except for a silent moan, I shut up her mental babbling with a kiss as I entered her. ------- I've met him before. I've seen him shoot, Kevin Smith thought as Colleen introduced us at the gun club. Dr. Kenneth LaPlant. No, his name means nothing. That Smith believed he knew me excited and dismayed me at the same time. If he knew me, he could give me information that could trigger new memories. Maybe he even knew my name. For some reason, I figured if I could find out my real name, my lost memories would all creep out of their dark hiding places into a light place in my mind where they could be retrieved. On the other hand, if he knew me, he could be a threat to my anonymity, which might bring my enemies down on me before I was ready to take them on. Could he be trusted? Like most range masters, he was a little overweight. Whoa! Was that a memory? No, but the round faces attached to thick torsos that flashed through my mind had to be other range masters I'd met in my past. The images were new memories. Colleen had been right on the money. I had to get out and about the city if I wanted to discover my connection with it. "Our range rules preclude shooting at the open-air gallery after dark, but you can plink away at paper targets in the indoor range," Smith said. "That'll be fine," I said. "How's Colleen doing?" "Considering she's only been shooting a few months, extremely well." Colleen grinned. "Thanks, Kevin. I try." That's for sure. If only all my students were as dedicated as she, Smith thought. Still, it's not just how much she practices. She's a natural, very athletic, and her hand/eye coordination is extraordinary. High praise indeed, I thought. If Smith knew me, sometime soon he'd pull the real me out of his memory banks. I might as well deal with the trust issue right now, so I know where I stand. "What did Colleen tell you about me?" I asked. "She said you wanted to shoot but, for reasons she wouldn't tell me, that you couldn't just come to the club and shoot, that it would be dangerous for you if someone recognized you. When I asked, she did tell me that you were a good man, that you weren't a criminal." I nodded. "Did you open the club after hours simply because she asked?" He snickered. "Yes and no. Colleen can be... ah, persuasive when she wants something, and... ah, heck, Dr. LaPlant, I like her. She asked for a favor, so I granted it. Still, I was also curious about you. She says you're very good with a pistol, and I wanted to see just how good you were." I sighed with resignation. To test him, I'd need to give him some facts, so I told him about waking up in a hospital with amnesia, without naming the city, and how, a short time after I was released from the hospital, I discovered that I had an enemy or enemies I didn't know who wanted me dead for reasons I also didn't know. "I had no choice, Kevin. I had to disappear until my memories returned. I've retrieved some of them, but not enough to confront my enemies. I also know to truly disappear is difficult, and one way to locate someone in hiding is to track ingrained habits. I'm a shooter, so until tonight I've stayed away from shooting ranges." Kevin shook his head. He couldn't decide whether to believe me or tell me I was a liar, which was a reasonable attitude after hearing the wild tale I'd just told him, so we had a conversation about skill versus event memories, and he started to come around. "To complicate the issue," I said, "I sense you know me or have met me sometime in my past. Am I reading you right or wrong?" "You're not wrong. When Colleen introduced us, I felt like I'd met you before, but... wait! Is LaPlant your real name?" "No. I don't know my real name." He studied my face. "Morgan, your name is Morgan." The same name my enemies called me. Why didn't the name register with me? "I saw you shoot at the Ben Avery Shooting Facility. Damn, it's a pleasure to personally meet you," he said and stuck out his hand. I shook it. "Is Morgan a first or last name?" I asked. He shrugged. "Doesn't the name ring a bell for you?" I grimaced. "No." "I could check around..." "No! I mean that's the last thing I want you to do. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you told no one about me." "Kevin promised me, cowboy," Colleen said and turned to Smith. "You promised me tonight would be a secret, that you'd tell no one about how well Ken shoots, and I'm holding you to that promise, Kevin, and the promise also includes the name Morgan, because Ken and Morgan are the same man." He grinned. "And I keep my promises. Let's go shoot." At the range, I said, "Ladies first." "Uh-uh," Colleen said. "You first." "Ah, Colleen, go ahead. Show him how much you've learned," Smith said. "If he shoots first, you'll be intimidated and won't shoot as well as I know you can." "He's that good?" she asked Smith. "You'll see. I'll run a target out to ten meters for you, Colleen." Colleen stepped up to a station, put on eye and ear protection, and loaded her weapon, the SIG SAUER P239 I bought for her in Flagstaff. She needs a new weapon, I thought. That P239 is illegal, and with our almost legal IDs we can get her a legal weapon. That's how she'd arranged for the XD-9 she'd given me. "Give me a grouping of four shots," Smith said to Colleen. Her stance and grip looked good. She pulled the trigger four times, careful to re-aim between shots. Smith rolled in the target. "Not bad," I said. "Two in the ten rings, a nine and a six." "The third shot got away from me," she said. "That's the six." I nodded. "How are you at 25 meters?" She grimaced. "Not as good." "Show me." After she fired four more rounds, I studied her target. The grouping was fairly tight, but it was low. Her grouping was also slightly low on the ten-meter target. "At ten meters, where do you aim?" I asked. "At the bottom of the black rings." "Your weapon shoots low. Try aiming at the middle of the black rings." She reloaded while Smith sent out a new target, stopping it at ten meters. I shook my head. "Take it out to twenty-five." She was ready to shoot when the target settled. She squeezed the trigger four times, which used up about ten seconds. "Much better," I said after Smith pulled in the target. Two of her shots hit the ten rings; the other two slightly lower in the nine and eight rings. Why didn't I notice her weapon shot low? Smith asked himself. Colleen grinned. "That's the best I've shot at twenty-five meters." "Before we leave, we'll adjust your sights, and Kevin, she needs a new weapon." "Yeah, I wanna XD-9, too," she said with an endearing grin. "I'll order one for you tomorrow, Colleen," Smith said. "Your turn, cowboy," she said, unloaded her weapon and stepped away from the station. "Send a new target out to twenty-five meters for me," I said to Kevin as I put on the muffs and clear goggles, and loaded my new gift. When the target settled, I started firing and didn't quit until the XD-9 was empty. "Four seconds," Kevin said. "Ten rounds in four seconds! Let's see how you did." He pulled in the target. I didn't need to look at it. I hadn't missed. "Good weapon," I said to Colleen. "Good shooting, you mean," Smith said. "You shredded the ten rings." I studied the target. The grouping was a touch low. "Colleen bought two extra clips for the XD-9. Let's see how you do with thirty rounds," Smith said. I reloaded the clip I'd just emptied and set the other two on the station platform within easy reach. Kevin pulled out a stopwatch. I grinned, took aim and fired my first round, emptied that clip, released it and slammed in a new one, and then did it again until I'd fired thirty rounds. "Twelve-point-two seconds! Now, that's speed shooting!" Smith exclaimed. He looked at me. "Did you miss?" I grinned. "Nope." Smith pulled in the target. "It's hard to tell, but if you missed, you missed the whole danged target because there isn't a hole outside the ten rings." He looked at Colleen. "Intimidating, huh?" "I'll say!" she said, and threw her arms around me. "But expected," she added just before she kissed me. "Hey, you two. This is a shooting range, not a hotel room." Colleen giggled and said, "May I shoot your XD-9?" "Sure." ------- "Did I fuck up?" Colleen asked. She was driving. We were on the way home from the gun club. "No. I think he'll keep his promise." In a pig's eye, I thought, but what's done is done. I'll monitor him telepathically and try to minimize the damage. Colleen said, "He'll tell Clyde, his life partner. They've been together for fifteen years. They tell each other everything, so check Clyde out at our party Saturday night." "All right." "How long did it take to get that good with a pistol?" I laughed. "Sorry, your surprise question produced no new memories, but I did retrieve some faces from my past at the gun club, some other range masters I know - maybe. No names or places. Just faces." "What's with the name Morgan?" I liked how Colleen bounced around in a conversation, changing subjects frequently. She kept a conversation moving and lively. She'd asked, so I told her about the thugs in Vegas who referred to me as Morgan. "Morgan might be a pseudonym, Colleen. Protectors use pseudonyms on the job." "They do! Why?" "Tradecraft. If an enemy doesn't know my name or where I live, and he wants to extract revenge, he can't find me. Also, while protecting someone, an opponent can't kidnap or otherwise threaten a loved one to distract or blackmail me so he can get at my principal." "Makes sense. Still, Morgan could be your name. Three men have confirmed that's a name you used in your past." "I know, but..." "You said 'where you live, '" she commented, interrupting me. "Do you keep your residence a secret, too?" "Yes." Suddenly an image rolled across the theater in my mind. A house. A low sprawling house tucked just under the brow of a rocky hill. Desert landscaping. I could see saguaro cacti. With a smile, I said, "I think I just saw my house." "Where?" Colleen said, swinging her head back and forth, looking out the car windows. "In my mind, a vision - sort of." I told her what I'd seen. "The house must be in the Phoenix area. I don't think the saguaro cacti were transplanted. The landscape looked natural, pristine, undisturbed except for the house." "Well then, we'll just have to go out and look for it. Do you remember the Ben Avery Shooting Facility?" "No." "Thank you for letting me order an XD-9. I understand after shooting yours why it's your preferred weapon." "You're welcome." "How's your money holding out?" "Our money. It's getting a little thin. Not this weekend, not with the party you have planned, but next weekend, we'll drive to New Mexico, and I'll hit a few blackjack tables." "We can tighten up our belts instead." "We could, but... Sweet thing, the risk is moderate. We live in Arizona. Gambling in New Mexico shouldn't bring my enemies to our door here." We drove in silence for a few seconds. "I enjoyed shooting again. Thank you for making that happen for me." "You're welcome. How are you at shooting moving steel targets at the outdoor range?" "I do all right." "Humph. Modesty doesn't become you, buster. Are you as good outdoors as you are indoors?" I grinned. "Yeah." "Thought so." ------- I had promised Colleen that I would go out into the city, and after sparring with Sifu with broadswords, I went out into the city with the specific purpose of locating the house I'd seen in my vision the previous night. Two hours later, I was convinced the house was not on Camelback Mountain, but I didn't despair. There were a lot of little mountains in and around Phoenix and its suburbs - too many. The task ahead of me was daunting. Sporadically, I connected with Kevin Smith to listen in on his thoughts and his side of his conversations with others to determine if he were keeping his promise. So far, although he'd been tempted to mention watching me shred the ten rings with thirty shots in twelve seconds, he'd pursed his lips and remained silent on the subject. The desire to do some name-dropping was compelling though, and I suspected that eventually he'd tell someone, and then that someone would tell someone else, and pretty soon it would be forty rounds in ten seconds, or something even more outlandish but nonetheless memorable, and being memorable was what I'd been trying to avoid. Colleen had hit a home run when she introduced me to Sifu, but I feared she'd popped up to the infield with Kevin Smith. Accordingly, the search for my house became more imperative for multiple reasons. Number one, I wanted to find the house for the memories it might provoke. Number two, Colleen and I just might need a new anonymous address unknown to anyone but us sooner than I'd prefer. Thirsty, I stopped to get a Pepsi at a Circle K. As it turned out, that specific convenience store was the wrong place to be at that moment in time. I walked in on an armed robbery in progress. A little, brown Mexican man was waving around a great big Colt .45 and jabbering in Spanish, a language I didn't know. In truth, I didn't believe I knew any language except English, and I'd been known to butcher English more than once. I was carrying my cudgel. Colleen had proudly presented the staff to me as a gift, and it pleased her when I carried it, so I took it with me just about every where I went, which admittedly until I decided to go out into the city wasn't very many places. That Colt .45 was an old gun, probably an antique, but even old guns fired hot lead that could kill, and the little Mexican man was waving it at me and jabbering away telling me to do something in a language I couldn't understand. Well, whatever I did wasn't what he wanted me to do, and he became even more agitated. He was sweating and drooling and didn't look at all well, so I walloped my cudgel across his wrist. He screeched something in Spanish, or just screeched period, I don't know which, and the old Colt clanked on the tile floor and bounced. Thankfully, it didn't go off. The Mexican wasn't ready to give up and, with his undamaged hand, pulled a switchblade from his pocket. That did it. Enough was enough. My cudgel bounced off the top of his head, and he crumpled as if poleaxed. I kicked the old Colt and the knife toward the clerk, walked to the soft drink dispenser and filled a cup with ice and Pepsi. The clerk stood looking dazed. He hadn't picked up the Colt, but he took my money for the drink, rang up the sale, and gave me the correct change. "Call 911," I said as I walked out the door. My sprawling house wasn't in or around South Mountain, either, and I figured five hours was enough house hunting for one day. On the drive back to McCormick Ranch, I stopped at another Circle K - a big mistake. The odds that I'd walk into two robberies in progress in too different convenience stores on the same day had to astronomical. Two young men, not one older man, were waving guns, but like the other thief, they were jabbering in Spanish. I swept one of them off his feet with my cudgel and kicked the other one at the side of his knee, breaking a bone or two, and both of them hit the linoleum. Before they could align their weapons on me, I thumped them atop the head, one after the other. Fuck it, I thought. I'll fix myself an iced tea at the house. I turned and walked out the door without saying a word. In all honesty, I don't think either incident would have attracted the attention of the media. It must have been the combination that made my so-called heroics newsworthy. Heroics. Hardly. Colleen had the television on watching the local news while she prepared dinner when a cutesy blonde came on the screen to report the incidents and the brave private citizen carrying a walking stick who had foiled two robberies in two different Circle Ks on the same day. "Walking stick. Humph," I muttered. "Oh my! Ken, is she talking about you and your cudgel?" "Just a small effort to protect and serve, that's all," I said. The blonde shoved a microphone in front of a young woman's face. I recognized her. She was the clerk in the second Circle K. "It was amazing," the girl said. "He walked in and wham, bam, bop, bop, it was all over." She was swinging her hands around as if she gripped a cudgel and was doing the bopping herself. "Just like that, and it probably took me longer to say it than it did for him to do it. Then he just turned and walked out. I called 911, and the thieves were just coming around when the police arrived." The scene changed and the blonde introduced the clerk in the first store. "After disarming the thief and rendering him unconscious, the cowboy paid for a drink and left, telling me to call 911," the clerk said. He was obviously uncomfortable in front of a television camera. "There you have it, Jane," the cutesy blonde said. "All three robbers were taken to the emergency room with concussions and other broken bones, and the cowboy walked away with his walking stick into a glorious sunset." "Jeez, cowboy," Colleen said with a teasing grin. "I finally let you go out into the city on your own, and what happens? You get yourself mentioned on television. I thought the idea was to attract as little attention to us as possible. Anonymous. Hah!" "Keep it up woman and it'll be wham, bam, bop, bop, right on your pretty head." She laughed so hard she cried. Surprisingly, the newspaper carried the story the next morning. Cowboy with Cudgel Foils Robberies was the headline. The story was printed on the bottom of the second section. Cowboy with Cudgel sounded better than Man with Walking Stick, more accurate, too, so I read the article expecting more in-depth coverage of the events. Hah! Other than my Western wear, with an emphasis on my Stetson, the article contained fewer facts than the television sound bite the previous night. The next day, I crossed off Squaw Peak, Stoney Mountain, and Shaw Butte as settings for my house. I also stayed out of Circle Ks, and the day passed blissfully uneventful. Kevin Smith said nothing about my after-hours visit to his gun club, and Colleen wanted to fuck, as opposed to making love, so it was a good night, too. "Cowboy with Cudgel," Sifu said and giggled when I walked into the kwoon the next morning. I didn't believe old Chinese gentlemen giggled, but obviously I'd been wrong. We sparred with spears, and I punished him for his comment and giggle. Cowboy with Cudgel had such an interesting ring to it that it caught the media's attention. I listened to a talk show on the radio while eliminating Lookout Mountain, Shadow Mountain and the buttes west of the Phoenix Zoo. The talk-show host conducted a lively discussion about the 'Code of the Old West' and vigilantes. Argh! Now I was a vigilante. What next? That evening during dinner, I said, "I need to go shopping." Colleen's eyes got bright. Is there a woman alive who doesn't get excited when shopping is mentioned? I doubt it. "Why?" she asked. "My recent notoriety has made wearing Western gear dangerous. I need to change my look." "Ah, that's a shame. I like the cowboy look. When?" "After dinner." "I need a new cocktail dress for our party." "Okay." "Shoes and purse, too." "Okay." "Maybe some funky but nice costume jewelry." "You deserve diamonds." "You're sweet, but costume jewelry is all I want." I selected a casual-elegant look. It took me less than an hour to purchase an entire new wardrobe to reflect the look. Colleen took two more hours to select and purchase one cocktail dress and its accessories, and at that she felt rushed. The happiness in her eyes compensated me for the extra hours, though, and the outfit she selected was stunning - no, she was stunning; the outfit only enhanced what it packaged. We made tender, sweet love that night and fucked like crazy the next morning. I also enjoyed watching her run like the wind as we circled Indian Bend Wash for our Friday morning workout. After a light breakfast, I went back out into the city dressed in casual elegance, but with cudgel in hand, and an hour later I found my house. It sprawled just as I'd pictured it in my mind under the brow of Black Mountain in Carefree, an affluent suburb north of Phoenix. I found it, sweet thing. I found our house, I thought, wishing she were with me. I was excited out of my mind, and I wanted to share my excitement with her. Ken! Is that you, Ken? Yes, I found our house! Then it hit me. Are you hearing me? My thoughts? Oh, yes! Oh, this is exciting! I couldn't decide which was more exciting: finding my house or being able to talk silently with Colleen. The latter, I decided when half my excitement dwindled to sheer disappointment when I stopped my car in front of wrought-iron gates that denied access to my house. A keypad capped a steel post and arm coming out of the ground to my left. The gates would open if I pressed a simple numeric code. I didn't know the code. I just heard a groan, cowboy. What's wrong? Colleen asked. I told her. Well, you told me you were a whiz at circumventing alarms. As a last resort, go around the problem, or in this case up and over the gates. Easy for her to say. Sweet thing, if this is my secret home, and I think it is, I would've built-in security up the wazoo, and I'm not talking about sirens going off. Land mines wouldn't surprise me. Oh. I turned the car around and drove away. ------- "Your thoughts are driving me batty," Colleen said. "I'm starting to feel schizophrenic." We were driving to our house in Carefree. Colleen wanted to see the residence. To clear her thoughts, I retracted the tendril I'd sent out from my mind to hers, breaking our connection. "Ah, that's better," she said. "You felt my mind leave yours, didn't you?" "Yes." We could have a two-way silent conversation without a problem, but when we weren't talking with our minds, my thoughts intruded on hers, confusing her. I was used to the confusion, and besides, if I wanted, I could turn her thoughts down so I could barely experience them and still maintain a connection. She couldn't, so my thoughts continued to invade her mind with full strength as long as I maintained a connection. This frustrated me as much as it frustrated her. For a number of good reasons, I wanted an always-on connection with her. She stopped the car at the intersection of Highway 74 and North Scottsdale Road. "Turn left," I said and reconnected with her. Be patient with me for a few minutes. I want to try something, I said silently. Until earlier today, the connection was one way. The transmission of thoughts only traveled to my mind from her mind. Suddenly, for some reason, my thoughts traveled to her mind, as well. I'd learned to turn down the thoughts of others by thinking of them as an electrical current and turning an imaginary dimmer switch. Could I turn down the thoughts moving to her mind from mine with the same dimmer switch? Nope. How about a different dimmer switch? How about that? The dimmer switch analogy wasn't wholly accurate, and I couldn't reasonably describe what I did to experience and control the thoughts of others or the transmission of my own thoughts, but I could replicate what I did, and that's all that counted. We're connected. Can you hear my thoughts? I asked, and then did some extraneous thinking. I heard your question but nothing more. Good, I've got a handle on the situation. Here's the deal. Unless you ask for privacy, which I'll grant, we'll have an always-on connection. If you want to talk to me wherever you are just say my name as a thought. What name? Ken, cowboy, honey, baby, sweetheart, Morgan? Any of the above. In the past and most of the time, I maintained a mental connection with you, but the connection was tuned way down. I'll do the same as in the past, but now I'll also tune down my thoughts to you. I just programmed my subconscious to ratchet up the strength of both connections when it experiences a key word. After saying my name, wait a moment, and I'll respond. All right, but if I drop something when you say something to me out of the blue, you've gotta replace whatever I drop. Hmm, how about a click... I clicked my tongue and aped the sound in my mind. ... like that as an interlude before I intrude? Neat. Okay. Turn right at the next street. I tested the new dimmer switch technique as she wound the car up the mountainside on North 66th Place. The method worked. "Turn left on North Secluded Lane," I said. "Can you see it on your right? It's the house at the end of the road." From the driver's seat, she couldn't see the house through me, so she pulled the car to the side of the road and stepped onto the street. "Oh, Ken, it's beautiful!" Yeah it is, like you. "Thank you. We... you have to find a way in; you just have to." "I will." "The house fits. It fits the environment around it. It fits you. What a beautiful house! Perfect!" She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me passionately. Her surprise question at the gates didn't work, probably because I anticipated the question, so it wasn't a surprise. I just couldn't remember the numeric code that would give us access. What's more, once inside the gates, I didn't have a key that would open the front door, or any door for that matter. To complicate the issue, the front door and other access points would be alarmed, as well, and would require a different numeric code to disarm the alarm when the door opened. "Video cameras," I said, pointing at each end of the gates. "And they won't be fakes like I installed at our house in Scottsdale." Which meant I'd have a security room somewhere inside the house with monitors connected to various cameras and other security devices. Colleen pointed. "Let's hike up there. It looks like a great place to look at the house." "Uh-uh. Booby traps, land mines, remember?" "You'd be that careful?" "Yes." "Uh-uh. You wouldn't hurt someone seriously unless that someone had it coming. You'd hurt someone on purpose if threatened but not accidentally." She had a point. "All right, but let me lead," I said. She followed as I climbed the hill to the left of the gates. I stopped after taking four steps. "Tripwire," I said pointing and thinking it was too easy to see. Not in the dark, though, I added as an afterthought, and that thought triggered another thought. I searched for and found them. "Infrared sensors," I said, pointing again. My eyes darted left and right. "And motion detectors, both high enough that small, desert animals can't trigger them. Ah, the trip wire makes more sense. It's for a crawling man." I hesitated, and then chuckled. "The cholla cacti have been planted in strategic places. A crawling man would run right into them." What would happen if I stepped over the trip wire? I asked myself and laughed again. "Punji pit, probably a board with exposed nails. See it? It's not easy to see. It's camouflaged." "No. What's a punji pit?" "A booby trap perfected by the Viet Cong. If I stepped over the trip wire my foot would fall into a shallow pit, and sharp nails would pierce my shoes and go into my foot. Unlike the punji pits built by the Viet Cong, this one wouldn't be fatal, but whoever stepped in it would walk with a limp for a week or two." "Jeez! You were careful. Let's forget this hike." That evening we were trying a sexual position from the Kama Sutra called the Black Bee. Colleen had found a Web site with animated versions that demonstrated about twenty-five positions from the ancient text, and we'd been experimenting with some of them. The Black Bee is a female-dominant position, and Colleen was really into it, bouncing faster and faster over me. I wasn't lying down; it was a sitting position for both of us. I held myself up by stiffening my arms behind me, and she held onto my shoulders as she moved on and off my cock, dragging her clit over my pubic mound with each bounce. Although to call her graceful moves bounces would be inaccurate. "I'm very close," she murmured. "Go ahead. I'll come with you." "What's the numeric code?" I couldn't believe it! The goddamned number popped into my mind. "Don't stop, dammit," she said. "I'm coming!" She did, too, and I came with her. I was still panting when she rolled off the bed. "Where are you going?" I asked. "Your house. Get dressed, cowboy." ------- "What's the numerical code?" Colleen asked as she stopped the car at the gates. "Pound sign, 3, 2, 7, 4, 7, 1, 3, 3," I said. "Memorize it if it works." Part of the tradecraft I'd been teaching her included memory training. She pressed the code on the keypad, and the gates rumbled open. "You know," I said, "we've just breached barrier number one. I don't have a key to the house." "Sure you do. You're a creature of habit. The key to enter your home will be your fingerprint." Argh! She was right. I pressed my finger to the pad on the lock and heard the front door click open. Would I need to disarm an alarm? Yep. I heard it beeping. Thirty seconds. I had thirty seconds to press the code that neutralized the alarm. I flipped the switches next to the entry door and the lights came on. I'd need light to find the alarm keypad. We found it in a coat closet next to the entry from the garage. "Any guesses?" I asked Colleen. "Try the code for the gate." My heart sunk when I punched those numbers and the alarm stayed red. I tried again, but without the pound sign. Nope. The same number backwards without the pound sign turned the alarm green. I breathed a sigh of relief and told Colleen the code. "We're at the garage," I said. "Let's see if I own a car." "A Hummer!" Colleen exclaimed. "Yellow, my favorite color for a Hummer, too. Perfect!" The other car was a Mercedes C350 Luxury Sedan, but it was a three-car garage. "A vehicle is missing," I said. "It'll be a nondescript sedan, souped-up, probably; armored, maybe." The house was two stories. Besides the three-car garage, the ground floor consisted of the grand entry and staircase to the second floor, a small living room off the entry - probably where I parked guests I didn't want upstairs - a guest bedroom, a bath, a storage room, and a training hall, fully outfitted, including Shaolin wushu weapons. I found shower facilities and a sauna at one side of the training hall, and through a glass wall I saw a walled Zen garden. "Love your kwoon," Colleen said. "Our kwoon," I corrected. "And this is our house, not my house. Got it?" "Got it. Ken, I think you just might be rich." "Well off, yes. Rich is relative, sweet thing." "Relative to me, you're rich." "If I'm rich, we're rich, sweet thing. Let's take a look upstairs." "Fine by me, but wouldn't you rather discover your name first?" I frowned. "Of course." "The registration papers in the glove compartments in the vehicles will give you your name," she said. "Uh-uh, I tried. The vehicles are locked." "Shucks. Okay, lead on." The stairs brought us to a great room with a soaring ceiling that went from the front of the house to the back. On the stair side, it offered a phenomenal view of the city spread out below us. It was too dark outside to see through the glass wall at the back of the house. To my left, a huge rock fireplace became the focal point for a lounging area large enough to seat eight. No television, which didn't surprise me. I wasn't a big fan of TV. Still, I enjoyed watching a good movie now and again. I did notice a well-equipped, fully stocked bar with eight bar stools. A hall at the left led us to an entertainment room with eight theatre-style seats facing a large-screen, plasma TV. The corridor also opened to a guest suite with its own bathroom and sitting room, and an office with a desktop computer. "We won't be able to open the computer," I said. "I don't know the password." Off the office, we found two steel doors, both with fingerprint access locks. I pressed one of them and found the security room. The computers in that room were turned on, and I let tradecraft take over. I'd installed about thirty video cameras that gave me a commanding view of the entire property, including the access road. A few minutes later, I said, "Yep, land mines." I pointed out their locations to Colleen. "They won't go off if someone steps on them, but I can arm and explode them from here. Watch that monitor, and you'll see the location of the infrared and motion detectors. If we're in the house, we're fairly secure. The weakness of the system comes in when no one is in residence. And here's the real jewel, the escape tunnel. It's accessed from the sauna downstairs and comes out in a gully down the hill here." I pointed. "I suspect we'll find an off-road motor bike hidden down there, too." "What about the other locked door in the office?" Colleen asked. "That'll be my armory. That's not a memory. It's tradecraft, sweet thing." Inside the armory, Colleen said, "Jeez, Ken, you could take over a small country with these weapons." I laughed. "Hardly." Besides the standard handguns, knives, shotguns, and rifles, we found a case of hand grenades, some claymore mines, flash bangs, smoke and teargas grenades, and some fully automatic pistols and rifles, two sniper rifles, and the ammo and all the accessories that came with the weapons including cleaning kits, holsters, extra clips, night vision equipment, body armor and camouflage gear. Besides the weapons and accessories, I found electronic and surveillance equipment, communication gear, and a good set of lock picks and other burglary tools. "What's that?" Colleen asked, pointing. I chuckled. "That's illegal as they come. It's a 40mm GP-25 under barrel grenade launcher. It's Russian, used by SPETSNAZ. In military slang, a GR-25 is sometimes referred to as 'small artillery' indicating its firepower and effectiveness. I wonder where the hell I picked that up?" "We haven't found the playpen, yet," Colleen said. "Playpen?" "The master bedroom - our bedroom, cowboy." The kitchen stopped her on the way to the bedroom. "Wow," she breathed in complete awe. "All this and you don't cook." "I didn't say I didn't cook. I said I wasn't a very good cook." "Well, I've died and gone to heaven. I've never seen a kitchen as functional and well equipped as this one." I left her to snoop around the kitchen and found a formal dining room that sat eight. What's with the accommodations for eight I'd noticed everywhere? I also found the switches for the outside lighting. The pool needed cleaning, as did the hot tub. It was a beautiful pool, though, and included a rock waterfall, and the patio next to the great room was setup for outdoor dining. Another outside area offered a fire pit and a built-in gas barbeque grill. The rear yard was private and backed into Black Mountain. I suspected an interloper foolish enough to be where he could look down into the pool area would be subjected to some unpleasant surprises. Colleen stepped outside and joined me, did some oohing and ahing, and we went back inside to find the playpen, and it was indeed a playpen. To enter the bedroom, we walked through a library and sitting area. The bedroom area was large and, besides a king-sized bed, offered more seating, a huge armoire, and a walk-in closet bigger than our master bedroom in Scottsdale. The wardrobe reflected my latest look - casual-elegance - and the clothes occupied less than half the shelf and hanging space. "Good," Colleen said. "A woman didn't live with you." I found a combination safe behind a fake wall in the walk-in closet. My vehicles were locked, and I didn't have keys for them. My computer was off, and I didn't have the password to open it, and I couldn't open the safe. Tears stung my eyes. "What's the matter, cowboy?" Colleen asked when she returned from her tour of the master bath. "No new memories, no name, no past," I said. I opened the French door and strolled from the master suite onto the deck that overlooked the city. "I noticed a bar," Colleen said. "Would you like a drink?" "Yes, scotch over ice." "I know what you like. Sit down. Enjoy the view. I'll be right back." She returned shortly and handed me a cocktail glass. "I'm too young," she said, "but I made a drink for myself." I nodded. She sat next to me and we looked at the city lights blinking below us and off in the distance while we sipped scotch. I clicked my tongue. What? she asked silently. Let's mind-talk. Okay. You expected to find your past tonight, all of it, your name especially, and that didn't happen, not yet, cowboy, but memory by memory, you're sneaking up on your past every day, so I want you to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Got it? I chuckled. Got it. My past is here in this house, though. It's in that safe I can't open. It's in the locked vehicles in the garage, but I don't have the keys. It's on my hard drive in my computer, but I can't get at that data without a password, so yeah, I got discouraged. What's in the safe? she asked. The normal things one puts in a safe: check book, savings book, credit cards, stock certificates, deeds and titles, cash and other valuables, maybe a birth certificate, passport, any diplomas I earned - all the valuable papers that define me, Colleen. Don't despair. You'll remember the combination, lover. What's on the hard drive? I shrugged. E-mail and other correspondence, addresses, phone numbers, accounting books and records - all my connections with other people, a history, my history, both personal and financial. Whereas the vehicles will only give you your name. Yes. It's a start. Waddaya mean? She handed me three sets of car keys. "I found them in a large snifter sitting on the back bar," she said out loud. "I assume the extra set of keys is for the nondescript, souped-up and armored sedan you mentioned that's missing." I shook my head and laughed. "You're something else, sweet thing, you surely are. Drink up. Let's find out what silly name you'll have to call me next." My name was Luke Upton, or at least that was the name listed as the owner of the vehicles in the garage. "Luke," Colleen said. "I like the name. Luke Upton. It's a good name, cowboy, certainly not silly. It fits you." A good name that doesn't offer any new memories, I said silently and sullenly. I know, but it will. You'll see. I love you, Luke Upton. ------- When sweet thing asked for privacy during our morning run around Indian Bend Wash, I gave her the mental space she wanted, trusting her fully to come to the proper conclusions regarding her concerns about us, about our future together, now that she knew I was rich. Stepping up from poor to middle-class had been a breeze for her. She was struggling with the extra jump to upper-middle-class, which she called rich. Rich. Hah! I was probably up to my eyeballs in debt. I hadn't made any mortgage payments for at least four months. For all I knew the banks were ready to foreclose on my house and vehicles. For that matter, I hadn't paid the electric bill for four months, either, but last night the lights came on when I flipped switches. Why? Tradecraft, dummy, I told myself. That house is your secret place, what you call home, the place where you spend your downtime. You're a protector. You're out in the world somewhere protecting someone most of the time. You would have made arrangements for someone to pay the mortgage and household bills to keep everything running during your absences. Someone. Who? Knowing who could give me a lot of answers. Mail! "Sweet thing," I huffed. "Did you notice a mail box at our house last night?" She frowned. "No, but then I wasn't looking for one." She stumbled to a stop, panting, leaning with her hands on her knees. "That's enough for me," she said. "Running isn't my thing this morning." "Are you ready to talk about it yet?" "Yes, but there's nothing to talk about. I was fighting myself, like my parents fought themselves, like you fought your feelings about me early on. I just quit the fight. If you're rich, I'll learn how to be rich, too." She grinned, and my world brightened. "What's your schedule today?" "Visit the house in Carefree; help you get ready for our party." "I have help to prepare for the party. My friend, Kate, is dropping by our house in Scottsdale this morning to help me make finger food. This is a simple cocktail party, cowboy. Booze and wine, finger food and conversation. Five-thirty to seven-thirty. Gary will be the bartender, and Kate and I will pass around the hors d'oeuvres." "How about I hire a bartender and waitress... ?" "Nope," she said interrupting me. "Gary wants to show off his mixology talents, and Kate and I will do the same with the appetizers. Kate, Gary and I planned a series of parties that escalate in complexity to show off our culinary triumphs. Don't you dare rain on our parade." I chuckled. "Got it." "There is something you can do. We'll have eleven or twelve guests, plus us. That's fourteen. While you're at the house in Carefree, see if you have fourteen matching cocktail and wine glasses, small plates for the hors d'oeuvres, too." "All right, but I suspect I'll find service for eight, not fourteen or more." "Really? Why?" "Seating for eight around the fireplace, eight bar stools, eight theater-style seats in the entertainment room, and the formal dining is set up for eight, too." "Hmm, I didn't notice." She chortled. "Doesn't matter. That being the case, I bet you'll find that number doubled or tripled when it comes to crystal and china." "Maybe. I'll look." While we chatted, we'd walked back to the Hummer. I'd driven it to our house in Scottsdale the previous night so we'd have two vehicles available. Colleen drove the Camry home. We'd purchased the two-year-old Camry when I abandoned the Honda and called the owner in Flagstaff to tell him where to find it. The Camry was a nondescript sedan. It'd do for a third vehicle until I found the one missing from the garage in Carefree. ------- No mailbox. Not at the bottom of the drive or at the gates. The Hummer did offer a remote to open the gates, and another remote that opened the garage. I punched in the proper code on the keypad in the closet, and the alarm turned green. Easier than last night, I thought. I checked for cocktail and wine glasses first, and then clicked my tongue. What? Colleen said silently. You were right. Sixteen cocktail glasses. Sixteen of everything. Do you want sixteen flutes for champagne as well as the wine glasses? No, just the wine glasses. Okay. No mailbox. I must pick up the mail elsewhere. Kate's here, cowboy. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm busy. I laughed. Got it. Bye. I turned down my connection with her and walked to the office. I hadn't searched the desk last night. It was locked, of course. The lock picks in the armory made short work of the desk locks. I'd hoped to find some files that would trigger some memories, but found nothing except normal desk and writing paraphernalia. I reasoned that whoever paid my bills kept the household files, probably an accountant. I turned the computer on, and when the password dialog box came up, clicked enter without typing in a password. That didn't work, so I typed in "password" as the password. Nada. I tried a few obvious passwords like variations on the names Luke Upton and Morgan, and tried variations on the numeric code that opened the gates and turned off the house alarm. Nothing. I wasn't surprised. The hard-wired portable phone on the desktop beckoned. I picked up the receiver, pressed talk and heard a dial tone. The phone at the house in Scottsdale came with caller ID. I dialed that number. Colleen answered the call. "What's on caller ID?" I asked. "The number's blocked," she said. "That figures. I'm calling from the phone here. I'd hoped to determine the phone number from caller ID on your end." "Oh, I see. Cowboy, this is interesting, but..." "I know. You're busy. Bye." I hung up. The phone book on a shelf in the desk didn't offer a listing for Luke Upton. The number was obviously unlisted. Had I programmed the phone for frequently called numbers? I picked it up and hit speed-dial number one. A machine answered. No personal or company name, just an anonymous voice telling me to leave my name and number, which I didn't have, the number anyway. I hung up without saying anything. A woman with a pleasant voice answered speed-dial number two. "Hello," she said. "Do you recognize my voice?" I asked. "Of course, Morgan. How are you?" I literally shook with excitement. "Fine. No, that's not correct. This might sound strange, but... who are you?" Silence. "You know who I am." Her pleasant voice changed, taking on a definite chill. "No, I don't. That's why I asked. I'm recovering from a concussion and brain surgery. In the process, I mislaid my memories." "Then how could you remember my phone number to call me?" I groaned audibly. "You are speed-dial number two." She laughed gaily, nice low sounds. "Who's speed-dial number one?" "A machine. Quit teasing me. Who are you?" "Candice Singer." No memory bells tolled. "And what are we to each other?" "We're lovers, Morgan. Occasional lovers would be more accurate. I want more, but... well you're not around much. You live your life, and I live mine, and occasionally our lives intersect." "Ah," I said, understanding. Another Gloria. "Brain surgery, huh?" "Yes." "Other than memory loss, are you all right?" "If you're asking about other brain damage, the answer is I'm fine." "That's good. Are you in town for a while?" "I don't know. Where would 'in town' be?" "Phoenix, silly. Oops, sorry. I guess with your memory loss, referring to you as silly wasn't nice." "I'm in town. How about we meet for lunch?" I had a hunch Candice Singer could fill in some huge holes in my past. "Sure. Where and when?" "You say." "Vincent's on Camelback. Say one o'clock." "How will I know you?" "I'll know you. That's enough." I hung up and clicked my tongue. I have a date with an old lover for lunch, I said to Colleen my thoughts. Her name is Candice Singer. She answered a speed-dial call. According to her, we were occasional lovers. She lived her life; I lived mine, and occasionally our lives crossed. I wanted you to know because I love you, and I'd never try to deceive you, but I have to meet with her, Colleen. She can fill in some huge holes in my past. Finally, Colleen said, and I actually experienced her sigh of relief. Kate, I'll be right back. That statement was conversation. She thought the words before she spoke them. I'm heading to the bedroom, cowboy, so we can talk. This had to happen. I've been expecting it. There, I'm alone. You're a wealthy, handsome, single man. You had to have had lovers. You can't imagine how relieved I was last night when I walked into that walk-in closet and saw only men's clothes. Candice Singer, huh? Yes. Nice voice, but except for what I told you, that's all I know about her. What are you going to do? Cut her off or string her along? I laughed. That's my sweet thing. Right to the point. I'll string her along for a little while, extract as much about my past from her as I can, and then tell her I'm in love with a wonderful young woman named Charlotte, but I'll use your current pseudonym, or no name at all. By the way, she refers to me as Morgan. There's that name again. I know you're busy. Me, too. I want to try the other numbers programmed for speed dialing. Bye. I love you. I love you, too, and thanks for telling me about Candice. While I continued to monitor Colleen's thoughts, I tried speed-dial number three. "Accounting office," a female voice said. My heart raced. Had I found my accountant? "Does the accounting office have a firm name?" I asked. Candice Singer, huh. She probably looks like a movie star or a model, Colleen thought. The receptionist hesitated. No doubt, she considered me a crank caller? "Yes, sir," she said. "Well, what is it?" "RPT Accounting and Tax Service." "Do the initials represent names?" "May I direct your call to someone, sir?" She's probably worldly and rich, too, Colleen thought. "Sure, after you give me some names," I said to the receptionist. "Please hold." I listened to Colleen thoughts and elevator music for about a minute. And smart, Colleen thought. Colleen, she might look like a movie star or a model, be worldly and rich, and smart as they come, but I don't love her. I love you, I said. "Thank you for holding, sir. How may I direct your call?" "I'd like to speak to the R represented in RPT," I said. "Mr. Robertson passed away three years ago, sir." "Then I'll speak to P or T." "I'll direct you to Ms. Taft. Sorry, cowboy, Colleen said. Put yourself in my place. What if I were meeting with a boy with one of those boy cocks I told you about, you know the kind - really, really hard and ready to shoot every ten minutes or so. I groaned as a voice said in my ear, "This is Kathleen Taft." "Ms. Taft, do you recognize my voice?" Colleen, I don't recall ever having the ability to climax every ten minutes or so, I said when Ms. Taft didn't respond immediately. "Excuse me. What did you say?" Ms. Taft said. "Do you recognize my voice?" "No. Our receptionist said you were a kook. For once, she appears to be right." "Argh! Ms. Taft, I believe I'm a client, at least your firm's phone number has been programmed on the speed-dial function on my phone, and..." Dial tone. That's because you didn't know anyone like me when you were a boy, Colleen said. Point taken, I said to Colleen as I pressed speed-dial number three again. "Accounting office." "Let's try the P in the RPT this time," I said. "That would be Mr. Pennington, sir. Please hold." Aren't boy cocks small? I asked. At the time, so was I, Colleen said. "Gordon Pennington here," a man said. "Do you recognize my voice?" I said. "Luke! What are you doing? You've managed to upset my receptionist and partner." A gentleman would say, "You're still small, sweet thing," Colleen said. "Are you my accountant?" I said. If I seem to be a little slow on the uptake it's because I'm talking with my accountant, I said to Colleen. "You know I am. Why are you acting so strange?" Pennington said. Your accountant! That's marvelous, cowboy. "About four months ago, someone hit me on the head, giving me a concussion, which required surgery, and when I woke up, I did so without a past. Your firm is speed-dial number three on my telephone. I'm suffering from amnesia, Gordon. May I call you Gordon?" He laughed. "Now I know you're telling me the truth. You haven't called me anything but Gordy since our days in the orphanage." Game, set, and match! "We need to talk." "Lunch." "Okay. Where and when?" Sorry Candice. My accountant is more important than an occasional lover. That's good thinking, Colleen said. In my excitement, I'd inadvertently transmitted my thought to Colleen. ------- Candice wasn't happy with me when I cancelled our lunch date and became even unhappier when I told her I couldn't see her that evening, either. She agreed to brunch the next day at Wrigley's Mansion, wherever that was. I figured I could find out in the interim, though. I met Gordy at a microbrewery and grill off North Scottsdale Road, only about fifteen minutes from my house in Carefree, and the second I saw him, a flood of memories washed over me. Tears stung my eyes as we shook hands. Colleen, sorry for the interruption, but I thought you'd like to know. Gordy Pennington, my accountant, is the bully I told you about that I trounced at the orphanage when I was twelve. You're kidding. Nope. I'm turning down our connection now so I can concentrate. If he's a friend, invite him and his guest to our cocktail party. Two more won't make a bit of difference. All right. Gordy was a large man, tall and plump and affable, with mischievous eyes and bright, white teeth. The first thing he wanted to see was the scar on my head. "Yep, a scar from a surgeon's scalpel. Got one on my side from an appendectomy. Sit down; sit down. I ordered ale for you. Ah, there it comes right now." A barmaid set two ales on coasters. "The usual," she said. "Sure," Gordy replied. "Nice to see you again, Luke. It's been too long." She turned and walked away. Good legs, I thought. Being recognized by name also gave me warm feeling. "What did we just order?" I asked. Gordy hooted. "I'm getting a burger and fries. You're getting fish and rice - the usual." He sipped the ale, leaned back and said, "Okay, tell me your sad saga." I told him everything up to the time I escaped Las Vegas, and while I talked I monitored his thoughts. I was relieved. He was a true friend. "Just seeing you, Gordy, has given me so many memories. Now I can retrieve that part of my past regarding my years at the orphanage. Thanks, for the memories, pal." The man who sponsored me for kung fu while I was at the orphanage still didn't have a name or a face, though. Why? "What I still don't know," I said, "is about how we fit in the here and now. You're my accountant, right?" "Damned straight," he said and belched. "Sorry. Good ale." "Well, do I have any money?" He chortled, and the small laugh slowly turned into a belly grabber. He laughed uproariously until tears rolled from his eyes onto his chubby cheeks. "Do you have any money?" he gasped and laughed some more. "Yeah, you have money. Lots of it. Sorry." He wiped tears from his eyes with a napkin. "The way you said it. 'Well, do I have any money, ' just cracked me up. There. I'm human again. Sorry." He reached into a bulging soft briefcase sitting next to him at the booth and pulled out a file. "The current state of your assets, sir." He opened the file, turned it and slid it in front of me. He also yammered while I studied the numbers. "When I told Kathleen that she'd hung up on our most important client, she turned white. You've been a bountiful source of joy for me today, Luke. You surely have." "Fuck," I breathed. "I'm rich." Which set Gordy off on another laughing jag. The house in Carefree sat on ten acres of expensive mountainside land, and it was free and clear, as were the vehicles. The current market value of my stocks and bonds exceeded five million. I owned income producing real estate with an equity approaching ten million, and the value of partial ownership in various businesses totaled another five million. Cash and other liquid assets brought my total net worth to just over twenty-five million. I looked up at Gordy. He'd managed to gain a semblance of control again. "How the hell did I come by this much money?" I asked. That question didn't make him laugh. He frowned. "If you don't know, I can't tell you. I can tell you some of it. For instance, you own part of this microbrewery. I introduced you to Cal Williams, your partner and the manager/operator of this fine establishment, and I introduced you to three other businessmen you helped get started. Luke, you came to me about five years ago with a net worth of ten million dollars, and you've managed to turn that ten into twenty-five since. Where you came by the ten million, I don't know. I can do an audit of your books for the last five years and give you a good idea of how you made your nest egg grow. Your protection business nets a half-million dollars minimum each year, but some years you've doubled that amount." Income from protection contracts, I thought. "Okay. How can I get at my money, Gordy?" "Write a check, whatever." "Gordy, I don't have a checkbook. I didn't know my name until last night. I don't know the name of my bank. I don't have a credit card, or a driver's license, or a social security card." Legal ones anyway, I added in my mind. "I'm in hiding, remember. I'm renting a house in McCormick ranch using an alias and winnings from gambling to pay the rent, and I owe a hospital a bundle that I'd like to pay." "I can fix some of that, Luke. After lunch, I'll go with you to one of your banks, the one where you maintain a checking account - I think it's open on Saturdays - and we'll get you some checks, cancel your lost credit cards and order some new ones. I have your social security number in my files. We'll order a replacement card. Monday morning, we'll go see your stockbroker, so you can move those assets around, too, if that's what you want to do. I know you've done extremely well in the stock market over the last five years. Without doing an audit, I'd say about half your gain in assets during that time came from stocks and bonds. Heck, I follow your investment leads, and you've made me a rich man, too. I owe you, Luke Upton, more than you'll ever know." Hell, I love you, man, he thought, and I'd say so, but it isn't manly. "My lady and I are hosting a cocktail party tonight, Gordy. It would please me if you'd be our guest, you and your lady, that is." He looked like he'd been struck with lightning, and then he choked. I had to pat him on the back to help him gain some control. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I wouldn't miss your party for the world, and neither would Maggie." "Is Maggie your lady?" The name struck a chord. "My wife, as you well know. Oops, you don't know, do you? Oh, this is choice. May I call her and make sure she clears the decks?" I grinned. "Sure." "You introduce us," he said as his cell phone rang in his ear. "Maggie, guess who I'm having lunch with?... Nope. Luke... Yeah. He just invited us to a cocktail party he's hosting with his lady tonight... That's right. His lady... Yeah, I said something similar... Good. I'll get the details and call you again later. Bye." Colleen, I said silently. Gordy and Maggie, his wife, accepted our invitation to the cocktail party. Great. How's it going with him? Fine. Guess what? We're rich. "Tell me about your lady," Gordy said. "Maggie will grill me incessantly when I go home, so spit it out, buddy." I knew that already, Colleen said. I'll fill you in later. Bye for now. "Her name is Colleen. Well, that's her alias, and mine is Ken LaPlant, and those are the names we'll be using at the cocktail party, so clue Maggie in. Gordy, you can't refer to me as Luke. You know why." "Gotcha. Just her name won't do it, man. What else." "She's beautiful and sexy and smart and athletic. She has the face of an angel and a body that doesn't quit, and she's levelheaded, doesn't have a mean bone in her body, and she's studying to be a chef at the Scottsdale Culinary Institute, so she cooks, too." Gordy chortled. "Yep, you've got it bad." "She's young, Gordy, just nineteen. By the way, how old am I?" He cracked up again. Gordy sure could laugh. The waitress set our meals in front of us along with another glass of ale. "You're two years younger than I, and I'm thirty-one," he said and reached for the ketchup. "Nineteen, huh? Hoo boy, Maggie's going to bust a gut when I tell her that." Good golly, Miss Molly, he's robbing the cradle. "The age difference bothered me at first, but I jumped that hurdle mighty quick. I love her, Gordy." Does she know he's rich? She does now, I thought but said, "Have you been in my house in Carefree?" "Sure." "It's quite a house." "Yeah it is. It's carried on the books at three million, but the true market value is closer to five." "Well, Colleen came from a poor family. We met on a bus, and at the time we both believed I did all right financially, but neither of us considered that I might be rich until last night when we saw my house. That I might be rich was a problem for her, at first, but she worked through the problem in her mind. Anyway, right now we're living in a nice, middle-class type house in McCormick Ranch." I gave him the address. "The cocktail party starts at five-thirty and extends to seven-thirty, hors d'oeuvres only, so don't plan on being fed." I glanced at my wristwatch. "Eat up. I want to visit that bank and be home early enough to help Colleen get ready for the party." Maggie won't believe this. She'll think I'm putting her on. Well, seeing is believing. Hoo boy! I said, "The name Maggie rings a bell. Tell me about her. Maybe what you say will help me retrieve my memories of her." "She's a fiery redhead, and I love her dearly." He looked around and lowered his voice. "She met you as Morgan, your work name. She and a group of young women were touring Europe, and a nasty bunch from the Ukraine abducted three of them and held them for ransom. Maggie was one of the three, and the daddy of one of the other women hired you to... you use the term 'recover.' Anyway, you determined their location and went in and recovered them." Recover! That was my specialty in the protection business - recoveries. Recoveries paid better than straight protection gigs, and for a very good reason. Almost always, the person performing the recovery had to face the abductors in a kill-or-be-killed situation. Whether from memories or a skill set I'd just tapped, I suddenly understood the economics of my profession. A half-million a year would be minimum. Gordy said, "Maggie was a mental mess after the ordeal. Therapy and time helped, but she says it was you who made the real difference. You were her rock. My lady loves you, Luke, not as a lover, but as a close, true friend. Then you introduced Maggie to me, and the rest is history." "When you don't have a history, Gordy, history becomes mighty important. Thanks. I remember your fiery redhead now. You're a lucky man." I did remember her, or at least flashes of memory, not total memory. I remembered entering the room where the young women were being held captive and killing their four abductors to set them free. The killing was surgical and sudden but messy. I fired six times: two headshots, two body-mass shots, plus two more headshots. Brains and bone and blood spattered Maggie's face and body. She was naked; all the women were naked. They'd been brutally and repeatedly raped. I remembered Maggie screaming, trying to scramble away from the blood and gore like a crab, and then the silence hit. There is often a small, poignant moment of silence after a killing, and she leapt into my arms and clung to me during that silence. That's it. That's all I remember about Maggie, except one other mental picture. I saw her walking down the aisle toward Gordy and me on her wedding day. I was Gordy's best man. Oh, the memories! ------- From all indications, the cocktail party was a success. The booze and wine flowed. Gary Pernell was indeed a mixologist extraordinaire. The hors d'oeuvres were scrumptious, and the conversation brisk. No one drank too much, so I wasn't needed as a designated driver, which pleased me. I liked all of Colleen's friends. I didn't like two of her friends' guests. Loren Schlader, Gary's date, was a spoiled snot. She considered Gary a boob, and I wondered why she was with him until I discovered Gary enjoyed the benefits of a substantial trust fund. Loren was what Colleen wasn't - a gold digger. Keith Holder, Ellie Marshall's date, had self-esteem problems that made him bluster to present himself as more of a man than he was. Ellie was Colleen's friend from the gun club. I particularly liked Clyde Silvers. He was debonair, a potential lady's man, but he preferred men, specifically Kevin Smith, his life partner. During the party out of earshot from everyone except Clyde, Kevin admitted that he'd told Clyde about my shooting exhibition. Clyde promised that he'd keep my secret and added that he wanted to join us the next time Kevin opened the range for me after hours. Of Colleen's friends, Kate was my favorite. She was bubbly happy and open without artifice. At six feet, she could look me in the eye without looking up, and her husband, David, was taller, about six-five. Their children, if they had any, would be happy basketball players. Jim Gill and his sister, Toni, were no-shows. Toni had been involved in an automobile accident that morning. She was all right, but banged up, and they'd begged off. Sifu teased me when he arrived, wanting to know why I wasn't wearing my Stetson, and I noticed that he avoided Loren Schlader and Keith Holder during the party. Although not a telepath, Sifu was as good or better judge of character as I was with my telepathy. What really pleased me was that Colleen and Maggie made a positive connection immediately. Like Gordy, Maggie was big and tall, what I called big boned, not fat, but... well, mighty curvy. She was fiery and brash, and rarely hesitated to tell it like she saw it, and Colleen, I discovered, liked that in a friend. When I introduced them, Maggie said, "My, my, you are a pretty, little thing." I thought the sparks would fly, and they did a little. Colleen smiled and said, "Pretty? Just pretty? Take another look, Maggie. I'm a living, breathing wet dream. Those are Ken's words, not mine, but if that's what he thinks, that's what I am." She took Maggie's arm and added, "Come on, I want you to meet Kate, another friend of mine. Yes, you and I are fated to be friends, Maggie, good friends. Anyway, Kate's taller than you but not by much. Standing between the two of you will make me feel petite. I've always wanted to be petite, so I'm not about to miss this opportunity." And off they went. Gordy grinned and said, "Now that was something; it surely was. I don't know what it was, but it was something." Later Maggie pulled me aside and said, "She's a keeper, bubba." High praise indeed. A little later, I pulled Maggie aside. "Did you set me up with Candice Singer?" "No way. Stay away from that gal, bubba. She's a piranha." "With the hopes that she'll fill in some of the holes in my past, I'm having brunch with her tomorrow." "Does Colleen know about this assignation?" "Yes, but I'd hardly call it an assignation." "The only hole you'll fill is the gaping cavern between her admittedly long, shapely legs." "Whoa, Maggie, give me some credit. I love Colleen. I'm not about to cheat on her." Maggie looked contrite and said, "Okay, sorry." "Candice knows me by my work name. Why?" Shocked, she said, "She calls you..." Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "... Morgan?" "Yeah." "How did you meet her?" "I don't know. No past, remember. I will say this. When Gordy said your name, I felt a connection, and when he told me about you, I remembered a lot about you. Candice Singer is a complete blank to me. I know her only as speed-dial number two on my phone at the house in Carefree. How do you know her?" "I don't. I met her once - briefly. She was with you, and you introduced us using first names only, which told me you didn't trust her completely, and you made no reference to Gordy, at least in my presence, which told me you didn't want her to know your connection with me. I didn't like her. She's very beautiful, your type, but... Ah, hell, bubba, I can't tell you why, but plain and simple I just didn't like her. I called her a piranha because I sensed she was the type of woman who chew men up and spit them out. She's a user, bubba, as different from Colleen as night is to day." "All that from one brief encounter?" "Yeah. Maybe I'm being unfair. Wrong? I doubt it." I had a hunch Maggie wasn't far off the mark. "I don't like it that she knows your work name," Maggie added. "You keep that name and what you do separate from those you know otherwise. As far as I know, Gordy and I are the only two people who know both identities, so be careful tomorrow, bubba, be very careful." ------- With Maggie's warning echoing in my mind, I drove to the Wrigley Mansion with trepidation - and armed. Not with just a cudgel, either. I wore my XD-9 in a shoulder holster under a blue blazer and Colleen's SIG strapped to my ankle. In my garage in Carefree, I'd discovered a cache of license plates, and not just Arizona plates. Before I left, I removed the legal plate from my Mercedes and installed a Montana license plate. If the police stopped me, the illegal plate would be duly noted, but I'd claim that someone must have switched plates, and I hadn't noticed. I also loaded all three clips for both weapons wearing cotton gloves, so I wouldn't leave my fingerprints on the shell casings. For some reason, the Wrigley Mansion didn't register with me, so I looked it up on the Internet that morning. It was built in 1931 by chewing gum magnate, Wrigley, as a 50th wedding anniversary gift for his beloved wife, Ada. It remained the largest private residence in Arizona until the early 1960s. Named La Colina Solana, or sunny hill, it afforded dramatic views of the Valley of the Sun, downtown Phoenix and nearby Camelback Mountain. Currently, the mansion was a private club, and it offered a champagne brunch to the public on Sundays. On the other hand, Vincent's on Camelback Road did register with me, the restaurant Candice had suggested for lunch yesterday. Neither restaurant was cheap, so Candice knew I had money. I was curious to know if she'd been in my home in Carefree. Tradecraft dictated that I wouldn't expose the location of the Carefree house while in my Morgan persona. I'd be Luke Upton there, and only Luke Upton. I wouldn't mix the two. That being the case, did Morgan have a hidey-hole in the Phoenix area separate and apart from the house in Carefree? Probably, I decided. As I approached the canopy at the mansion to hand over the Mercedes to valet parking, my eyes darted right and left, searching for an inconsistency. The hair on the back of my neck itched, an intuitive premonition of trouble that wasn't always accurate, but was right on the money more times than not. I saw nothing that gave me reason to be concerned, not yet, and hit the buttons that took the windows down, which extended any new telepathic connections to one hundred feet instead of thirty. I drove under the canopy. The valet parker ran around the car and opened my door. His thoughts were innocent. He offered no threat. Perhaps I was being paranoid. I stepped from the car, and held out my hand for the parking ticket, but the valet dropped it when he took my car key. I stooped to retrieve the ticket, and that saved my life. A speeding bullet tears through the atmosphere, displacing the air in front of it, and I felt the displaced air, not the bullet, as the projectile ripped above my bent back, into the open door of my car and slammed into the passenger-side door inside my car. I didn't hear a gunshot, which told me that the sniper was firing a silenced rifle using subsonic ammunition. I also didn't straighten up. I continued downward, moving onto my stomach and sliding under the car. My blue blazer caught on something. I jerked it free and scooted some more, sucking in my gut, and finally slid free on the other side of the car. I didn't pull the XD-9 from its holster, or the SIG strapped to my ankle; neither would be effective against a sniper rifle. I did search for other assailants, and when I found one I pulled my pistol from my shoulder holster. My telepathic sense warned me of another to my left. They had me boxed. Was there another behind me? Yep. I shot him in the chest, which staggered him, but didn't put him down. He's wearing a Kevlar vest, I figured and pulled the trigger again - a head shot. Swinging the pistol to my left, I fired yet again, and I didn't waste a bullet on another vest. The bullet struck that assailants face, and my conscious mind registered hair and blood and brains exploding from the back of his head at about the same time I felt extreme pain sting my left side. I'd been hit. How badly I'd been hit, I didn't know, and I didn't have time to investigate. I spun halfway around and squeezed the trigger the moment I saw my target. I missed. I didn't actually miss. The bullet struck his shoulder, but I'd aimed at his head. I attributed the miss to the wound in my side. My next shot didn't miss. In a crouch, I swung back around. Except for the sniper, I was clear. The valet stood as if rooted in the ground. I'd handed him my car key, and I needed the key to escape the sniper and avoid a run-in with the police. "Throw the key on the seat," I said to the valet. "Now!" He obeyed and ran, dammit. I'd also wanted him to close the driver's-side door. Fuck it! I didn't have a choice. Staying low, I crawled into the car from the passenger side, grabbed the key and pushed it into the ignition. I started the car before I jumped onto the driver's seat, put the transmission in low gear and stomped on the accelerator. The Mercedes shot forward, which closed both doors, and at the same time, a bullet struck the rear door. Crouching low in the seat, I sped down the ramp and spun the wheel for a hard left - almost a u-turn - at the bottom of the ramp. The turn put the car up on two wheels, but I maintained control and stopped the skid when the tires met the road again. With the engine screaming as I shifted into second gear, the Mercedes tore down the access road. The direction of my forward movement put most of the Mercedes between the sniper and me, a good thing, because two more bullets slammed into the right side of the car as I sped away. With tires squealing, I turned right at 24th Street and stomped on the accelerator again. Was I being followed? If I'd set up the hit, I'd have stationed a follow car with more shooters on 24th Street, a choke point and the main ingress and egress intersection to the Wrigley Mansion and Biltmore Hotel. Yeah, there they are - four men in a Honda Accord, I thought. I dropped the partially empty clip from the XD-9, and slammed in a full one. Then I did the unexpected. I stopped the car hard, but not so hard the brakes locked. When the car stopped, I threw it in reverse, and moved out the passenger door. My assailants were twenty-five yards away, my favorite shooting distance. I picked my shots, but emptied the pistol in four seconds, give or take a second. I had the time because I took out the driver first. The Honda veered left away from me, jumped the curb, tore through a landscaped area at the side of the road, finally crashing into a concrete-block, privacy fence. By then, I was back in the Mercedes heading north. I didn't assess my wound until I moved onto the 51 Freeway. Lots of blood, but from what I could see, it was a flesh wound. From the feel of it, the bullet might have cracked a rib. Still, I'd been lucky. It was also time to test my lady's strength and her reaction to the danger I faced, not just from my enemies, but also from what I did for a living. I clicked my tongue. What? Meet me at the Carefree house. When? Now. I've been shot, nothing serious, but I'll need your help. ------- Chapter 4 I'm out the door now. What happened? Colleen said silently. Ambush. Candice Singer is one of my enemies. Nothing serious, you said. What does that mean? We mind-talked, which helped alleviate Colleen's fear and kept me awake. The need for sleep was one of many affects of adrenaline dump. I had it bad. Besides being so tired I could barely hold my head up, I was also shaking like a leaf. As I knew I would, I arrived at the house first. Otherwise, I would not have asked Colleen to meet me there. It was remote but possible that my enemies would be waiting for me at the house. If I'd introduced Candice Singer to Luke Upton, or if I'd invited her to the house, my enemies would be waiting or would soon arrive. They weren't waiting. I stumbled up the stairs to the security room and activated all perimeter defenses. I also watched Colleen race up the mountainside in the Hummer. Slow down, I told her silently. I'm here. I'm safe. Yeah, with a hole in your side. The Hummer skidded to a stop as the gates opened, and three minutes later Colleen was on her knees examining my wound. "It's not as bad as I thought it'd be. Tell me what to do," she said. "Grab the hydrogen peroxide in the medicine cabinet in the master bath and, on the way back, pick up the first-aid kit in the armory. The armory door is open." "You need to lie down." "Later. I'll continue to monitor..." She was gone before I could finish my explanation and returned in less than a minute. The hydrogen peroxide foamed on the wound, and ten minutes later, it was bandaged. I'd told her what had happened while en route to the house, and she had not asked any unnecessary questions since, which pleased me. "Now what?" she asked. "Ibuprofen." I took four of them. "Bed," she said. "Now. I'll watch the monitors." I disarmed the landmines. "I'll use the guestroom. Wake me if a car starts up our drive or you see anything suspicious." She nodded. "You made me proud, sweet thing. You didn't panic. You didn't ask a lot of foolish, unnecessary questions. You stayed focused and did what needed doing. I love you." "Yeah, well, I'm shaking like a leaf now." I chuckled. "I noticed. That's adrenaline dump. You'll be fine." I crashed. It was dark when my eyes opened. I cast my mind out and about and found Colleen. I'm awake, I said to her silently. Where are you? The security room. How are you? Stiff. Sore. Anything on the monitors? No. Leave them. If my enemies knew about this place, they'd have been here by now. What time is it? I rolled my feet to the floor. "Seven o'clock," she said out loud as she walked into the guestroom. When she sat next to me, I wrapped her in my arms. What now? she asked. "Dinner. I'm hungry." She chuckled. "No food in the refrigerator. We need to stock groceries here." "Yeah, we do." "The pantry is stocked. I'll figure something out, and I'll shop tomorrow." "All right." While she figured something out, I tried to call Candice Singer, but my call was transferred to her voicemail. I didn't leave a message and suspected speed-dial number two would thereafter be forwarded to voicemail. Then I connected with Norm in Las Vegas, or at least, I assumed that's where he was. I'd connected with the thug and his partner, Sal, frequently since my escape from Vegas, but Norm and his partner weren't truly in the loop. The only intel I gathered from my connections with them were more first or nicknames, none of which triggered any memories. I'd hoped that Norm or his buddy's thoughts would warn me of a pending attack, but that hadn't happened, not in Kingman nor today. Norm and his friend were part-time employees of a sub-contractor, hired by my enemy or enemies. I knew the boss's first name - Gino. That's all. In the entertainment room, I watched the news on television. The shootout at the Wrigley Mansion was the lead story. A cute reporter interviewed the valet parker. That boy knew cars. He described the Mercedes perfectly, but his description of me wasn't close, and his testimony of what he believed had happened was even further from reality than my description. Another witness, an older lady, gave a better description of me but believed the car was a Lexus, and she wasn't aware of the sniper. No human collateral damage, thank fate. The three dead men at the mansion and the four that crashed into a wall off 24th Street had not been identified. Contract killers usually didn't carry identification. Eventually, the police would identify them through their fingerprints. I relaxed a little. If the police had connected this brouhaha with the one in Kingman, the media hadn't been informed of the connection. I hobbled downstairs and to the garage. The Mercedes couldn't be driven. The bullet holes would need to be repaired and the entire vehicle painted first, not to mention fixing the interior damage, and I didn't know who... yes, I did! I knew the man to call to get the repairs done. Memories! Ya gotta love 'em! "It's Morgan," I said to the man who answered my call. "Figures," he said. "The Wrigley Mansion?" "Yes." "Where and when?" "I-17 and the Carefree Highway. Two hours." "Do you need a loaner?" "No. I'll have someone follow me." "Really?" "Yeah." I changed the license plate on the Mercedes, using one for the State of Texas. I also removed everything from the glove box, which included the registration slip for the car and the required insurance card. After dinner - canned soup, but Colleen made canned soup mighty tasty - Colleen followed me to my rendezvous with Jasper, the man who repaired my vehicles, their engines as well as any bodywork. I didn't know his last name. En route, I broke down the XD-9 I'd used at the Wrigley Mansion and dropped the pieces in three different storm sewer grills. I lose more XD-9s that way, a guess, not a memory. "One week," Jasper said after investigating the damage. "Okay. I'll call you." "Good. 'Cause I can't call you. I don't know your current telephone number." Tradecraft. Having Colleen follow me to meet Jasper wasn't proper tradecraft, I suddenly realized. That's why Jasper sounded surprised earlier when I told him I wouldn't need a loaner. While driving back to the house in Carefree, I told Colleen about the mistake I'd made. "I wonder how many other mistakes I made today," I added. "And how many I'll make in the future. I need my memories, dammit!" ------- The next morning, I called Sifu to cancel our morning sparring sessions for a week, claiming illness. Connected with him at the time, I was amazed at his powers of deduction. He suspected that I was involved with the gun battle at the Wrigley Mansion. That he didn't sense me in his mind surprised me, though. "Is your... ah, illness serious, Dr. Ken?" he asked. I laughed. "No. I just bruised some ribs. I should be fine next week." "That's good to hear. I've come to enjoy our morning sparring sessions." As Colleen was leaving to practice shooting, she said, "After I stop by the house in McCormick Ranch and pick up some clothes to keep here, I'll shop for groceries. Will we be giving up the house in McCormick Ranch, cowboy?" I frowned. "I don't know. We're in an awkward situation. It's not a good idea to mix identities. Here, we can be Luke and Charlotte. I suspect I have another house in the Phoenix area where I put on my Morgan persona, and when in the house in Scottsdale, I'm Ken and you're Colleen. I've kept the Luke Upton identity separate from my work. Morgan is my work name. If I hadn't been scrupulous about the separation, my enemies would have tried to take me here last night." I shook my head. "Uh-uh, we can't give up the Scottsdale house. We have friends who know us only as Ken and Colleen. Unless we're willing to give up those friends, we must remain Ken and Colleen to them, and when we meet them at our house, it must be in Scottsdale, not here. As far as I know, only Gordy and Maggie know about all three of my identities, and they don't know your real identity. Let's keep it that way." "All right." I grinned. "Call Maggie. See if she'll go shopping with you this afternoon. You need a complete wardrobe for this house so you don't have to haul clothes back and forth, and I'm not up to a marathon shopping spree." She squealed and hugged me, forgetting about my sore ribs. When I winced, she apologized until I shut her up with a kiss. After she left, I called Gordy, but his office wasn't open yet, and I didn't have his home number. At loose ends, I checked out my library. My taste in fiction was eclectic, ranging from Westerns to sci-fi to modern thrillers. I opened Robert Heinlein's The Moon is a Harsh Mistress and read a few pages. I'd read the book, I soon realized. Was that a memory? Yeah, it was. An hour later, I'd cracked the spines on a dozen more books, and I'd read all of them. I moved from the fiction shelves to non-fiction and quickly determined I'd read those books, too. Yeah, I was a reader. My library contained hundreds of books, and I suspected I'd read and enjoyed all of them. Gordy's office was open when I called him again, and he immediately started to question me about the altercation at the Wrigley Mansion. I stopped him. "Not over the telephone, Gordy. I'm stranded. Can you meet me at my house in Carefree?" He agreed. The pantry offered a can of coffee, so I put a pot on to perk, and also dropped some tea bags into a jug of water and set it outside. I'd have sun tea by lunchtime. Gordy arrived, huffing after climbing the stairs, accepted coffee, and I brought him up to date. "Do I have another house where I'm Morgan?" I asked him. "Yeah, except it's a condo, not a house." "Where?" "A penthouse in a mid-rise building in Phoenix on Camelback Avenue and 24th Street. That's where you spent most of your time when you were in the area." "That residence is blown, Gordy. My enemies know its location." "Maybe not. Have you read the morning paper?" "No." He pulled a newspaper out of his bulging, soft briefcase. "Below the fold on the second section." The headlines on the first page offered details about the shootout at the Wrigley Mansion. I skipped those stories and pulled out the second section. Woman Shot to Death Execution Style, I read. Candice J. Singer, a prominent, local attorney, was found murdered in her home in Paradise Valley last night. Neighbors reported hearing a gunshot at approximately... I quickly read the article, and looked up at Gordy. "Maybe Candice wasn't an enemy after all." He nodded. "Nonetheless, the condo in Phoenix is blown. Do I, as Morgan, own the condo?" "Yeah, and a couple of vehicles: a Lexus and a Cadillac Escalade." "I didn't see them on the balance sheet you gave me Saturday." "That was Luke Upton's balance sheet, but in an around about way, Morgan's assets were included on Upton's balance sheet." He dug around in his briefcase and pushed a file at me. "That's Morgan's balance sheet." The condo was valued at $650,000, and the vehicles, other personal property, and liquid assets gave Morgan a net worth of $880,000. Gordy said, "You maintained most of your assets in your real name, Luke." "Did Morgan file tax returns?" "Yes, but as an LLC. Morgan is a Nevada Limited Liability Company, Luke, not a person." "Oh." Surprisingly, that made sense to me. "And Luke Upton owns Morgan, LLC?" "Yes, through a nominee, which is another LLC organized in the Bahamas, which is owned by a Delaware corporation, which is owned by... you get the picture. Tracing Morgan, LLC, back to Luke Upton wouldn't be easy, and the convoluted ownerships are a nightmare at tax time." He laughed heartily. "Still, you're squeaky clean with the IRS, buddy, thanks to yours truly." "Can I abandon Morgan as an identity?" "Sure, but you won't. It's your work name. Your principals hire Morgan, not Luke Upton. Changing that name would mean you'd need to start over with your protection business." "How do I acquire new protection contracts?" He shrugged. "Don't know." "Where do I book protection income? In Morgan, LLC?" "No, in another LLC called Protect & Serve. Morgan owned real and personal property, but wasn't operated as a business. Morgan was created to present a pseudo identity to the world. Protect & Serve, LLC, represents the protection business." "Does Protect & Serve have an office?" "Yes, and to anticipate your next question, it leases executive office space in another mid-rise building on Camelback Road." "Any employees?" "One, but she's a leased employee and doesn't work at the office." "Where does she work?" "Out of her home." "Do you know her name and phone number?" "Sure." He pulled yet another file out of his briefcase and gave me her name and phone number. I dialed the number. When Sherry Garrett answered the call, I said, "Do you recognize my voice?" Silence stretched out for a second, and then I heard a loud sigh. "Morgan, where the fuck have you been? You've got potential recovery and protection contracts coming out your ears." After I explained what had happened and about my amnesia, she snorted with disgust. "I wondered why you dropped off the face of the earth. Well, what are ya goin' ta do about the possible contracts stackin' up on my desk?" "We need to meet." "Hah! That'll be a first." My jaw gaped. "We've never met?" "Nope. You hired me sight unseen. That was five years ago. You said it could be dangerous for me if we met. Has that changed?" "No." I sighed. I'd just made another mistake. "We won't meet, but we need to talk. Hang on for a second." I covered the mouthpiece on the phone. "Gordy, this call will take a while." "I'll pour another cup of coffee and enjoy it on your patio," he said. I went back to the phone. "Sherry, what do you do for me?" We talked for a half-hour. Sherry handled my referral-call system. As Morgan, I'd set up a network of lawyers and other referral sources around the country, hundreds of them. If one of them referred a contract that I accepted, I paid a hefty referral fee. Sherry received and screened the calls. When not working a contract, I spoke with her every day. "How many potential contracts are on the table right now?" I asked. "Three, but over the last few months, I've turned away a dozen... no, make that closer to two dozen than a dozen. From working with you for over three years, I know the kind of contracts you take. I'd say you missed fifteen high-payin' contracts since you disappeared." It sounded like I should be running an organization, not the one-man band I currently operated. "Sherry, unfortunately I'll miss some more. Until my memories peek out from wherever they're hiding, I can't accept a contract. Besides, someone or a group is trying to kill me, so I'm in hiding, to boot." "Humph, truth be told, I thought you were dead already, but the weekly checks never stopped, so I kept workin'. I'm happy you're alive. This is the best fuckin' job I ever had, and what with being in a wheelchair, there ain't very many jobs out there for the likes of me." "Wheelchair?" "Yeah. I'm fat and black and gettin' old, and I've been wheelchair bound for ten years, Morgan, so you be careful, you hear." I chuckled. "I'm always careful." "That's what you always say. Okay, I'll put everybody off or turn them away, but keep in touch. I get lonely if I don't hear your sexy voice, baby." Whether inappropriate or not, I laughed. My hilarity didn't offend her, though. She laughed right along with me. I ended the call with Sherry, poured myself a cup of coffee and joined Gordy on the patio. He was skimming leaves and debris out of the pool. It was a beautiful, clear day, not a cloud in the sky, about eighty-five degrees, I guessed, not too hot to enjoy lounging on the patio. "I now know how I acquire new protection contracts. Gordy, you know things I need to know. Sit down, please. Start at the beginning when I contacted you five years ago and tell me everything. Tell me about my assets, all of them. Tell me about my contacts and relationships, business or otherwise." He talked and talked. Some of his comments triggered memories, not often, but every new memory was always appreciated. His knowledge about me was encyclopedic. What he didn't have in his head, he carried with him in that bulging briefcase. He didn't know everything about me, but he knew a lot more than I knew about myself. He had an accountant's mind - detail oriented - and even with the many questions I tossed out, interrupting him, he could pick up where he left off without effort. He also related just about everything to chronological changes on my balance sheet, and as affable as he was, he could and did make events and my business colleagues memorable. He also knew some of the women I'd spent some time with over the years (he hadn't met Candice Singer) and made me laugh when he told me about a few of them. "You came close to marrying a gal named Gabriella Lindy. Gabby was a pistol, gorgeous and smart as a whip, but in the end, she couldn't handle what you did for a living. She married a corporate hot shot - a safe and simple man, she called him. Another woman, Lena... ah, I can't remember her last name, couldn't handle your extended absences. Sometimes a job would keep you away for a month, or longer, and you'd come home, hang around for a day or two, and then fly off somewhere to another job." He gave me a hard look. "How will Colleen handle what you do, the danger, the threats, the fact that you kill, and will she put up with you gone most of the time?" "She can handle what I do. She's seen me kill, and yesterday, she patched up my gunshot wound. I don't know how she'll handle my absences." That's when Colleen and Maggie arrived, laughing gaily about something, and carrying a large bag of Chinese take out. "Lunch time," Maggie announced when she saw Gordy and me on the patio. ------- Gordy's question haunted me, but I wasn't able to bring up the subject with Colleen until the next morning at breakfast. After shopping with Maggie, Colleen just had to model her new wardrobe for me. Watching her remove one outfit to put on another jumpstarted my libido, and one thing led to another until we ended up making love with Colleen doing most of the work because I wasn't all that mobile after being shot. I have to admit that I did some wincing and gritting of teeth, but it was worth it. I took a bite of scrambled egg, chewed, swallowed and said, "Gordy tells me the women in my past either couldn't handle what I do for a living, or the extended absences necessary to do what I do, or both." She looked up at me. "Extended absences?" "Yes. A job can take a month, sweet thing, and Gordy told me about one that took three months. My principals don't come to me. I go to them." She frowned and said, "I won't like that." I won't either, I thought without transferring the thought to her, and the thought surprised me. "You mentioned downtime before. Is that the time you spend here between jobs?" she asked. "Yes, except I sometimes use downtime to vacation elsewhere." "How much downtime do you take each year?" "I don't know." It can't be much, she thought. One month, maybe two. Not more than three. That'd be my guess, I replied silently. She shook her head. "That won't work, cowboy, not for me, not for you. It worked for you before because you weren't in love. Love's got its grip on you now. You won't be happy alone for nine or ten months of the year." She grinned and gave me a sweet kiss. "So, put on your thinking cap and figure out how you can change your business so you can be with me at least half the time." What was it that Sifu told me about Colleen? I remembered. He said that Colleen would act or cause me to act in a way that would allow her to cast away any negative emotions, and that in this she would be very determined. On the surface, her solution to the dilemma sounded simple, and I guess it was. I had enough money to take care of us for the rest of our lives. I didn't need to work. No, that wasn't true. I needed to work; I needed to protect and serve. That's what I did, what defined me as a person. Argh. "First things first," I replied. "Recover memories first; find and eliminate enemies second, and then I'll put on my thinking cap." "Uh-uh. You can think about the problem while taking care of the first two things. What are your plans for the day?" "Gordy offered to re-introduce me to my local business contacts. Hopefully, meeting some of them will jog some memories loose." "Will you need the Hummer?" "No, I'll ride with Gordy." She needs her own car, I thought, and then imagined shopping for a car with her. Now that would be fun! "Do you have any free time today?" I asked. "Not much. Why?" "How about tomorrow?" "Cowboy, if you need me to do something, just say so. I'll get it done." "We're short a vehicle. I don't know the whereabouts of my nondescript sedan, and the Mercedes is being repaired. I can't risk using either vehicle Morgan owns, and the Camry is in Scottsdale." "Well, ride with me to Scottsdale, and we'll pick up the Camry." "And," I said with a big grin, "I was thinking that you should have your own car." She looked stunned. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" "If you had a choice of any car on the market, which one would you pick?" She shook her head. "I don't know. Cowboy, you don't need another car." "Correct, I don't. I have six cars. That four of them are out of service is temporary. But you, sweet thing, don't have a car. Put your thinking cap on. I expect a small list, say two or three different makes and models that represent your dream car, and free up some time tomorrow afternoon to shop the cars on the list. I know how much you enjoy shopping, and..." She stopped my babbling with a kiss. That evening, she presented me with her list. It was indeed small: a Cadillac, no model, no other details. I asked why. "My daddy always wanted a Cadillac," she said. "When I drive away from the car shop in my own Cadillac, Daddy will be sitting in the car with me." I thought she'd buy a sporty coupe. "Uh-uh," she said. "I have friends and I'll make more friends. I'll need a sedan, cowboy." She listened to me regarding the transmission. "Get a manual, sweet thing. I want you to take a survival-driving course - part of your tradecraft training I haven't mentioned yet. A manual transmission gives you more control than an automatic." The dealer displayed a shiny black CTS-V on the floor. Colleen fell in love with it at first sight. The salesman had me by the balls, and he knew it. I didn't care. "Waddaya think, Daddy?" Colleen said, her eyes sparkling and gazing skyward, looking up through the moon roof as she drove the car off the lot. "Pretty snazzy, huh?" Happy tears joined her wide smile, and I fell in love with her all over again. ------- The next afternoon, Gordy introduced me to Debra Kaufman, a business partner of mine. I'd provided her with venture capital to open her first beauty salon. We jointly owned and operated three locations now, or rather we owned them, and Debra operated them. She was a very beautiful women in her early forties, and... I'd fucked her, and not just once, either. Gordy wasn't aware that Debra and I were not only business partners but also lovers, and Debra didn't offer him any clues. She didn't offer me any, either, except with her thoughts, and her thoughts triggered a host of memories. She'd been my first partner in my venture capital business, and Gordy had introduced us. Gordy reviewed business plans and screened them before giving them to me for my review. Not many passed muster; Debra's did. The sexual tension between us started to build the second we first met. Debra reminded me of the woman who had relieved me of my virginity when I was a lad of sixteen, and Debra preferred younger men. I found out later that I represented her idea of the perfect man: young, rich, self-confident, and dangerous. She wasn't attracted to macho men, men wearing their manhood on their sleeves. The danger had to be under the surface and under control. She knew me as Jake Upton, though, not as Morgan, so she wasn't aware of the dangerous business that made the money I invested. Still, she sensed my underlying capacity to explode with deadly force. The morning after we signed the documents that provided her seed money in exchange for my ownership position in the company we formed, she showed up at my house. Not the house in Carefree. That house was under construction at the time. I let her in, and without a word, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me passionately. "Fuck me," she said between kisses. What did I do? I fucked her, of course, but that wasn't what made Debra so memorable. The next morning, she knocked on my door again, and she wasn't alone. "Luke, meet Roberta," Debra said. "Roberta, this is Luke, the sexy man I told you about." Roberta was my age, which was twenty-four at time. She was a parts model. By parts model, I mean she modeled only her legs. They were long and shapely, perfect enough for photographers and advertising agencies to employ her for any advertising that required perfect legs. I, of course, didn't know her vocation until later. I did notice her legs at the time. "Bobbie and I are lovers, Luke," Debra said. "Like me, she's bisexual. Would you be opposed to fucking both of us at the same time?" I didn't respond, not immediately, not until I closed my gaping mouth, and by then the look of lust in my eyes didn't require a verbal response. Debra laughed; Bobbie smiled, and then they stripped. They didn't remove their own clothes; they removed each other's, and they kissed and fondled each other in the process. Hard! I don't believe I've ever been so hard - boy-cock hard, I thought at the time I relived the memory. When they were naked, they stripped me. I helped. While Bobbie pushed my shirt off my shoulders, Debra sucked my cock. She was a noisy sucker, which enhanced my pleasure. Bobbie interrupted Debra's slurping for a taste of her own and promptly took my entire length into her throat. Then Debra straddled me, taking me into her ravenous cunt, and Bobbie sat on my face. They kissed and fondled each other, and then traded places. After I climaxed inside Bobbie, Debra slurped my juices from Bobbie's cunt just as noisily as she'd sucked my cock. Watching the two beautiful women entwined in a sixty-nine gave me another hard-on, and I pushed it into Debra while Bobbie continued to dine. Bobbie licked the underside of my shaft as it moved in and out of Debra, and then concentrated on Debra's clit. Debra climaxed first, and Bobbie fell to the bed with her legs open. "Fuck me now," she said. "And come in me again. Debra likes to eat pussy full of man come." That morning we tried everything a man and two women can do, or rather that's what I believed until the next time they showed up at my door and demonstrated that we could do quite a few things we hadn't done before. About a year later, Debra arrived with a different woman, a blonde goddess about twenty years old. I don't know what happened to Bobbie. I never saw her again, and I didn't ask. Thereafter on an annual basis, Debra introduced me to a new woman we both enjoyed. Back in the present when Gordy briefly left Debra and I alone, she said, "You need to meet Valerie, Luke. She's delicious." I smiled and said, "Sorry, Debra. I'm in love." "Fuck," she breathed and sighed. "I guess it was inevitable. Tell me about her." "She's a living, breathing wet dream, smart, compassionate, kind, and strong." "Hmm, my kind of gal. Is she bisexual?" "Yes, but... Debra, we're monogamous." Humph, she thought. Now you are. We'll see later. "Valerie will be disappointed," she said. "As am I." Hmm, maybe... no, he's too needy. Jack might be interested. I'll give him a call later, fuck his brains out, and if he's the one, introduce him to Valerie. If not Jack, I'll find someone else. After all, what I offer is every man's dream. That it coincides with my needs is serendipity. I grinned. I had no reason to worry about Debra Kaufman. Gordy returned and the three of us reviewed a business plan that outlined how we'd franchise the beauty salons. I approved the plan and wrote a check for a million dollars, a loan, not an investment. Gordy said, "Luke's gotta sell some stock to cover that check, Debra. Hold it for a week before you deposit it, and I'll go to work on the other financing you'll need." The new financing would cover my loan. That night, I told Colleen about my Debra memories, which made Colleen hot, and we fucked our brains out. Later she said, "Would you like to fuck Debra and Valerie?" "Sure, but I won't. I don't need or truly want anyone but you, Colleen." She snuggled with me. "Good. I feel the same way." I woke up in the night, and Colleen was dreaming. She was watching me fuck Debra, and after I came, she pushed her face between Debra's legs and licked my come from Debra's cunt. I cupped Colleen's pussy with my hand. It was sopping, and my touch awakened her. Without speaking, she pulled me over her, and we made love. I didn't tell her I could experience the thoughts in her dreams. Dreams should be private. ------- I'd retrieved a lot of memories, either remembered them or put together moments from my past that Gordy and others described that gave me a facsimile of a memory. There were, however, some glaring exceptions. My youth in the orphanage was an open book, but I still couldn't see my mentor's face or remember his name, and my only memory of the gentleman was that day he took me by my hand and started my training in kung fu. I felt certain that I'd interacted with him after that time, most likely frequently. Why was my memory retrieval system being stubborn about this man? I jotted down this exception on a pad of paper. From a business perspective, Gordy filled in many events that took place during the last five years, especially those not shrouded in secrecy necessitated by the protection business. Still, he paid the bills and sent out invoices, so I had a list of the principals I'd served during the five years I'd operated Protect & Serve, also the major subcontractors and vendors I used, but neither Gordy nor Sherry had a copy of my referral source list. Oh, Gordy gave me the names and addresses for the referral sources I'd paid, but I figured that list was only a small percentage of the total names on the list. Sherry, at my request, added some names to those Gordy gave me, but not very many, and I sensed that the list was very important to the ongoing profitability and success of the business. I don't know why, but I suspected the list was on the hard drive in the computer in my office in Carefree, a computer I couldn't open because I couldn't remember the password. Where was my nondescript sedan, the one missing from the garage in Carefree? Would knowing its location point toward the events preceding my loss of memory in Vegas? I jotted down these exceptions. The largest gap in my memories involved the time I left the orphanage at eighteen until I resurfaced and hired Gordy as my accountant when I was twenty-four. Those six years were a blank, and sometime during that dark period, I amassed a ten million dollar stake. How? If I could open my safe in the walk-in closet in Carefree, would I find papers that would fill in some events that happened during the lost six years? The most glaring missing memory was the identity of the person or group who wanted me dead, and I couldn't remember why they wanted me dead, either. I read my Glaring Exception List: 1. Name and appearance of sponsor at orphanage 2. Referral Source List 3. Password to open computer in Carefree office 4. Whereabouts of missing nondescript sedan 5. Lost six years! 6. Source for ten million dollar stake! 7. Combination for safe in Carefree closet 8. Identity of person or group trying to kill me - and why!! Was the list complete? I didn't know. I did know that I'd need to spend some time as Morgan to flush out the list and answer some or all of the questions the present list. Perhaps occupying the penthouse condo for a few days would also jog some memories. That night, I handed my list to Colleen. "Where was the orphanage located?" she asked. "Reno, Nevada." She asked about and I explained the Referral Source List, and another question prompted me to tell her why the missing sedan might be important. "Sweet thing, I need to spend some time as Morgan, which means I must live in his penthouse condo for a few days and visit Protect & Serve's executive office. My critical missing memories are Morgan's. Interacting with people who know me as Morgan might help me retrieve them." Fear filled her expression, fear for me. They'll find you and kill you, she thought. I'm not easy to kill. Cross off numbers 3 and 7 on your list first. How? Hire a computer hacker to open your computer. Hire a safecracker to open the safe. Stand over them while they're doing their jobs so they don't see anything you don't want them to see. All right. Regarding number 4, call your insurance company. Tell them about your amnesia and the missing vehicle. Faced with a potential loss claim, they'll look for the car. I shook my head. Uh-uh, for all I know the vehicle was involved in a shootout and is sitting in a police impound yard somewhere. Good point. Forget that suggestion. Is the orphanage still operating? she asked silently. I don't know. Open or not, let's fly to Reno and talk to some folks you knew back then. Besides possibly discovering the identity of your sponsor, perhaps your enquiries will give you some clues you can follow that will fill in parts or all of the lost years. I grinned. "Have I told you today that I love you?" Her smile lit up the room. "Yep, but tell me again, cowboy." ------- I didn't know a computer hacker or a safecracker, or rather I couldn't remember dealing with either service, but it was possible that Protect & Serve had employed one or both in the past, so I called Gordy and told him what I wanted. He groaned. "What's the problem?" I asked. "Luke, it's possible, even likely, that one of the names on your vendor list is a hacker or safecracker, but... let me put it this way. When you're on a job, you refer to me as your paymaster, no name, just paymaster. When you employ a service, you call me with a name, telephone number and an amount. As paymaster, I call the vendor, acquire banking information and wire half the amount immediately and the other half when the job is complete. For these transactions, I use a secure phone, meaning the number can't be traced to me, and I wire the funds out of a bank account I open that also can't be traced to me. I close the account at the completion of the job. Most of the funds transferred go to legitimate companies, but you occasionally and necessarily hire men or women from the edges of the criminal element of society. On those occasions, you usually don't give me a job description along with the name, phone number and amount. Oh, sometimes, you mention the purpose. You say something like, 'He's a shooter. I'll use him as backup for the takedown, ' or 'He's a defrocked medical doctor. If something goes haywire, I'll need a doctor handy who won't report gunshot wounds, ' but like I said, most of the time you just give me a name, number and amount. Also, you paid cash for some services and equipment. 'Illegal, local small-arms dealers don't take checks and would fall down laughing if I mentioned a wire transfer, ' you said to me one time, so those transactions weren't even associated with a name." "What rational did you use to invoice the principal for these expenses?" I asked. "None, except I demonstrated that the funds were expended with copies of the bank statement. I didn't communicate with the principals, Luke. You did. I opened a bank account with each retainer, and as expenses were paid if more money was needed in the account, you dealt with the principal, not me. As an aside, I only ran short once in the five years I've worked with you, and as far as I know, no principal questioned an expense." "That's... ah, interesting." His comment also gave me an idea. "Did the protection contract include a handling fee?" "No. Maybe. What do you mean?" "Did I add a handling fee to the expenses?" "Oh. No, not that I'm aware of." "Getting back to the start of our conversation and my request, what you're saying is if I hired a hacker or safecracker in the past, they might or might not listed our vendor list, but even if they are you can't attach the name to their services. Correct?" "Yep." Would reviewing vendor names associated with specific contracts produce new memories? Maybe. I told Gordy I wanted a list of all vendors, individual and/or company names, the dates involved, as well as the location of their bank accounts, and I wanted each name associated with a specific protection or recovery contract. "That'll take a couple of days, Luke." "No problem. I have a couple of other questions. Do I have a personal lawyer as opposed to the lawyer we use for my businesses?" I'd met my corporate attorney when I reviewed the contract I presented principals for protection jobs. "Hmm, possibly." He gave me a name and phone number. "Do you know her?" I asked. Marna Crispin. The name didn't ring a memory bell. "I met her once at a charity function... no, I think the event was political... I can't remember. It was one or the other. You weren't at the event, and your name didn't come up. The event was a name-badge type of affair, and her name badge included her firm as well as her name. I recognized the firm name as one of your vendors and checked later. Correspondence from her firm came under her signature. You asked if I knew her. I'd have to say no, Luke. Also, you might have dealt with her as Morgan, rather than Luke Upton." "Okay. I'll call her. Last question. Is the orphanage in Reno still open and operating?" "Yeah. It's one of your charities. Mine, too. Why are you asking?" "In an effort to find clues to my past, Colleen and I decided to visit the orphanage and talk to some of the folks who knew me back then. Hopefully, I'll also pick up some threads I can follow that will fill in the lost six years after I left the orphanage until I reconnected with you." ------- Cowboy, can we mind-talk? Sure, I replied silently. Where are you? En route to meet with my personal attorney. What would you like to talk about? A dinner party. Okay. With your friends? No, except for Maggie and Gordy. They're my friends. I'm thinking we should host a dinner party for your business partners and associates, those folks who know you as Luke Upton, and have the party at the Carefree house. The dining table expands, and I found additional matching dining chairs in storage next to the garage. We can serve twelve without a problem. Waddaya think? Sounds fun. Fun for you, maybe. I've gotta admit the idea scares me, but... Cowboy, I think I'm ready to prepare the meal and act as hostess for such a gathering, but... well, you know what I mean. Because Colleen's mother was a whore and her father a drunk, she hadn't been exposed to any of the finer things in life. That she felt confident enough to suggest the dinner party made me proud. We can hire some help for you, I suggested. That was the other subject I wanted to discuss. I'd like to hire Kate and Gary to help me prepare the meal and serve it, and Gary will also act as bartender, but if I hire them, they'll need to know about Luke Upton. I know mixing identities is dangerous, but... Can you trust them? Truthfully, I saw no problem with Kate or Gary knowing about Luke Upton, and that feeling extended to David, Kate's husband. However, I didn't trust Loren Schlader, Gary's girlfriend, as far as I could throw her. Yes, Colleen said. What about Loren Schlader? I asked. Gary broke up with her. Does he have a new girlfriend? No. Cowboy, I sense you don't have a problem with Kate knowing about Luke Upton, but you don't trust Gary. Am I reading you right? I like Gary, and I trust him, but his choice in girlfriends concerns me. I trust Gary more than Kate, and Gary needs a friend right now. I'm that friend. We'll tell Kate and Gary about Luke Upton, the financier and investor. We won't tell them about Morgan and the protection business. You don't spend enough time in the house in Scottsdale to justify keeping it, and wherever you are, that's where I'll be. I've been thinking about this. If I have to, I'll give up Ellie and Jim as friends. I've already backed away from Ellie. I don't like her boyfriend. Kevin Smith and Clyde Silvers know you as Morgan and Ken LaPlant. We won't socialize with them anymore, and our contact with them can be at the gun club only. Also, I sense you don't have a problem with Sifu knowing any identity. Correct? Yes. Talk with him about Jim Gill, my friend from the kwoon. If I have to, I'll back off my friendship with him, too. Let's clean up our act. It's too complicated. And let's give up that house in Scottsdale. Do you want to be known as Charlotte Hilton? That's not necessary. You have amnesia, the reason you suddenly became Luke Upton instead of Kenneth LaPlant. I don't have that or any reasonable excuse to change my name. I'll stay Colleen. Okay? Yes. All right, I'll go along with everything you've suggested. What's the schedule for the dinner party? Not this weekend, but the next, a Friday, unless that date conflicts with our trip to Reno. If the trip conflicts, we'll go to Reno after the dinner party. Sweet thing, I'm stepping out of an elevator to meet my lawyer. I'll talk to you later. I didn't expect trouble. The hair on the back of my neck wasn't itching, but like my meeting with Candice Singer, I didn't know what to expect, and I didn't want a silent conversation with Colleen confusing my concentration. What's his name, your lawyer, I mean? Colleen asked. Her name is Marna Crispin. Argh, another woman, no doubt young and beautiful. I laughed. Yep, another woman. I don't know her age or what she looks like. ------- Marna Crispin was not young and beautiful. She was gray. Gray hair. Gray eyes. Pasty complexion. Overweight. I guessed her age between sixty-five and seventy. She wasn't butt ugly, but she was homely, looked slovenly, and projected an "I don't give a fuck" attitude. Two minutes later, she enthralled me. Her smile warmed my heart and brightened the room. Her eyes and expression morphed from cold and cynical to kind and caring. Homely became beautiful, but she still looked slovenly. I didn't care. After I told her my sad saga - without mentioning Morgan or the protection business - she cocked her gray head, gave me a sympathetic look and said, "Amnesia, huh? That's got to be rough." Her kind gray eyes drew me closer. "Like Alzheimer's." The word struck me like a battering ram. All the air whooshed from my lungs. My eyes went wide, and my body stiffened in the chair. "Ah, you are remembering," she said. "Some... of... it," I stuttered. "What was his name?" "Bartholomew Q. Craven. You called him Mr. Bart." I called him sweetheart, she thought. Honey. Baby, sometimes. I experienced her inward giggle. Snookums. He liked snookums. "My mentor," I breathed as his face crystallized in my mind's eye, not the face of the man ravaged by disease, but the middle-aged, still vital man, the man who took my hand at the orphanage and told me that he'd help me achieve my goal to protect and serve. "He was more than your mentor, Luke. He was the father you never had, and you were the son he always wanted. He loved you above all others." More than me. More memories washed over me. I looked her in the eye, and she lowered hers as if ashamed. "I loved him the way he loved me," I said. Even more memories, one after the other, tumbled in my mind like gym shoes in a dryer. You should be ashamed, Marna Crispin, I thought. You abandoned him. You loved him but not enough to stand by him and care for him when he needed you desperately. Later, he didn't need you, not emotionally, and you weren't strong enough to handle his physical needs. I was. "You said you forgave me. Was that a lie, Luke?" she said, responding to my accusatory expression, I assumed. "I don't know. If I did, the memory is still buried." But then the memory I searched for surfaced, and I felt the muscles in my face relax. "Yes, I forgave you. I just remembered. It was at his funeral." She nodded. Tears stung my eyes as the lost years came out of dark place where they'd been hiding. "Lost memories found can be painful," I said, stuttering, trying to control myself. "They're new, fresh, not tempered with time as they would be otherwise." Tears overflowed and streaked my cheeks. "He died in my arms, Marna. I didn't cry for him then. Why am I crying now?" She moved around her desk, sat next to me and held me. "Because you felt guilty then. His death was a relief, Luke. Now you're grieving without guilt. I know about guilt. I couldn't do what you did for him. I couldn't be his companion and caregiver and watch his mind fail more and more everyday. Your love for him was enduring. You loved him after he was no longer the man either of us knew. You loved him when he became a child. You bathed him, fed him, changed his soiled clothes and sheets, but the years took their toll. When he died, you felt relief, and for that you felt guilty. I dealt with my guilt when I abandoned him to your care. I grieved for him when he stopped being the man he was, not later when his body stopped functioning. It's good you can finally grieve properly. Let it out. Grieve without guilt, Luke. Cleanse your guilt with your tears. That's what I did." We held each other, cried together, and soon I was remembering all the good times, and I started to celebrate knowing Bartholomew Q. Craven. "He was a formal, old-fashioned man," I said and wiped the tears from my face with a handkerchief. "Yes he was," Marna said. "A man of rules, rules he never broke." "True." "But he wasn't stern, never stern. Always positive, never negative." "That was my Bart and yours." "He detested evil." "As do you." "He honored his commitments - always. His word was his bond. By the example of his resolute character or by placing me with exceptional teachers, he gave me the tools I needed to protect and serve." "You would have made him proud, Luke." "You know about Morgan, don't you?" "Of course." Right or wrong, she thought, Bart created Morgan, molded a young boy as if he were clay, and then tempered him as if he were fine steel until Morgan became the man he is, a man who can kill if necessary, if his opponent is evil or represents evil, a man who can kill over and over again, and still retain his humanity. She stood and returned to the chair behind her desk. "You came to see me today as your personal attorney, Luke. For what purpose?" "Do I have a Last Will and Testament?" "Yes. For a man in your profession to be without a will would be foolish indeed." "May I see it?" "You have a copy, the original, in fact. I believe you keep it in your safe in your home in Carefree." I chuckled. "I figured. Marna, I can't open the safe. I don't remember the combination." "That's easily remedied. I have it on file." She snickered at my shocked expression. "As the executrix of your estate, I would need access to the safe if something happened to you, Luke." "That makes sense." She unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out a file. "The combination is right to 33, left to 17, right to 47 and left to 23." I laughed with gusto. "What do you find so humorous?" she asked. "The combination, pound sign 3, 2, 7, 4, 7, 1, 3, 3, opens the gates to my house. The same number backwards without the pound sign, or 3, 3, 1, 7, 4, 7, 2, 3, neutralizes the burglar alarm. It didn't dawn on me to group the numbers in sets of two, or 33, 17, 47, and 23." She smiled and nodded, and then pushed a file across her desk. "Your Last Will and Testament, Luke." I read it quickly, skipping the legalese. "My assets need to be updated, Marna, which is propitious. You won't need to alter the amounts I'm giving to various charities, but I want to add a bequest." I looked up at her and smiled. "Not long ago, like Mr. Bart, I made a commitment to a young woman to help her survive and be all she could be. I'm still committed to that end, but now my commitment is much deeper. I love her." It was my turn to snicker at Marna's shocked expression. "Romantic love?" she said. "Yes, and she loves me. If something happens to me, I want her to be taken care of. Her name is Charlotte Hilton, but she's currently using Colleen Melton as her name." I grinned. "With the threat to my life coupled with my amnesia, Colleen and I are in hiding until I know who wants to kill me and why." Marna jotted the names on a legal pad. "What is her address?" "The same as mine. She's living with me." "How much would you like to leave her?" "Ten million." The lead on Marna's pencil broke, and I snickered again. "Your net worth is twenty-five million now?" she said, her voice sounding as shocked as her expression. "More, actually. Some of my assets are booked well under current market value." Ten million dollars, the same amount Bart left him, she thought. She smiled. I like it. "Are you teaching her how to protect and serve?" she asked. "Yes and no. Yes, she's learning kung fu, and she practices shooting everyday, and I'm teaching her the tradecraft of a protector, but she's also enrolled in Scottsdale Culinary Institute. She wanted to learn how to cook fancy." "I'd like to meet this young woman," Marna said. "How old is she? How capable? Can she handle inheriting ten million dollars?" "She's nineteen." "Nineteen!" She looked shocked. I chuckled. "Let's do this. To protect her from herself and others until she's a little older and wiser, let's put the ten million in a trust. You can appoint the trustee until she turns twenty-five." "Make that twenty-one." Marna nodded. "Would you like me to act... ?" "No," I said, interrupting her. "A man Colleen and I call Sifu will be the trustee." "Have you asked him?" I closed my eyes. Would Sifu consider a mental connection with him right now a breach of trust? No, I decided and connected with him. Sifu, it's Dr. Ken, I said silently. He didn't respond, but his thoughts told me that he'd heard my words. I apologize for contacting you this way, but I have a problem you can help me with. If you want to respond, just think the words you want to say. This is amazing, Dr. Ken. We'll speak of this later, Sifu. I'm with my attorney right now, and I'm changing my will, arranging to leave Colleen some money if something happens to me. If I die before she's twenty-one, the money will go into a trust. Would you act as trustee until she comes of age? Yes. Is she aware of this arrangement? No. She should know and approve. I clicked my tongue. What? Colleen said. I'm speaking silently with Sifu, I said to Colleen. "Are you all right, Luke?" Marna asked. "Yes, I just uncovered some more memories. Give me a moment to enjoy them, please." While I spoke with Marna, I tried to connect Sifu with Colleen as well as with me. Good, my attempt worked. Say hello to Colleen, Sifu. Colleen, can you hear me? Sifu asked. Colleen giggled. Yes, cool, huh? I quickly explained the situation to Colleen without mentioning the amount and asked her if she approved of Sifu as the trustee. Would you do that for me, Sifu? Colleen said. Yes, of course, Sifu replied. Good, I said. That's settled. If you want, I'll leave the two of you to mind-talk while I finish up with my attorney. I said, "No, Marna, I haven't asked him, but he'll accept the responsibility." "Do you trust this man?" "Yes." "With ten million dollars?" "Yes." "All right. What's his name and address?" I butted in on Colleen and Sifu's conversation. Sifu gave me the information Marna wanted, and I passed it on to her. "I'll leave you to it, Marna. I'll also have Colleen call and make arrangements to meet you." "Do that. I'll call you when the documents we discussed today are ready for your review and signature." ------- In the elevator, I pressed the button for the second floor and joined Sifu and Colleen's ongoing conversation. The four-way transfer of thoughts - from Colleen to me, and then to Sifu, as well as from Sifu to me, and then to Colleen - took concentration, mostly because I had to ignore their thoughts as they moved through my mind in order to continue my meeting with Marna. The three-way mental conversation without a fourth party was much easier to handle. Sifu, I said, I've found most of my lost memories, but not enough to come out of hiding. My name is Luke Upton. It would... Luke Upton is well known in the martial arts, Sifu said. Oh, I didn't know, I replied. What I started to say was I have a kwoon in my home. It would please me if you would spar with me at my house Monday morning. You honor me with the invitation, Luke Upton. Do you have wushu weapons and pads? Yes. We'll be sparring with cudgels, so if you have a favorite cudgel, bring it with you. I know I always prefer to spar with my own cudgel. I will, Sifu replied. The hair on the back of my neck started to itch as the elevator stopped at the second floor. I abruptly retracted my connections with Sifu and Colleen and put my hand around the weapon in my shoulder holster. I expected trouble, but when the elevator doors opened the lobby and corridors were empty. I'd pushed the second-floor button out of habit. Elevators are traps, and taking an elevator to the ground floor isn't wise. Tradecraft. I reconnected with Colleen. I knew she'd be concerned about my abrupt departure from her mind. Sorry, I said. Are you all right? Yes. I'll explain later. Please call Sifu and apologize for me. All right. The stairwell was clear. Why was I sensing danger? ------- Chapter 5 I cracked the door from the stairwell into the main lobby of the office building and connected with everyone within range. Shooters! No, not shooters. Watchers. Shooters were en route. How did they find me? Was Colleen in danger? I connected with her. Where are you? I asked. At the Institute. Why? My enemies have found me. I wanted to make sure you're safe. Don't leave the Institute. Stay in a crowd if you can. I'll get back to you soon. Two watchers. I also figured that there would be at least one more man waiting in a vehicle outside. Was Marna safe? I connected with her. She was fine. They'd followed me to the office building or picked me up here. In either case, they hadn't known my destination within the building. I'd been with Marna for over an hour. The shooters could arrive at any moment. The yellow Hummer is damned conspicuous, I thought. Should I abandon it? No, Luke Upton's identity and address are listed on the registration and insurance card in the glove compartment. Fortunately, the Arizona license plate on the Hummer isn't the plate registered to the Hummer. Move! I urged myself. Move before the shooters arrive. I stepped out of the stairwell into the lobby. Neither watcher noticed me. Their focus was the elevator lobby. Amateurs. I cast my mind through the glass entrance doors of the building. Nothing, which meant nothing except the watcher waiting outside in a vehicle was more than thirty feet away. I found him when I opened a door, and when I stepped outside, he saw me. I watched as he hurriedly dialed his cell phone, and his eyes widened when he noticed me walking quickly and directly toward him. The sight of my XD-9 in my hand terrified him. He dropped the cell phone and started the engine in his car. By then I was standing next to him. "Drive away now, or I'll kill you, and don't come back for your friends," I said loudly enough for him to hear me through the closed car window. My telepathic sensor told me the two watchers inside had stepped outside. As the watcher in the car backed out of his parking space, I turned toward his cohorts and pointed my weapon at them. They scattered. Tires squealed as the watcher's vehicle sped away. I jumped into the Hummer and drove away. To make sure I wasn't being followed, I took a number of unnecessary turns before I guided the Hummer up a ramp onto a freeway going north. If I were being followed, the surveillance team was beyond expert, which wasn't the case with the watchers at the office building. I didn't have a tail. I debated whether to pick Colleen up at the Institute or drive directly to my house. My house, I decided. If the house was still a safe haven, the odds that Colleen was safe were good, and she could drive herself to the house. The sooner I removed the yellow Hummer from the streets of Phoenix the better. I connected with Colleen and brought her up to date. The Hummer's blown, I said. Waddaya mean? she asked. It's yellow. It's conspicuous. It's associated with Morgan. We'll need to park it until I eliminate my enemies. A shame. How about this? When you pick up the Mercedes from Jasper, leave the Hummer with him. Tell him to paint it a different color. I chuckled. Good thinking. I'll do it. What color? Doesn't matter. Any standard color for a Hummer except yellow. White if it's standard. Most of the vehicles in the Phoenix area are white. White would blend in the best. All right. If the house is clear, can you leave... ? Class is finished, cowboy. Gary and I are chatting in an empty kitchen. I can leave anytime. Ask Gary if he'll follow you home. He can't. His car is being serviced. I was planning to give him a ride to his house. Bring him home with you. All right. I'd met Gary. I'd been in his mind. I connected with him as well as Colleen and listened as she told him the new plan. He didn't care where they went as long as he was with her. Crap! I exited the 101 and headed north on Scottsdale Road. When I was certain I didn't have a tail, I pulled into a parking lot and checked the Hummer for a homing device. I'd left the vehicle unattended in the presence of my enemies. The last thing I wanted was to guide my enemy to my home. Sweet thing, I said silently, are you aware that Gary is head over heels in love with you? No! I experienced her sigh. Maybe, sort of. He's... well, since he broke up with Loren, he's been more... attentive is the best word I can think of to describe how he's been. Lately, I've been wondering if his feelings for me have become stronger than mere friendship, but he's said nothing, so... She sighed again. Dammit! How should I handle this, cowboy? No homing device. I'll leave the method to you, but handle it soon. The longer you wait, the more he'll hurt when you push him away. Fifteen minutes later, with a sigh of relief, I knew my house was still a safe haven. Come on home, sweet thing, I said to my lady. ------- In a monitor in the security room, I watched Colleen's Cadillac wind around the curves as she moved up the mountainside. You're clear. No one is following you, I told her silently. I'll open and close the gates for you and meet you and Gary at the bar. I'm thirsty. I'd also monitored Colleen and Gary's thoughts and conversation as they drove to the house. She still hadn't confronted Gary's lovesick crush, and the young man had it bad. I was chugging from a cold bottle of beer when she and Gary arrived at the top of the stairs. She dropped her stuff on an end table, walked to me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me until my toes curled. Whew! She leaned back from the passionate embrace, gazed lovingly at me, and said, "Cowboy, you're a pleasure to come home to. I sure do love you." Then she kissed me again. Ah, you decided to demonstrate how much you love me to back Gary off, I said using mind-talk. Uh-uh, I'm just happy to see you alive and unharmed. I'll back Gary off when I drive him to his house later. Colleen excused herself. "To put on something more comfortable," she said. I offered Gary a beer, which he accepted. "I like your house," he said. And your woman, he added silently. And there's the rub. She's your woman, not mine. "Thanks. I didn't know I had a place I called home until recently." I knew Colleen had already told him my real name and about the memory loss that made the Ken LaPlant alias necessary. "I'd be terrified if I woke up with no past, even know my own name," he said. "It was... uncomfortable, I admit." "Do you remember everything now?" "No. I remember a lot, but not everything. Colleen told me you broke up with Loren." "Yeah. I found out she didn't care about me. I... ah, I have money." He looked around. "Probably not as much as you, but... Loren, she was interested in my money, not me." I grinned and decided to give Colleen a leg up by letting Gary know, in no uncertain terms, that Colleen was my woman. "I don't have that problem, not with Colleen, but if I had access to all my memories, I suspect I'd remember a girlfriend from my past who was just like Loren. Colleen and I fell in love with each other before I found out I had money." He tipped up the bottle of beer and guzzled. "My amnesia has been rough on Colleen, Gary. I want to thank you for being her friend. Friends mean a lot to her, and I know she considers you a friend." He nodded. "She's... ah, special, easy to like. She makes being a friend easy." Easy to love, too. Ah, fuck, who am I kidding? She loves him. He loves her. I don't have a chance. Now that's straight thinking, young fella, I thought. Keep it up, and you'll be fine. "Has she told you she's studying kung fu?" I asked. "Yes." "I built a kwoon - that's a training hall for kung fu - in my house. Would you like to see it?" "Sure." As we walked down the stairs, he suddenly realized if I included a kwoon in the design of my house that I must be heavily involved in martial arts. He also wondered how good I was. I opened the doors to the kwoon, and we stepped inside. "Have you studied any of the martial arts, Gary?" "Tae kwon do when I was a boy. I didn't stick with it, though." A failing of mine, he thought. I start something, drop it, and start something else. He noticed the Shaolin wushu weapons standing in a rack along one wall. "I thought kung fu was... well, was just hand-to-hand fighting." "That's what it is - mostly. These are ancient weapons." I drew a saber and twirled it around. "I spar with Colleen's teacher using these weapons." I put the saber back in the rack. "Sparring is good exercise. Let me show you my Zen garden." We walked outside. "Kung fu is a Chinese martial art form. My garden is Japanese. Because my business often takes me out of town, I needed a simple, low-maintenance garden, and as you can see my 'dry-landscape' style garden is simplicity personified, but it's also complex. I meditate out here because the simple beauty of my garden triggers contemplation. I created my garden to be viewed, not entered. I enter it only to rake the sand and trim the foliage." "It's beautiful," Gary gushed. "Thank you." I clicked my tongue. Where are you? I asked Colleen. The question is where are you? Gary and I are outside by the Zen garden. Should I join you there? No. We're on our way back upstairs now. I've been preparing your boyfriend for a letdown. Humph, he's not my boyfriend. He's just a friend. Halfway up the stairs, an alarm went off. I took off like a shot and rushed into the security room. My eyes skittered from monitor to monitor. As I shut off the alarm, Colleen came into the room. "There," she said pointing. "Yeah, hikers, I think," I said with a groan. A man and woman. I zoomed the camera for a close-up of their faces. "Teenagers. I'll go warn them off. You..." I stopped talking when I turned and saw Gary standing in the open doorway behind us. His eyes were wide with shock, and his jaw gaped. I grinned at him and said, "I'm a nut for security, Gary." ------- "Good job with Gary, sweet thing." She'd not only let him down easy, she'd also retained his friendship, and the young man had promised not to say anything to anyone about my security system. What's more, she'd accomplished the goals without lying, except through omission, or divulging my protection business or the threats I faced. "Thanks. Gary's a good guy, cowboy. He's got some growing up to do, but then I do, too. That's why I understand him so well. Ellie's the perfect girl for him, but she's hung up on that jerk, Keith Holder, and until about an hour ago, Gary had his sights set on me. You impressed him, cowboy. He couldn't stop talking about your Zen garden." "He knows his major weakness. I don't know why he keeps making the same mistake over and over again." "Waddaya mean?" "He starts projects but never finishes them." She frowned. "You know you're right. He's been thinking about dropping out of the Institute." "That'd be a mistake. He has money. Encourage him to stick with it and open his own restaurant later." She nuzzled my neck with her face. "You're so smart." "Uh-uh. I'm just a telepath." That made her laugh. "Let's open my safe," I said. She lunged back and looked up at me with surprise. "Marna Crispin is not only my personal attorney, she's also the executrix of my estate. As such, if something happened to me, she'd need access to the contents of the safe." I chuckled and told her the combination. "Do you recognize the numbers?" She frowned and then grinned. "You're kidding." "Nope." The contents of the safe were a treasure trove. It held the expected documents, like my Last Will and Testament, titles to the house and vehicles (except for the title to the nondescript sedan I believed I owned), insurance policies (which reminded me to change the beneficiary on the life insurance policy), passport, social security card, my high school diploma, the credit cards I'd cancelled and replaced, blank bank checks and deposit slips, and stock certificates, but it offered some surprises, too. My birth certificate listed my mother's name, Crystal Upton, but no father, and I was born on December 25th, a Christmas baby, which brought forth some memories about my birthdays, some of them heartrending, others joyful. Mr. Bart made a special effort to celebrate my birthday, not just Christmas. Was my mother still alive? During my lost six years, besides being Mr. Bart's caregiver, I managed to attend college. I found the diplomas: a B.S. in Criminal Justice and a MBA, both from the University of Nevada in Reno. I found an address book, which excited me momentarily until I discovered the contents written by my hand in the leather-bound tome were in code, a code I couldn't remember, dammit. I pulled out a cardboard folder wrapped with a rubber band that was stuffed in a corner of the safe. It contained a complete new identity for me, a man named Thomas Gilford, including a driver's license, passport, social security card, a credit card, a checkbook with an apparent $5,000 balance in the account, as well as library and voter registration cards. The Thomas Gilford identity was more complete than Luke Upton's. I'd found my wallet in a cubbyhole in the armoire the second night I stayed in the house. It held my driver's license, but no credit cards or voter registration and library cards. The conceal-carry gun permits for seven different states, including Arizona, would come in handy. Knowing the importance of cash money, I shouldn't have been surprised to find $100,000 in $100 used bills, but I was. The serial numbers weren't sequential either. I checked. The bearer bonds were the big surprise. The total value of $1,000,000 astonished me. Talk about mad money! I also found an unlabeled CD. I immediately stuffed it in my laptop, and then groaned with disappointment. It was encrypted, and I didn't know the key that would unlock the data. "Probably my Referral Source List," I muttered. A small bag containing 20 one-caret loose diamonds surprised us, and I discovered Colleen was like just about every other woman ever born. The sparkling gems excited her more than the bearer bonds. "What's this key?" Colleen asked. "A safe deposit box key," I said. "Gordy will probably know which bank it belongs to." The discovery of a shoebox full of old photographs brought tears to my eyes. Colleen and I settled on our big bed with our backs against the padded headboard and studied each of them together. "That's Bartholomew Q. Craven, my sponsor, my mentor, the father I never had," I said. "I called him Mr. Bart." The picture showed him just a little older than he looked the first time I met him. "Ah, you remembered him," Colleen said. "Yes. I..." Tears watered my eyes again, but I managed to tell Colleen about my lost years without breaking down until she did. Then we held each other and cried together. When we recovered we returned to the photographs. "Look, there's Gordy!" Colleen laughed. "Yep. Good golly, he even looks like a bully." "He stopped being a bully after I whipped him, sweet thing. He became my best friend. This is a picture of Nicky, the boy I was protecting when I tore into Gordy." "Ooh, cute. What happened to him?" "He's dead. He committed suicide when he was sixteen. We had about one suicide a year at the orphanage." I felt his loss all over again. Empathizing, Colleen asked, "Should we cancel the trip to Reno?" "No, but there's no rush now. We'll wait until your semester break at school." "Okay. Your Glaring Exception List is down to four items, cowboy. You're making real headway." I gave her a hard look. "To uncover the identity of my enemies, Colleen, I will need to walk the streets of Phoenix as Morgan." I know, baby, she thought. I don't like it, but I understand. ------- I met with Gordy for a number of reasons. I wanted the address, phone number, keys and access code for the penthouse condo I used when assuming my Morgan persona. He gave me the address and phone number, but couldn't help me with my other requests. "Have you been in the condo?" I asked Gordy. "Sure, more than I've been in your house in Carefree." He chortled. "That condo is a bachelor's pad extraordinaire." "What about the vehicles? Where are they garaged?" "In the parking structure adjacent to the building. A Lexus and a Cadillac Esplanade, both white." "Where did I keep the keys for them?" "I don't know... wait, I do know. Look in a snifter on the back bar." Ingrained habits, I thought. The key to the condo will probably be my fingerprint. "Does Morgan have a safe?" "Yep, behind a hinged painting in his home office." "Is there a computer in the office?" "Yep, and to anticipate your next question, I don't know the password to the computer." "I found a safe deposit box key in my safe. Can you point me at the bank where I rent the box?" "Not off the top of my head. I can research your expenses and determine the bank, but please try the bank where you have your checking account first and save me the trouble." He laughed heartily. "All right. Let's talk about the office for Protect & Serve. You said it was an executive office." "Yep, you know the kind. You rent an office and share other amenities with the other tenants, like a conference room, copy and fax machine, a receptionist, etcetera." When asked, he gave me the address and phone number for that office. No key. "Do I retain a criminal attorney?" "No, but you hired one a couple of times. Tim Blount, a real piece of work." He gave me Blount's phone number. "Did I hire him as Morgan or Upton?" "Morgan." "Next item. Please send a copy of my current financials to Marna Crispin. She's the executrix of my Luke Upton estate. Send her updated financials once a year, more often if you think it's advisable." I gave him Marna's address and phone number and tossed a couple of old photographs onto his desk. He picked them up and studied them. "Judas, I was a pugnacious little shit back then, wasn't I?" I laughed heartily. "Would you like copies?" "You bet. I take it these were in your safe?" "Yes. Let's go to lunch, that microbrewery place." "Microbrewery place! For crissake, Luke, you own half the joint. You'd think you'd remember its name." We left his office laughing. ------- The executive offices where Protect & Serve maintained its office were plush and professional. The receptionist - her desk sign told me her name was Leticia Ramos - greeted me with an honest smile. "Morgan, it's been a while," she said. I returned her smile and said, "Too long, and what's more, I've mislaid the key to my office." "Again?" "Yeah." She pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. Bending and displaying a lot of alluring cleavage, she opened her desk drawer and extracted a set of keys. "I'll let you in. Would you like to order a replacement key?" "Sure." "I'll have it at the front desk when you leave." Is he watching my ass? she asked herself as she walked down the corridor in front of me. I wasn't, but if that's what she wanted I saw no reason why I shouldn't satisfy her wish. A nice ass it was, too. Not in Colleen's class, but then Colleen's ass was in a class by itself. She unlocked and opened my office door, reached in and flipped switches, lighting the room. "Thanks, Leticia," I said and started to walk by her. She stepped back and we collided. I grabbed her to keep her from falling, and her body melted against mine. "Nice save, Morgan," she breathed. "I try." "And succeed." She stepped back and walked away. Just before she turned the corner, she looked over her shoulder to see if I was ogling her ass. I was, which pleased her. She flashed a great smile and disappeared from view. The office was large and looked out onto an interior courtyard. I settled behind the desk and picked up the phone. I didn't dial it. I checked it for a listening device. The phone was clean, but a visual inspection wouldn't reveal a phone tap. I pulled a bug detector from the bag I carried. It was a doozy, detecting radio signals from 10MHz to 3GHz. Five minutes later I figured the office was clean. I opened my cell phone and called Jasper. The Mercedes was ready. I told him about the paint job I needed for the Hummer. He quoted me a price. I agreed with it, and asked him what the work he did on the Mercedes would cost me. When he responded, I said, "Cash?" "Cash is good, but I can't complain about the way your paymaster treats me, either." "I'll have him call you." "All right." We made arrangements to trade vehicles that evening at the same place I'd met him to hand over the Mercedes. I didn't want to drive the yellow Hummer during daylight. "Jasper, I need a hacker. Do you know one?" "For computers?" "Yeah." "No, but I can check around if you want." "Do that. I'll see you tonight." I called Gordy. Yes, he knew Jasper. Yes, he'd pay him, but from what account? "Use Luke Upton's funds," I said. "And..." I hesitated because at that moment an idea hit me. "And open an account as if Upton were the principal." "That'll work," Gordy said. "Gordy, have I hired other protectors to work with me on other jobs?" "Sure, almost every job. You either need backup on a takedown for a recovery or replacement shifts on a protection gig." I grinned. "Name me some names, good buddy." "Company names or individuals." "Individuals first, and then company names." He rattled off some names and one of them rang a memory bell. The bell wasn't Big Ben. It was more like one bell on a tambourine, but it was a bell. I jotted down the name and phone number. "Keep going, Gordy," I said. When he finished, I had enough little bells for half a tambourine. "The phone numbers, Gordy, are they direct or through an agent?" "Don't know. That was your bailiwick. Do you want company names now?" "No. I wrote down four names: Trevor Peterson, Mark Richardson, Heather (no last name), and Ruben (no other name). I need their daily rates and I need to know whether I used them on a recovery or a protection assignment." "Hang on." I checked on Colleen while I waited. She was en route to the kwoon and a kung fu class. We chatted silently until Gordy came back on line and gave me the information I asked for. Four names, daily rates, and specialties. A call would determine if they worked through an agent or were independent. I didn't have an agent, but only because Mr. Bart drilled marketing through a referral system into my young brain. Most protectors needed an agent to sell their services. I read my list: Trevor Peterson, protection, $1,000/day Mark Richardson, protection, $1,000/day Heather, recovery/missing persons, $2,000/day Ruben, recovery, $1,500/day None of the names made the hair at the back of my neck itch, but that meant nothing. Heather's specialty, Gordy told me, was finding missing persons, usually children. I called her number first. A machine answered. I left my name (Morgan) and cell phone number. A machine also answered my call to Ruben. Trevor Peterson worked for a company headquartered in L.A., and he wasn't available. A woman, not a machine answered my call to Mark Richardson. She told me that Richardson would return my call before the day ended. I crossed Trevor Richardson off my list and started a new list. Then I called Gordy again. "What now?" he asked. Suddenly, it dawned on me that I was eating up all of Gordy's time. He probably had other clients, clients he was neglecting to serve me. "If you're busy, we can talk later," I said. He chortled. "I mean you're probably neglecting other clients..." His chuckle turned into a full-blown belly laugh. "Morgan," he said when he finally stopped laughing, "I service two clients. Count 'em. One, Morgan. Two, Luke Upton. That's the way it's been since about three months after you walked into my office five years ago. I have a partner who handles the firm's other clients." He sighed loudly. "Confession time. I'm good with numbers, so I went to college and learned how to be an accountant. Then I went to work for an accounting firm. You can't imagine how boring that was, Morgan. Working for you and Protect & Serve and Luke and his investment business takes all the boring out of accounting. You could cut my hourly rate in half, and I'd just cinch up my belt and keep working for you. You won't do that, though. You'd raise my rate, but you'd never cut it, and Luke lets me ride his investment coattails, which made me a rich man in my own right, so if I ever sound grumpy or unhappy or harried, ignore me. Lay it on me, man. Waddaya want?" Damn! His heartfelt words brought tears to my eyes, and such loyalty and devotion demanded open communication. "Gordy, if needed, could you clone yourself?" "Waddaya mean?" "Protect & Serve is a one-man band. I plan to turn it into an organization. I've been playing with the numbers. With sixteen operatives on staff, I can net close to $5,000,000 a year. I'll make more money and with the firm headquartered in Phoenix, I won't need to be away from Colleen ten months out of every year." "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" ------- The doorman at the condo building where I resided as Morgan knew me by sight and called me by name. His nametag gave me his last name. I didn't know his first name. "How's it goin', Buchmann?" I said. Buchmann? he thought. He always calls me Bucky, the only resident in the building who calls me Bucky. I sorta liked it. Why the change? I laughed and said, "Just teasing, Bucky. I haven't been here for a while. Has anyone stopped by asking for me?" "Oh, yeah, three or four good-lookin' gals. One of them, Candice, she... ah, somebody killed her while you were gone, Mr. Morgan." I grimaced. "I heard. If I find out who did it, I'll be the sonofabitch's judge, jury and executioner, all rolled into one." "I'd sit on that jury, Mr. Morgan. Candice was good people." "Any strangers ask for me?" I asked. "A couple. They didn't leave their names." "When?" "A while back." "No one recent?" "No, sir." I nodded, walked to the elevator lobby and pushed an up button. Doors opened and I stepped into the cab and pushed the button for the tenth floor. The elevator didn't move. I started to walk out of the elevator when Bucky stepped in. "You don't have your elevator cardkey with you, right?" he said. "Nope." "Did you lose it or forget to bring it with you?" He pushed a cardkey into a slot and pushed the 10th floor button. "Lost it," I said as the doors started to close. Bucky held the doors open. "I'll have another made for you." Good, that'll get me a $20 bill, enough to buy my gas for the week, he thought. "I'd appreciate that, Bucky," I said and peeled off a fifty from the cash in my pocket. He took the money, and it disappeared in his pocket. After he stepped out of the elevator, the doors closed and the cab ascended to the tenth floor. The tenth floor contained two penthouses, not one. I wondered who lived in 1050. The lock for 1000 was indeed a fingerprint lock, and the lock was alarmed. I found the keypad for the alarm in the hall closet. The same numerical code that disarmed the alarm in my house turned off the alarm in the condo. I locked both dead bolts and attached the chain. After a click of my tongue, I said, I'm in the condo, sweet thing. I sensed Colleen's chuckle. And your interruption just got me knocked on my ass. Sorry about that. Is Sifu conducting the class or one of his advanced students? An advanced student, Jim Gill, in fact. Have you talked to Sifu about Jim yet? No. Would Sifu mind a mental interruption? She chuckled again. I don't know. Interrupt him and find out. Okay, bye for now. I reduced my connection with her and connected with Sifu. He sensed my intrusion. Is this a bad time for you, Sifu? No. Good. I have two quick questions. Is Jim Gill trustworthy? Yes. I suddenly realized my second question couldn't be quick. Sifu didn't know about Morgan. I'd need to explain Protect & Serve for him to understand my question and give me an answer. Can you leave the kwoon for an hour or two? I asked. Why? To meet with me? At your home? No, at a different address. All right. I gave him the address, told him to tell the doorman he was there to see Morgan, and moved out of his mind. I walked through the condo with my bug detector in hand and found four listening devices. I deactivated them and planned to add them to my stash of bugs in my armory in Carefree. Speaking of an armory, I hadn't noticed one in the condo during my walk-through - no safe either. I found both behind a humongous oil painting and a hinged steel panel in the home office. My fingerprint opened the panel. The armory was more a gun cabinet than an armory, but I was pleased to note two XD-9s. With Sifu on the way, I elected to investigate the contents of the safe later. I connected with Bucky and then called him. "During my absence, someone entered my condo and bugged my telephone, Bucky. Did you let anyone in?" "No, sir. I'd never do that. That would cost me my job." He was telling me the truth. Hmm, except for about a week's worth of dust, the condo was clean. Did I have a maid? "What about the maid?" I asked. "That's probably what happened," Bucky said. "The maid who cleaned the units for some of the owners was caught stealing. Management fired her." "When?" "About a week ago." "Okay, thanks Bucky." I clicked my tongue and waited. What? Colleen asked. Do you remember referring to the master bedroom at the house in Carefree as a playpen? Sure, and it is, too. This entire condo is a playpen. It's a bachelor's pad, sweet thing. A phenomenal stereo system is piped into every room in the house. Black, satin sheets on the bed. A hot tub in the master bath with a view to city lights. Black marble everywhere. Thick and plush white carpet. A gas fireplace that can be seen from the bed and the living room, and, believe it or not, there's a white bear rug in front of the fireplace in the living room. Indirect lighting and dimmer switches. A water feature. I could go on and on. Ooh, sounds fun. When can I drop by, baby? After I eliminate my enemy. Wow, the view from the balcony is amazing. Spoilsport. I've never made love on black, satin sheets. By the way, Sifu left the kwoon. Is he meeting with you? Yes, ah, now I get it. The entertainment room doubles as a security room. Pretty slick. I accessed the program for the fingerprint-door lock, and sure enough, there was a second fingerprint access, a woman named Agnes. I deleted her name. A phone rang. I picked it up. "Mr. Morgan, a man named... ah, Sifu, I think he said, is here to see you." "Send him up, Bucky, and thank you." Sweet thing, Sifu is here. I'll talk with you later. ------- "You're Morgan?" Sifu said when I let him in. "Yes." "I know about Morgan." We settled on facing sofas. "Good, then my explanations won't need as much detail." He smiled. "My knowledge of Morgan is... basic. Detail would be appreciated." I told him everything. He didn't ask questions until I finished, and then his questions touched on areas where I'd been vague, not purposefully, but in the effort to regurgitate my story, I'd hurried in places. My mouth felt dry. I offered Sifu a drink. "Tea, please," he said. "Iced or hot?" "Hot." I rummaged in the bar and found a cold beer for me. I also noticed two sets of car keys in a snifter on a shelf in the back bar. I truly was a creature of habit. In the kitchen, I found a teapot and put water on to boil. The pantry was stocked and I found some tea bags. "You lived here as Morgan?" Sifu said. He'd followed me into the kitchen. "Yes. I maintain two separate identities. Morgan is my work name. As far as I know, besides Colleen, only four other individuals know both identities. You're one of the four." "Your accountant, Gordy, and his wife are two of them. Who is the other?" "Marna Crispin. She goes way back. She was Mr. Bart's lover." "Why have you brought me into this small but illustrious circle?" "Because I admire and trust you, and I need your help. I am a young man in some ways not wise in the way of the world. I need your seasoned wisdom, Sifu. I will pay you, of course." The teapot whistled. I poured boiling water over a tea bag, and set the cup and saucer in front of him on the kitchen table. "Currently, Protect & Serve is a one-man band. It is my intention to turn it into an organization. To accomplish this goal, I will need good advice. Accordingly, I humbly ask you to serve on my advisory board. Initially, I will pay members of my advisory board $5,000 per month. I'll double that amount later. This is not a full-time position, Sifu. It should take no more than ten or twenty hours per month." "I accept your offer. How many advisors do you have?" I grinned. "You're the first, but I will ask Marna Crispin to be the second. There will be others." "You should ask Colleen to be a member," he said and laughed when he noted my shocked expression. "She will..." I held up my hand to stop him. "You are correct, and you don't need to explain. I will ask her now." I clicked my tongue. What? Colleen said. I just asked Sifu to be a member of Protect & Serve's Advisory Board. He accepted. I pay advisory board members $5,000 per month, which I will double later. Will you, Charlotte Hilton, also accept my invitation to join my advisory board? Stunned silence, at first, and then some confused thoughts, and finally she said, Yes, of course. Thank you. I will discuss your duties and responsibilities later. I turned down my connection with Colleen and gave my full attention to Sifu. "She accepted the position," I said with a smile. "When Colleen realized that I would be working protection or recovery assignments for ten months minimum each year, most of them in other cities, she told me to put on my thinking cap and figure out a way to change my business so I could be with her at least half the time. Because the concept of being away from her for months on end was even more repugnant to me than her negative feelings about being left behind alone for the same amount of time, I started to think about my business and realized that I could turn it into an organization that I could operate from Phoenix, thereby allowing me to spend most of my time with Colleen. You just earned your first month's pay, Sifu. Colleen's advice and direction are critical to the success of this venture." "And critical to your success as a human being," Sifu added. "Yes." I took a swallow of beer, and he sipped hot tea. "To turn a one-man band into an organization requires operatives. I need individuals qualified as protectors or for other specialties involved in my business." "What was your specialty?" "I worked both protection and recovery contracts, but specialized in recoveries. In other words, I release captives from their abductors." "Which means you face the guns of the abductors." "Yes." "Are you as proficient with firearms as you are with kung fu?" "Sifu, not to boast, but I'm probably in the top ten with a pistol in the world. Regarding other specialties, I have a call in now to a woman who specializes in locating missing persons." "The young man you asked about, Jim Gill, would make a fine protector," Sifu asked. I groaned. "Does he present a problem for you?" "Yes and no. With your recommendation, I'd probably hire him as an operative, but he's also Colleen's friend. My operatives cannot know that I am both Morgan and Luke Upton. She asked me to ask you about Jim Gill because she wants to invite him to our house in Carefree where I function as Luke Upton." "Ah, yes, that is a problem, but it is a small problem. In her capacity as an advisor, ask Colleen which Gill should be: an operative for Protect & Serve, or her friend." "More good advice. I'll speak with her about the subject tonight. Besides operatives, I must put together a cadre of support specialists. For the most part, they'll be subcontractors." I sighed and decided to bite the bullet. "Sifu, it is my belief that law enforcement in this country wears shackles. I haven't and won't operate Protect & Serve wearing shackles. Accordingly, some members of the support team will necessarily break the law to achieve desired results." "Can you give me examples?" he asked. "Yes, last year a woman hired me to help her get out of an abusive marriage. Her husband was the sheriff, so she couldn't go to the law, and she rightly feared for her life. I helped her disappear, and disappearing requires a new identity, which requires forged documents. I provided those documents, not directly, so I had plausible deniability, but still, I gave her the forger's name and phone number and arranged for her to meet him." The situation I'd just described was a new memory. Too bad the name of the forger didn't surface along with the situation. I continued. "Besides a document and identity specialist, my support staff will include medical personnel who won't report a gunshot wound, an armorer who will provide my operatives with illegal weapons, if needed, an electronic surveillance specialist who won't always follow the letter of the law, and a computer whiz who is also a hacker. "Although my advisory board is unofficial, I suppose it's remotely possible for a member of that board to be linked to an illegal act. That being said, I also assert that I'm one of the good guys. I wear a white hat, and I go after miscreants wearing black hats using every means available, roughing up the edges of what's legal if necessary, to make sure good triumphs over evil. Knowing this, do you still want to be a member of my advisory board?" His smile wasn't inscrutable. "Yes, even more than before." We shook hands and he left. ------- Cowboy, Colleen said silently. I increased the strength of our mental connection and said, Hi, sweet thing. What are you doing? Disarming some explosives placed by my enemy in Morgan's Cadillac Esplanade. Whoa! Isn't that dangerous? Not as dangerous as starting the vehicle before disarming the bomb. Now that'd be dangerous. Not to worry, sweet thing. The car bombs aren't that professional. I've already taken care of the bomb in the Lexus. What are you doing? Did you speak with Sifu about Jim Gill? Yes, but I'd prefer to discuss that subject face to face tonight when we talk about your duties on Protect & Serve's advisory board. All right. There, all done. Tonight, remind me to show you how to check a vehicle for explosives. It's tradecraft to quickly check after leaving a vehicle unattended for ten to fifteen minutes where someone can place a bomb or a homing device without being seen. Okay. That explains why you've looked under the hood of our cars at the oddest times, also under the cars. Yep. If my enemy doesn't know I've been in the condo already, he'll know soon. I dismantled four listening devices in the condo and found two tracking devices in each of Morgan's vehicles. The devices aren't the best on the market, but they aren't cheap. I'll put them in the armory, and if a situation warrants their use, I'll have them available. I'll do the same with the explosives. My cell phone rang. Gotta go, sweet thing. Duty calls. I answered the call. "Morgan?" a voice said. "Yes." "I'm Mark Richardson. I'm returning your call." "Thanks. This is going to sound strange, but have we worked together on a job in the past?" He laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. "Yes, and yeah, that's a strange question." "I'm suffering from amnesia, Mark. May I call you Mark?" "Sure. Amnesia?" I told him about coming out of a coma after brain surgery without my memories. "I've since recovered most of them, though, enough to contact my paymaster. He gave me your name." "Ah, now I understand. Morgan, you hired me as backup for two protection contracts. They went well. You told me you liked what you saw in me, and you impressed the hell out of me, enough for me to tell you that anytime you needed backup that I was your man. Did you need backup?" "Yes and no. I find myself in an awkward position. Someone is trying to kill me, Mark. I don't know who, and I don't know why. So yes, I need backup, and no, you won't be backing me up to protect a principal. I am the principal." He didn't hesitate. "Where and when do you want me?" "ASAP, Phoenix, Arizona." He laughed. "Morgan, it truly is a small world. I just finished a job in Phoenix, and I stayed here for some downtime. Where should we meet?" "Let's do this. I'll book a room for you at the Ritz-Carlton on Camelback Road. It's in walking distance to a condo I own. Call me when you get settled in your room. I paid you $1,000 per day plus expense on those other jobs. Does that number still apply?" "That fee included my agent's cut, Morgan. I can..." "Let's leave it at that, and I'll want to talk with you about another project of mine sometime over the next few days as well. Do you have a cell phone?" He gave me the number. "I'll have my paymaster give you a call. Is a $5,000 retainer adequate to start with?" "Sure." "See you soon." I called Gordy and asked him if used as a travel agent. After he gave me a name and number, I told him about Mark Richardson. He said, "I'll call him, but I can't wire the funds until tomorrow morning. Morgan, I'm happy you're asking for help." "I'm asking for help for the recruiting opportunity as much as for any protection help I'll get." "I know, but I feel better knowing you'll have a professional watching your back." I started to tell him that I'd left calls for two other operatives when call waiting signaled an incoming call. I dropped my call with Gordy and took the new call. "Hello," I said. "Morgan?" a gravelly but pleasant female voice said. "Yes." "It's Heather." I went through the same explanations with Heather as I did with Mark, with the same results. "I can fly in tonight, Morgan, but I won't be worth a fuck all day tomorrow," she said. "Or, I can take a morning flight and be good to go when I get there." "Take the morning flight. Is your daily rate still $2,000 plus expenses?" "Yeah, but that includes my agent's cut, the blood sucker. Gawd, I'd like to tell that fucker to take a flyin' leap. Let's leave him out of it and drop my fee to $1,500. At that I'll do better than if he's involved." "We'll talk about that while you're here, too. Heather, would a $10,000 retainer work to start with?" "Sure." We handled the details regarding the hotel and to get her paid. I called Gordy to get Heather's retainer in the hopper, and then called my travel agent. "Eileen, it's Morgan." "Great gosh a' mighty! I've been wonderin' if your number had come up or somethin', darlin'. What can I do for you?" "I need two rooms at the Ritz-Carlton. I'm paying." "Don't you always, darlin'?" I laughed. "I guess I do." "When and how long?" "One starting tonight for Mark Peterson. The other starting tomorrow for Heather, no last name. How long I'll want the rooms is a problem because I don't know." "With all the business you've done with them, they won't squawk about some open-ended departure dates. Besides the rooms, are you taking care of their other expenses?" "Yeah, which reminds me. Call Heather and handle her airline ticket." I gave her Heather's phone number. "Okay. Well, darlin', if that's it, it's been great, as always. I'll take it from here. Bye." "Bye." That was easy, I thought. Too easy. I called Gordy. He laughed and said, "I set Eileen up with a credit card number for all of Protect & Serve's travel related expenses. She books everything to get her travel agent cut from the travel providers and charges everything to the credit card. I pay the credit card expenses from whatever operating account applies. If you book travel or lodging that doesn't pay a commission, you cover it." "Slick. I like it." "It'd be slicker if you'd hire a get-it-done gal or guy and have him or her get it done for you. If you turn Protect & Serve into an organization, you'll need someone to handle the details." "Have you got someone in mind?" "Yep. Maggie. She's bored outta her mind, and she's the best get-it-done gal I know." "Working with me could get her killed, Gordy." Maybe, he thought, but that's what she'd like to do, and as far as I'm concerned, whatever Maggie wants, Maggie gets. He said, "If anyone knows the risks involved, Morgan, it's Maggie." "What about you? How would you feel if she went to work with me?" I said. "Morgan, being your get-it-done gal is Maggie's dream job. We can't have kids. I'd like her to have her dream job." "You've got it, buddy. She's hired. Put her on the payroll today. What's the going rate for a get-it-done gal nowadays?" He laughed. "That's for you and Maggie to discuss." "Tell her to call me." An hour later, Ruben returned my call. I did my song and dance, and he was even more enthusiastic about helping me than Mark or Heather. Speaking with Ruben resurrected my memories of the assignment he shared with me. He acted as my backup when I entered a stronghold where three heavily armed men were holding a kidnapped child. To urge the child's parents to cooperate with their outlandish demands, they'd cut off one of the little boy's fingers and put it in the mail. I located the stronghold, moved into the room where the boy was being held, silently killed one of his captor's and handed the boy out to Ruben. I then killed the other two kidnappers. They didn't deserve to live. Ruben, I remembered, was a superior recovery specialist, and I hoped to attract him to my organization. I knew he respected me as an operative. What I didn't know was how he felt about his agent and the jobs and support his agent gave him. Eileen handled his flight and hotel accommodations, and Gordy made arrangements to pay him. He was flying into Phoenix from Dallas and would arrive late that night, so I made arrangements to meet him the next morning. When Mark called I put off seeing him until the next morning, as well, so I could brief him and Ruben at the same time. Truth be told, I wanted to spend the night with Colleen. If my war with my enemy heated up, it might become necessary for me to stay away from her for a few days. I drove away in the Lexus, and easily lost the amateur tail that picked me up coming out of the garage, but just in case I'd missed a homing device - highly unlikely but possible - I drove the Lexus into a public parking garage in North Scottsdale where Colleen met me in her Cadillac. ------- I drove the Cadillac. I wanted to be behind the wheel in case my enemy still had a line on me. "I like your car, sweet thing. It's easy to drive and responsive. Speaking of cars, I'm meeting with Jasper tonight to pick up the Mercedes." "Is he going to paint the Hummer?" "Yeah. I'll drive the Hummer to meet him and trade vehicles, so you won't need to follow me." "What time?" I told her. "Good, we'll have time for dinner first. I made lasagna." "Sounds good." "Tell me about the advisory board job." "First I need to tell you about my plans for Protect & Serve. Remember, you told me to put my thinking cap on..." I laid out my plans to change Protect & Serve from a one-man band into an organization, just finishing as we drove the car into the garage at the house in Carefree. "Which means, sweet thing, that you and I can be together most of the time, not just half the time." She squealed with excitement, unsnapped her seatbelt and ended up on my lap. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me a hundred times. "I knew you'd figure something out! I just knew it!" The space between a steering wheel and the chest of a driver, even in a big car like a Cadillac, doesn't offer enough room for someone to land on the driver's lap, but Colleen managed to accomplish the seemingly impossible maneuver without effort and leave enough room for my hands to do some grabbing in some delightfully soft places. Her quick wet kisses of appreciation soon evolved, without effort or thought, into wet, heated kisses of passion. The situation took me back to my high school years when the automobile usually offered the only available private place for necking and petting, and if the girl were willing, fucking, too. Our grappling, grasping passion demanded more space than the steering wheel and my chest allowed, and although I didn't see her do it or even sense that she was doing it, she moved the passenger seat back as far as it would go, manipulated the seat so it reclined, moved me into that seat with my pants and boxers down around my ankles, and took my rampant shaft into her hot, creamy pussy. Somehow while performing this amazing gymnastic feat, she also managed to lose all her clothes, so not only was she able to take my erection fully inside her, she also could offer her luscious breasts to my mouth. With a mouthful of tit, I couldn't talk, not out loud, but I could mind-talk. You've done this before, I said. What? Her hips rotated while the membranes inside her wonderful cunt massaged my shaft like a million little leprechauns doing the river dance. Fuck in a car. Oh, yeah, lots of times. Fun, huh? Yes, it is. It was fun, and that surprised me. I'd given up fucking in cars years ago when a bed in a private place wasn't that difficult to arrange. Fucking in a car was cramped and uncomfortable. I didn't feel cramped. I wasn't uncomfortable. I was having fun. Hot! God, you're sexy, I said. So are you. You're really hard. Almost as hard as a boy-cock. Oh baby, I love you, love you. Her sliding, graceful bounce sped up. I leaned my head back onto the seat and closed my eyes to concentrate on the exquisite sensations growing stronger, pushing me closer and closer to the orgasmic edge. Hot! I'm so hot! she said. So fucking hot! My hips rose to meet each of her downward thrusts, which buried my throbbing shaft inside her, buried it deep enough that I hit bottom each time. So hard! You're so fucking hard. And long! Fuck me, baby. Fuck me with your long one. I moved my hands from her ass to her tits, mauling them, squeezing, pinching her nipples as I humped up, hitting bottom... hitting bottom... hitting bottom. Yes, like that. Yes! Yes! Yes! she gushed silently. Come for me, baby, I said. I'm on the edge. Come with me. Come with me and we'll tumble together into that place of rapture we've talked about. Her hips flashed, pushing her, pushing me, until we teetered on the edge. Her silent scream wasn't piercing. It was music to my mind. Now! she urged. Do it now, baby! I fell off the edge, tumbled into the void of pure pleasure, a place I'd journeyed many times, but always alone. The connection of Colleen's body with mine, my ejaculating cock inside her pulsating cunt, my mind touching hers, and my effort to bring her with me to that place of pleasure, all combined to let us float together in bliss. We didn't have two orgasms. We shared one orgasm - two melded into one. I'm with you! she exclaimed. Yes, you are. Oh, it's beautiful. And then we crashed, tumbled out of the orgasmic void back to reality, which wasn't all bad, not with a bundle of girl flesh wrapped around me, not with the remnants of our orgasms, not with her pulsating cunt still fluttering around my throbbing cock. "I love you, love you, love you," she gushed. I hugged her fiercely and mashed my mouth to hers. ------- Chapter 6 I drank some coffee and looked up when Colleen stepped from the house onto the patio. She was naked, also unhappy. She glared at me and dove into the pool. I watched her swim about twenty laps and wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but she'd requested, no, she'd demanded mental privacy. Earlier, Maggie had called me, and we'd discussed her job and settled on a salary. Colleen, of course, wanted to know what the call was about, so I told her, and that's when she clouded up and rained all over me. "You want her to be your get-it-done gal, and you made me your company librarian. Get real, buster. Do I look like a fucking librarian to you?" Besides sitting on my advisory board, I'd asked Colleen if she'd be Protect & Serve's archivist, and she'd happily accepted the challenge. I considered an archivist critical to the ongoing viability of the company. Whoever replaced me at the head of the organization would need its history, the list of referral sources, operatives, contractors and vendors, employees, principals, and all the details that must otherwise remain secret. Secrecy spells loss if the only place the details reside is in the mind of the leader of an organization. I'd come up against that wall when a blow to my head made me forget the past. I wanted my successor to have the tools he needed to run the organization from the get go. Colleen moved up and out of the pool, walked to the patio table, stood in front of me with her hands on her hips, and gave me a defiant look. "Okay, buster. Here's how it is and how it will be. You made the right decision making Maggie your get-it-done gal. She's perfect for that job. In the end, I'd have been better, but not right off. It would've taken me a while, and you need someone completely effective right off the bat." "God, you're beautiful when you're pissed," I said with a silly smirk. "Pipe down. I'm not finished. You made the right decision with Maggie, but you fucked up big time handing me that archivist job. A librarian I'm not!" "I agree." "Pipe down." She sighed. "Would you like to know the job I want, the job you'll give me, or I'll make your life a living hell?" "My advisor." "Other than that. I'll be your advisor whether you name me an advisor or not, not that I'll turn down the salary you offered me. I do need a source of some money of my own." "Tell me what job you want." "To be your apprentice, squire, sidekick. Take your pick. Cowboy, you can't force me to stay at home filling up computer disks with all the little details your operatives and you accomplish with your daring-do. I'll be by your side, learning..." "Being by my side could get you killed," I said, interrupting her. She grinned. "Yep, just like you being you can get you killed. You want your woman to accept what you do, the danger you face, without question. Well, you've found her. I want my man to let me be his partner in life, let me stand by him, even when threatened, and I've found him." "What about your cooking class? Shooting? Kung fu? Your friends?" "Fuck the cooking class. I know enough about cooking and baking now to teach myself what I don't know. I took the cooking class more to learn manners, to learn how to be classy and sophisticated if a situation demanded class and sophistication than to learn how to cook, and I'm ninety percent there. Kung fu I won't give up, but I can miss a day if necessary, and as far as shooting goes, I'm already... adequate, and I'll practice when I can to continue to improve. Friends come and go, and having friends is important to me, but friendships take third place to love and achieving personal goals. A friend who can't understand I don't have the time for friendship once in a while isn't truly a friend." She sighed again. "Our interlude is over, cowboy. It's time for us to go to work, time for us to find your enemy and kill him, and then build a world-wide organization that will protect and serve good people from evil people." "Okay," I said. Sifu, I knew, would agree with my decision. ------- I drove the Cadillac to the parking garage, checked the Lexus for explosives and homing devices - it was clean - and drove away in the Lexus. If we needed another vehicle, we'd return and pick up the Cadillac. Colleen sat in the passenger seat wearing a business suit. She used the suit coat to cover the XD-9 in the shoulder holster under the coat. "My enemy will have watchers around Protect & Serve's office and my condo, and shooters will be standing by to move in on me when I'm spotted," I said. "Forewarned is forearmed, Morgan," Colleen replied with a smile. I'd told her that I'd put on my Morgan hat and that she was to refer to me as Morgan. "Sooner or later today, I'll be in a gun battle..." "We'll be in a gun battle, Morgan. If you're fired upon, I'll be in the thick of it, too." "Which could get you killed. Or me." "Only if you worry about me instead of doing what you do best. You're beating a dead horse, Morgan." Fuck, I thought and kept the thought to myself. Could I do my job without worrying about Colleen? Frankly, I didn't know. I also had another question only Colleen could answer, but not with words. Only her actions could tell me what I wanted to know. Could she kill? "Use the cell phone I gave you before we left the house and dial a number for me," I said. I gave her the number; she dialed it and handed me the phone. I listened to it ring. "What?" a gruff voice said. "Blount?" Tim Blount, according to Gordy, was my criminal attorney. "Yeah. Who's this?" "Morgan." He groaned. "What did you do this time, Morgan?" "Nothing yet, but someone is trying to kill me. Sometime today, probably this morning, that someone will sic some shooters on me. My crew and I will kill them. We'll try to avoid a confrontation with the police, but..." "Got it," he said, interrupting me. "Crew, you said. Names, I need names, and do they have conceal-carry permits for their weapons?" "Besides myself, my crew includes Colleen Melton, Mark Richardson, Heather, no last name, and Ruben, no other name. Colleen has a conceal-carry permit. I don't know about the other three, but Heather won't be in Arizona until later today." "Find out and call me back." Dial tone. I called my get-it-done gal, told her what I wanted, and five minutes later she called me back. "Richardson is good to go. He's licensed in Arizona. Heather and Ruben aren't." I called Blount. "Keep Heather and Ruben out of it, if possible, until I can arrange for their permits. Tell the two operatives without permits to call me. I'll have them legal before the day ends. Keep your head down, good buddy, watch your back, and for hell sake don't create any collateral damage." Dial tone. I liked my criminal attorney. He didn't fuck around. Colleen called Maggie for me, and I had no doubts that my crew would all be legal to carry concealed weapons before the day ended. I'd also filled one of the sub-contractor roles that had been vacant yesterday. I called Gordy. "Call Blount. I like him. Wire transfer a $10,000 retainer to his bank this morning." "Will do." Dial tone. My paymaster didn't fuck around either. ------- We met at a restaurant a few miles from the condo. I saw no point in making it easy for my enemy to find me until I was ready for him. I recognized Ruben. Richardson recognized me, and a hostess put us in a private room that my get-it-done gal had arranged. A breakfast buffet in warmers lined one wall. I didn't want a waitress constantly wandering in and out of our meeting. Mark Richardson was a tall, gangly man with curly blond hair and fair skin. He needed a haircut. He had large hands and feet, like a puppy, and was slim otherwise. Blue eyes. Ruben looked European, a dark complexion, dark eyes, short dark hair and a square chin. He was about my height. Both men looked extremely fit. I introduced Colleen as my sidekick and mate, which made her giggle silently, a sensation I could experience that Ruben and Richardson couldn't. Their thoughts were complimentary regarding her face and form, but her presence worried them until I said, "Consider Colleen a principal like me." Being a principal put Colleen in a niche they could deal with. Sidekick and mate didn't offer the same comfort. We ate and got to know each other. Richardson and Ruben had never met, but they soon recognized the professionalism each exhibited and became comfortable with each other. Colleen charmed them both. She also served us. "I'm not a woman's libber, boys. I can shoot; I'm learning kung fu, and Morgan has been training me in the tradecraft of a protector, but I'm also the kind of woman who enjoys serving the men around her." "Hoo boy!" Ruben said. "Down boy," Colleen said with a dazzling grin. "Not that way, except with Morgan, of course. That way, I'm a one-man woman, and Morgan is that man. Got it?" Ruben grinned. "Got it." "I got it the second I saw the two of you together," Richardson said. After we ate, I outlined what I believed we'd be up against sometime that day. "What you're saying," Richardson said, obviously irritated, "is that you not only won't listen to your protectors and disappear to let them handle the problem but also plan to precipitate a confrontation with your enemy's shooters. To what end?" Colleen grinned. "Good question, Mark. I've been asking myself the same question." I looked at Ruben. "It's okay to express your opinion." "Mark," Ruben said, "with Morgan as your principal, the normal principal/protector roles don't apply. Have you seen him in action?" "I backed him up on two protection contracts. He anticipated every threat against our principals and neutralized each of them before they could be initiated. What do you mean by action?" "From what you just said, I take it that you haven't seen him in hand-to-hand combat or watched him shoot that XD-9 he's wearing under his blazer." "No." "What about you, Colleen?" Ruben asked. "Have you seen him in action?" "I was with him in Kingman when he was ambushed. I saw him kill three of his attackers with three shots before he escaped with me. I've watched him spar with Sifu, my kung fu teacher. They sparred with cudgels, but Sifu tells me Morgan is as proficient with a saber, broadsword or spear as he is with a cudgel, and Sifu is no match for him. Sifu has been studying and practicing kung fu for forty years. I've seen Morgan at a shooting range fire thirty rounds at a target at twenty-five meters in twelve-point-two seconds, and every round hit within the ten rings. I've patched up a bullet wound he received when three shooters and a sniper ambushed him. He killed the shooters, evaded the sniper, and took out the follow car, killing two or three more shooters and the driver." "Fuck," Richardson breathed. Ruben grinned. "Nonetheless, Morgan, I would like to hear the answer to Mark's question." "Me, too," Colleen quipped. "The end for me is to identify my enemy, determine why he wants to kill me, and kill him before he achieves his goal. He or his hired thugs beat me senseless and left me for dead in a parking lot behind Circus Circus in Las Vegas. I didn't die. I recovered, but without a past, without memories, so I know neither the who nor the why of it all. My nemesis's thugs recognized me after I was released from the hospital, so I hightailed it out of Vegas. Mark, at that time disappearing was my only option. I didn't know my name. I had no resources and couldn't call on anyone for help because I didn't know anyone, so I disappeared. "Except for a complete blank regarding my enemy, that situation no longer applies. I have resources now. I have friends and colleagues I can call on. I've been in hiding for months, and I was willing to stay in hiding until all my memories returned, but the sonofabitch found me again and ambushed me at the Wrigley Mansion." "That was you at the Wrigley Mansion?" Mark said, looking shocked. "Yes," Colleen said. "That was one of the ambushes I referenced." Sobered, Mark nodded. "Sorry, Morgan. Continue, please." "I got lucky. I might not be that lucky the next time I'm ambushed, so it's time for me to take the battle to my nemesis. Yes, I'll precipitate a confrontation with my enemy's shooters - every time and at every opportunity. And during one of those opportunities, we'll take one of the shooters alive, if not today, the next time, or the time after that, but we won't risk our lives trying to take one of them alive. I want to make that very clear. Understood?" Ruben nodded. Mark said, "Yes." "When we succeed, and we will, I alone will interrogate the captive, and I'll do it my way. We'll follow the string he gives us that leads from him to his boss. Then we'll take his boss alive so I can have a little talk with him, and we'll follow the string that leads from that man to my enemy." I leaned back and closed my eyes. "Unless I can recover the memories that would identify my nemesis, I can't think of any other way to achieve the end I mentioned when I started this speech." I opened my eyes and grinned. "That doesn't mean I'm not open to suggestions. What I won't do is hide in a hole somewhere like a frightened animal, not at this point, because if I do, the next ambush might succeed." "That was a mighty fine answer, cowboy," Colleen said. "Works for me," Mark said. "I have a suggestion," Ruben said. "I'm listening," I said. "Put me in the point position." I grinned. "All right. Here's my plan for this morning. Mark..." I spoke for ten minutes, listened to suggestions from everyone, revised the plan accordingly, and we left the restaurant ready to do battle. ------- Because I was the only telepath in my crew, we all wore communication gear, but not the obvious kind with a microphone in front or our mouths. We wore state-of-the-art, concealed, wireless gear from my armory in Carefree. The watchers were easy to spot. Mark made the two men watching for me at the office building on his first pass. Ruben located three watchers in the vicinity of the condo. "Watchers know names. They have bosses," Mark had suggested during our planning session, and we'd altered my plan accordingly. "Break off, Ruben," I said. "I'll take out the two watchers at the office building, and we'll rendezvous at the address in Scottsdale I gave you earlier." Watchers are watchers because they aren't much good for anything else in a potential shooting scenario. Wearing a disguise, I took out first one and then the other with my cudgel. The takedown was silent and quick. Mark grabbed one of the fallen men. I grabbed the other, and we moved them to the Lexus. Neither was armed, so we took their cell phones, dumped one of the men in the trunk and the other on the floor in the back seat, and drove away. The man in the back seat was still unconscious when I pulled the Lexus into the garage where I'd lived with Colleen as Ken LaPlant. Ruben, driving Colleen's Cadillac, was waiting at the house for us, and he helped Mark carry that watcher to the kitchen where we taped him to a chair. We also blindfolded and gagged him to increase his terror when he regained consciousness. The blindfold had a dual purpose. I didn't want him to see anyone but me. I removed my disguise, returned alone to the garage and opened the trunk. That watcher was groggy, but he was coming around. I shoved my gun in his face. "Do you want to live?" I asked him. "Yes! Oh, God, yes! Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me!" "What's your name?" He didn't hesitate. I wouldn't need my telepathic abilities to interrogate him and get the answers I wanted. "Karl Moore. Please don't kill me." I smelled urine. He'd pissed his pants. "Who do you work for?" I asked. "Modern Security." "What's your supervisor's name?" "John Weber." "The man you were with at the office building, the other watcher, what's his name?" "Tony Ballard." "Do the watchers at the condo also work for Modern Security?" "Yes." He gave me their names before I could ask for them. When asked, he gave me one cell phone number. He didn't know the other watchers' numbers. "What were your orders?" "Watch for you. Call a phone number if I saw you?" "Give me the phone number." He rattled it off. "Who owns Modern Security?" "Cecil Greenfield." "After making the call what were your orders?" "Drive away and not look back." "What did you think would happen?" "That someone else would try to take you." Kill you, he thought. "Take me or kill me?" "I don't know. Kill you, probably." "And that was all right with you?" "Yes. I'm a nobody, for crissake. I don't and won't do anything illegal. I don't carry a weapon. I just do what I'm told to collect a weekly paycheck, and security is a second job for me. I need it to make ends meet. I have a wife and three daughters. Today's a day off from the other job, so I took this one." I reached and pressed my fingers to a spot on his neck and maintained the pressure until he lost consciousness again, and then I slammed the trunk lid hard. "Waste of fucking time," I muttered. The terrified man taped to the chair in the kitchen corroborated Karl Moore's story. I rendered him unconscious, and we left them in an alley somewhere between the house in Scottsdale and Protect & Serve's office on Camelback Road. "Let's have lunch," Ruben said. I laughed. "Let's." "What about John Weber and Cecil Greenfield at Modern Security?" Walt said. I called Maggie. "I need some facts about Modern Security. Supposedly Cecil Greenfield owns the company. John Weber is a supervisor. Do some research, please. Besides the normal stuff like their office address and phone number, I need to know the scope of their services and Greenfield's financial and political clout, if any. Details. I need details." "You've got it, boss. When?" "We're stopping soon for a leisurely lunch, say an hour and a half." "That's it?" "No. Take down this phone number." I gave her the number Karl Moore was ordered to call if he spotted me. "If it's traceable, I need the name of the person connected with the number." "Is that all?" "Yes." "Bye." Dial tone. "Who was that?" Ruben asked me. "My get-it-done gal," I said. "She won't actually do the research herself. She'll hire others to get it done." "If I remember correctly, you don't work through an agent. How do you come by new contracts?" he asked. He's biting, I thought. Set the hook, but let him fight. Don't try to net him, not yet. "Referrals," I said. "Are you saying you have enough referrals from past jobs to keep you busy?" Mark said, his voice echoing with disbelief. I chuckled. "Jeez, Mark, I haven't been in the business that long." He's nibbling at my bait, too. "Then how... ?" Ruben said. I interrupted him. "I interviewed some agents early on and didn't like what they told me. I'm sure there are some good agents out there, but I couldn't find one. You have a good agent, don't you, Ruben?" "Fair. He's okay. I've been with him for years." "Does he keep you busy?" I asked. "Not really, not if I discount the crap assignments he gives me. He runs three operatives and has yet to figure out what each of us does best." "What about you, Mark? Are you happy with your agent?" "He keeps me busy, but... let me put it this way. From what I've seen so far, you have more support than my agent gives me." I faked shock. "You've got to be kidding! Criminy, Mark, you've seen only a small portion of the support I have on call. Let's see, you've dealt with my travel agent. No. In fact, you didn't. Ruben did though. How was she, Ruben? Did she treat you right?" He laughed. "Yep, and made me laugh doing it. The way she says 'darlin'' just cracked me up." "Mark, you have a conceal-carry permit for Arizona. Ruben doesn't, but he'll have one by the end of the day. Heather, too." "Heather?" Ruben said with a grin. "Yeah, Heather is flying in this afternoon to give us a hand. Do you know Heather, Ruben?" "Yep. She's something else, and she could find a lost ice cube in a glacier." Don't push it, I told myself. Let them ask. "I'm confused," Mark said. "You said you get your contracts from referrals, but the referrals don't come from past jobs." "Well, that's not entirely true," I said. "One or two jobs each year come from happy principals from my past. Lemmee explain. Unhappy with the agents I spoke with, I decided to be my own man, so I spent a year - part time, not fulltime - setting up a nationwide referral system. Instead of paying an agent, I pay referral fees." I snorted with disdain. "The agents I talked with wanted half. I pay my referral sources ten percent. I enlisted lawyers, financial consultants, private detectives, non-competing security companies, and others, into my system. It works, too. I turn away jobs all the time." "What a good idea!" Mark said. "What happens if you're on a job?" Ruben asked. "Who takes the calls from your referrals?" "My screener takes the calls whether I'm on a job or not. She's great. She's a big, fat black woman who is wheelchair bound. She says it's the best job she's ever had." "Judas, what a setup!" Mark said. I laughed. Mark was a better recruiter than I was. "What other support do you have on call?" Ruben asked. "I know all the pieces, Ruben, but I still can't remember all the names. Hopefully, by the time we take care of my nemesis, my faulty memory will connect the right synapses and give them to me. I remember about one new name a day, but not all the remembered names are associated with my support system." "Give us the pieces," Mark said. "Okay. You know about my travel agent, my get-it-done gal, my paymaster, my screener, and my criminal attorney - he's the man arranging for conceal-carry permits, but he's on call if the pending shootout brings the gendarmes down on us. Other support includes an armorer, a documents and identity expert - read forger - an electronic surveillance specialist, a computer whiz - read hacker - a doctor or two who won't report a gunshot wound, a skip-tracer and private investigator, and Jasper, who takes care of my rolling stock." "Wow!" Mark exclaimed. "Yeah, wow," Ruben grumbled. "My work would be a lot easier with that kind of support. Too bad you're not an agent, Morgan." Game, set, match, Colleen said silently. Good job, cowboy. ------- After lunch, I waltzed into Modern Security's offices. The research Maggie did led me to believe I wouldn't run into any real threats there. I strode past the receptionist and an irate private secretary into Cecil Greenfield's plush, private office. He was one of those executives that put up awards, plaques, framed newspaper clippings and photos of him with important people, all of which I ignored. Morgan! he thought. "Give me the name of the man who hired you," I said. A name popped into his mind. "I've been told his name is Ralph Hansen," I said. "I'm just looking for corroboration, Cecil, so talk to me or I'll make a mess out of your pretty face. Tell me, is Hansen local or from out of town?" Local, Scottsdale, but I'd never tell this asshole. "Fuck you," Greenfield said. "I'm not afraid of you." "Wrong answer, Cecil. Cecil, what a silly name. I've changed my mind. Instead of making a mess of your face, I'll let Hansen do it. His phone number is 555-2352, right. I'll call him as soon as I leave and tell him you told me all about him. Have a nice day, Cecil." The number wasn't traceable, but the odds that Hansen was using the phone with that number were good, and after all, I am a gambler. I turned and walked out of his office, and promptly ran into three hulks who thought they were tough. My cudgel made short work of them without breaking any bones or rendering them unconscious, and what's more, I could honestly claim self-defense. Good golly, one of them pointed a gun at me. Outside, I hopped into the Lexus waiting for me at the curb. Ruben was driving. "Any problems?" he asked. "No." "Did you get a name?" Mark asked. "Ralph Hansen. He lives or offices in Scottsdale." Did Greenfield snitch, or did you read his mind? Colleen asked me silently. I read his mind. ------- My cell phone rang. Heather had arrived. I made arrangements to meet her and called Blount. "How are you doing on the conceal-carry permits?" "Give me two hours." I covered the mouthpiece on the phone and informed Ruben about the timing on the permits. "We decided to avoid the shooters until the permits were in hand," I told Blount. "Good thinking." "The watchers at my office and around my condo work for Cecil Greenfield at Modern Security." "Humph, I know Greenfield. He's more to be pitied than censored." "I just visited his private office. He likes to hang photos on the wall showing him hanging out with important people. I didn't see you in any of the pictures, Blount." "Fuck! What did you do to him?" "Nothing, just asked a few questions. I didn't hurt him, but three of his operatives tried to take me as I was leaving." "Did you shoot them?" "No, but I did use my trusty cudgel on them." "Cudgel?" "Yeah, a staff, Blount. It's a Shaolin wushu weapon. One of his operatives took a swing at me without provocation. Another pulled a gun. The third one scowled at me. It was a serious scowl, Blount, very intimidating." Colleen giggled. I adored her giggle sounds. "I bet," Blount said. "Did you break bones? Are we talking emergency-room injuries?" "No. I didn't even render them unconscious. Since my bonk on the head, I'm more cognizant of concussions and what they can do." "Surely you jest. Three men attacked you, and all they got for their effort were bruises and contusions?" "Yep. I guess I'm getting soft in my middle years. Do you know a Scottsdale thug named Ralph Hansen?" "Oh, yeah. What's he got to do with the sordid situation you're in?" "He hired Cecil and his boys to finger me, and if I were to guess, I'd say the shooters we'll face later today answer to Hansen. Is his cell phone number 555-2352?" "How the hell would I know that?" "That's the number the watchers were ordered to call if they saw me." "Watchers? You spoke with the watchers?" "Two of them. They're fine. Headaches, for sure. Mild concussions, maybe. Back to Ralph Hansen. What do you know about him?" "He was arrested for assault. I got him off. That was three or four years ago. I haven't seen or talked with him since." "Do you have a file on him you can share?" "After some judicious editing, sure." "Fax it to me." I gave him the fax number at the executive offices. "I'll call you in two hours." After I pushed the end button on the call, I tossed Mark a set of keys. "Those fit a Camry in the garage next to the condo building. It's parked three stalls from the elevator on the third floor on the west side. Check it for explosives and tracking devices before you drive it away. I removed both from the Lexus yesterday." I rummaged in my equipment bag and found my handy-dandy tracking-device and bug checker. "Use this to make sure a tracking device isn't attached to the car. The Camry should be clean, but check anyway. My enemy and his watchers don't know you, so it should be easy for you to pick up the Camry and drive to my office. I'll alert the receptionist at the office. Her name is Leticia Ramos. I'll tell her that you'll be picking up Blount's fax, and then meet us at the Ritz-Carlton in the lobby lounge. We'll be enjoying afternoon tea. I do enjoy teatime at the Ritz." You're having way too much fun, cowboy, Colleen said in her mind. What can I say, sweet thing? I'm in my element. ------- I recognized Heather as she walked toward our table in the lobby lounge of the Ritz-Carlton. She was an Irish lass, dark hair, milk-white skin, a great body, about thirty years old, and when I saw her I remembered fucking her. Heather enjoyed fucking. It was her avocation. I stood to greet her, and she moved into my arms and kissed me. It wasn't a friendly-greeting type of kiss either. My cock started to get hard. What the hell! Colleen thought. "Good to see you again, fuck buddy," Heather whispered in my ear and stepped back. That's when she noticed the group sitting at the table. "Ruben!" she squealed happily and promptly kissed him as enthusiastically as she'd kissed me. Another fuck buddy, she thought. How lucky can a girl get? Hmm, maybe not so lucky. Two fuck buddies at the same time could be troublesome. Naw! If either of them can't take a joke, fuck 'em. When she released Rubin, I introduced her to Richardson. She didn't kiss him, but greeted him with a warm smile. She considered him good looking and wondered if he'd be a good fuck. They shook hands, and Heather made sure her hand lingered in his longer than necessary. I introduced her to Colleen, who was steaming by then. I added the tags, sidekick and mate, to the introduction, which made Colleen smile, thank goodness. "Mate!" Heather exclaimed. "I'll be dipped in chocolate with whipping cream and a cherry on top!" Surprisingly, she gave Colleen a rousing hug, and Colleen didn't hold back either. "I'm mighty pleased to meet you, Colleen, mighty pleased, and congratulations! I didn't think any woman could hogtie Morgan. You've gotta be somethin' special indeed, sugar. You and I are goin' ta be friends for sure." Colleen smiled wickedly. "Not if you kiss Morgan like that again." "Oh, phooey, of course I will. A kiss don't mean nothin'. What I won't do is fuck him again, which will be disappointin', but I'll live." She entwined her arm in Ruben's. "Especially with another fuck buddy handy. Ruben, you're lookin' good, healthy and hearty, and ready for love." Colleen laughed gaily. "Heather, I like you. No doubt about it, we'll be good buddies, not fuck buddies, but close." Humph. Fuck buddies, huh? You and I, buster, need to talk, Colleen added silently while looking at me. Argh. "It's teatime," I said. "Sit down, Heather. We're avoiding the shooters until the conceal-carry permits are active. Besides, I'd like the rush hour mostly cleared from the area before we engage the enemy." She nodded and took a seat by Ruben. What a woman! Mark thought. I brought Heather up to date and outlined our plan while we sipped hot tea and munched on baked scones and miniature pastries. "I haven't had time to acquire a weapon," she said. "I have an XD-9 I can lend you or a FNH Tactical System in the trunk of the Cadillac," I said. I'd supplied Ruben with his weapon that morning. Mark had arrived with his own weapons. I didn't know what he carried. "Tell me about the tactical system" she said with amused glints in her eyes. "It's an F2000 System, illegal as all get out, but an awesome weapon. It's a little over 28 inches long, just under eight pounds, and holds a 30-round magazine; the cyclic rate of fire is 850 rpm, and it comes with a detachable 12 gauge shotgun and uses a laser to determine range and calculate elevation." "Fuck, Morgan! If I used that weapon, the gendarmes would toss me in a cell with a dozen bull dykes and throw away the key. I'll take the XD-9." "I have vests for anyone who wants one," I added. Raise your hand, I said silently to Colleen. She ignored me. "I'll take one," Ruben said. "Likewise," Walt agreed. Colleen raised her hand. "Me, too." "I hate those things," Heather said. "But I'll wear one if Ruben will help me put it on." "Of course," Ruben said with a leer. My cell phone rang. "I have the permits in hand," Blount said. "I'll be by my phone." "Thanks." I hung up. "Show time, folks." "We have Hansen's home and office addresses," Mark said. "We know what he looks like from his booking photo Blount faxed us along with the rest of his file. Why not take him at his home or office and skip the shootout at the condo?" "Good question," Colleen said. "Ruben, Heather, do either of you have an opinion?" I asked. Ruben said, "By now, Hansen knows that Morgan knows who he is. He won't be at either his house or office, and wherever he is will be a stronghold." "What's more," Heather said, "if his watchers spot Morgan, he'll think he has the upper hand because he doesn't know about the rest of us, so he'll be overconfident." "Even at that, he'll send everything he has at me," I said. "It's an all or nothing situation for him, so he'll arrive with his shooters to make sure the job gets done. The trick will be taking him alive." I grimaced and added. "Although I need Hansen alive to give me the name of his employer, I want to emphasize yet again that I don't want anyone risking his or her life to that end. Got it?" "Got it," Heather said. Ruben, Mark and Colleen agreed. "Let's go over the plan one more time," I said. Mark groaned. "For Heather, Mark." He nodded. ------- We used Mark's room in the Ritz-Carlton to put on the Kevlar vests and check our weapons, which included reloading all the magazines to make sure no one left any fingerprints on any bullets. Like that morning, we'd all be wearing communication gear. At about six o'clock, Ruben and Heather left first. Ruben drove the Cadillac and would drop Heather at the office building across 24th Street from the condo parking facility, and then proceed to a parking structure next to another office building a little north of the condo building, and again across the street. Heather's spotting sector included the corners of 24th Street and Highland and south on 24th Street as far as she could see, and Ruben was responsible for Elm Street and Camelback Boulevard, as well as 24th Street and the parking structure where he'd park. Mark and Colleen left next in the Camry. They would proceed to the condo parking structure and drive to the roof, parking next to the stairwell closest to the condo building. Mark's spotting sector was the parking structure and Colleen's the condo building lobby and the driveway and grounds directly in front of the lobby. When everyone was in place and the watchers located, I'd drive the Lexus - a vehicle known to the watchers, Hansen and my nemesis - down 24th Street and into the parking structure. I'd park in the parking stall assigned to the vehicle, and proceed without a care in the world to the condo lobby, greet Bucky, and take the elevator to the penthouse, where I'd put on my disguise. I could do a credible job acting and looking like a homeless person. My heart is beating a mile a minute, Colleen said silently. Breathe deeply. Find your center. Practice the mantra I gave you, I replied. I felt her deep breaths and heard her mental mantra. Fear is my friend. I will use fear to accomplish what I must do. Fear is... A minute later, she said, I'm much better. Thanks, cowboy. You're welcome. "I'm in place," Heather said in my ear. "The watcher is in the office building lobby with me." Five minutes later, Ruben said, "I'm in place. The watcher I noticed this morning is gone, but another is standing in the same place." A little later, Mark said, "I'm entering the condo garage now." When Mark reported the location of the watcher in the garage, and Colleen said she was in place, I started the Lexus and drove out of the parking structure serving the Ritz-Carlton. As I drove by the parking structure where Ruben waited, he said, "The watcher spotted you, Morgan. He's on his cell phone now." A few seconds later, I turned left to enter the parking garage. "My watcher is reporting in now," Heather said. "My watcher just hightailed it out of here," Ruben said. As I was parking the Lexus, Mark said, "My watcher is reporting in, and he's leaving as he's speaking on the telephone." "My watcher is leaving, too, Heather said. "The lobby is clear," Colleen said. "Phase one is complete," I said as I moved out of the garage to the elevator lobby to greet Bucky. "Good job everyone. Now we wait for the shooters." ------- Colleen, I'm descending in the elevator, I said silently. When I say 'now, ' distract Bucky. Will do, cowboy. Have I told you today that I love you? Yep, more than once, too. I love you, too, sweet thing. When the shooting starts, stay in your sector. Don't worry. I'll be a good girl. I'll follow the plan. "Heads up," Ruben said. "A sedan just pulled to the curb on Elm Street facing 24th Street. Four men. The driver turned off the engine. Hoo boy! Another sedan with four men just entered the garage where I'm standing. I see a weapon. One of the damned fools checked his weapon. The shooters have arrived!" "A sedan with four men just pulled to the curb on Highland facing 24th Street," Heather said. "One man exited that sedan. It's moving again, turning onto 24th Street heading north. Oops, it's signaling to turn into the parking structure for the condo. It's a white Honda Accord, Mark. Watch for it." "Gotcha," Mark said. Now, Colleen, I said silently. The elevator doors opened, and I moved through the lobby into the corridor leading to the garage stairwell. Bucky didn't see me. Of course, he wouldn't have recognized me. Still, a dirty homeless man would have bothered him. He might have followed me to make sure I left the property. "The man who exited the car on Highland is entering the lobby where I'm standing," Heather said. "He's a shooter. He's wearing a vest." "One of the men in the sedan on Elm exited the car and is walking across Elm toward the grounds in front of the condo building," Ruben said. "I see him," Colleen said. "Has anyone spotted Hansen?" I asked. Everyone said no. "I've got the Honda," Mark said. "They're checking weapons. They're shooters." "Where are they, Mark?" I asked. "On the third floor of the garage, the floor where you parked the Lexus. They pulled into a vacant resident parking stall." "Can you see faces?" "Yes. Hansen is not among them." "Heather, look for another car on 24th Street south of Highland or on Highland itself. They've placed two cars north of the condo building and one in the garage. A halfway decent planner would block the south end of 24th Street close to Highland." "I'm looking," she said. "One of the men in my garage has a sniper rifle," Ruben said. "It's silenced." "There's a nondescript sedan with four occupants off 24th Street about fifty meters south of Highland on the east side of the street," Heather said. "You called it, Morgan." "To summarize, and correct me if I'm wrong," I said, "two shooters and a driver occupy a sedan on Elm Street facing 24th Street. A shooter from that group has taken a position on the grounds in front of the condo building. Three shooters and a driver occupy a sedan in the garage across 24th Street and Elm." "Correction," Ruben said. "The sniper and one shooter have exited that vehicle. The shooter moved to the ground floor. The sniper stayed on the second floor and has taken a position near the stairwell with a good view to the front of the condo building and the egress ramp for the condo garage." "Corrections noted," I said. "To continue, two shooters and a driver occupy a white Honda Accord on the third floor of the garage. The Honda is parked... face in or face out, Walt?" "They backed into the stall, and one of the shooters exited the vehicle and moved across the driveway to the west side of the garage." "Corrections noted," I said. "To continue. One shooter is in the office building lobby where Heather stands, and there is a nondescript sedan with four occupants fifty meters south of Highland on the east side of 24th Street." "Correction," Heather said. "One occupant from that sedan has taken a position next to the entrance of the condo parking garage, and he's wearing a vest." "Correction noted. Question. Are the shooters and drivers wearing communication gear?" "I'd say no," Heather said. "Agreed," Ruben said. "I don't know," Mark said. "I'm with Mark," Colleen said. "What about weapons. We know there's one sniper rifle." "The man who moved to the ground floor of my garage appeared to be carrying an Uzi," Ruben said. "The man in the office lobby is carrying a pistol in a shoulder holster," Heather said. "Okay, expect the unexpected, folks. We're up against sixteen men, four are drivers, but they'll be armed. One is a sniper. At least one is carrying an automatic weapon, and they're wearing vests, so body-mass shots won't work. "Does anyone want to add anything to the summary?" I asked. Silence. "Does anyone want to back out? No hard feelings. We're up against it here." "I'm in," Ruben said. "Likewise," Mark said. "It's feeding time for my adrenaline addiction," Heather said. "You can count on me." ' "I'm in if everyone promises not to laugh if I pee my pants," Colleen said. The comic relief was appreciated by all. "Okay," I said. "It's my call. If Hansen is here, he's in the vehicle south of Highland. It's too dangerous to take him alive now, but with a little luck, when the lead starts flying, he'll hightail it out of here so we can get at him later." I sighed and said, "Here's my plan. Heather, can you take out the shooter in the office building silently, and keep him from warning the others?" "Yes." "Do so when I say the words, 'Heather, now.'" "Will do." "After you take him out, move north on the sidewalk to link up with Ruben." "What about the shooter at the corner of the garage?" she asked. "I'll take him out," I said. "Patience everyone. Let me get through this once, and if anyone wants to comment or suggest a change, do it then. Mark, a homeless man will soon stagger out of the stairway onto the third floor of the garage. I will be that homeless man. Your job, Mark, will be to take out the shooter standing on the west side of the third floor of the garage, and you need to do it silently. Is this possible if the homeless man distracts your assigned target?" "Yes, if you'll give me fifteen seconds to get into position." "Get in position now, but wait until you hear me say the words that activates Heather before you take out the shooter." "Gotcha." "I'll take out the driver and shooter in the Honda, silently if possible. If I succeed, I'll move out of the garage and take out the shooter at the entrance to the garage. I will then proceed south toward the sedan Hansen probably occupies. Is everyone with me so far?" I received a chorus of yeses. "Mark, after we take out the men in the garage, drive the Camry out of the garage. Proceed north on 24th Street and turn right on Elm, ignoring the sedan parked on Elm. Continue down Elm and take your first right. When you're out of sight make a u-turn and come back down Elm. Your second job will be to take out the two shooters and driver in the car parked on Elm, and don't worry about being silent with that takedown." "Gotcha," he said. I dreaded my next order. "Colleen, your job is to kill the shooter in front of the condo building, and then help Mark with the bad guys on Elm. Coordinate your attack with Mark." She gulped and said, "All right." "Ruben, the sniper will be a problem for Mark and Colleen." "I'll make sure he isn't a problem." "Heather, your second job is the shooter on the ground floor of the garage where Ruben stands. He has an automatic weapon so don't fuck around. Kill him and kill him fast. Ruben, in addition to the sniper, you'll need to take out the other shooter and driver in that garage." "Consider it done," he said. "That's it, folks. Any comments or suggestions?" "What happens if you don't take out the men in the Honda silently?" Mark asked. "Proceed with the same plan I just outlined except the shooters will be alert and trigger happy. Are you in place, Mark." "Yes." "Is everybody ready?" Everyone responded positively." I stepped out of the stairwell to stagger down the driveway of the third floor of the condo parking facility and quickly spotted the Honda. As I stumbled past the vehicle, I said, "Heather, now!" ------- I ripped my cudgel from under my layered, filthy clothes, and jabbed it through the open driver's side window, striking the driver's skull with force. Before the stunned shooter in the passenger seat could move, I shoved my XD-9 through the window and said, "Move and you're a dead man." He didn't move. "Using just the thumb and index finger of your left hand, remove your weapon and drop it in the back seat." He still didn't move. "Now!" I shouted. He moved. When I heard the thunk of the pistol hitting the floor, I said, "With your hands held high, move out of the car, and don't try to be cute or clever. I won't hesitate to kill you." He opened the passenger door, raised his hands and slipped out of the vehicle. With a bead on his head, I moved around the front of the car and said, "Turn around." "Don't kill me," he begged as he turned around. My cudgel gave him a concussion. I hoped the sonofabitch lost his memories. "The shooter in the office building lobby has been neutralized," Heather said. "Likewise, the shooter on the west side of the garage," Mark announced. I informed everyone that the driver and shooter in the Hondo were out of the game. "Heather when you see Mark drive out of the garage in the Camry, start moving up the sidewalk toward the shooter with the automatic weapon. Ruben, any changes with your sector?" "No. I'll take out the sniper when Mark gets into position. I'm in position now to shoot the sniper, swing to my left and fire at the shooter and driver in the car." "I'm moving down the south stairwell of the garage, but I won't exit the garage until Mark is in place," I said. "Colleen, any changes in your sector?" "No." Fear is my friend. Fear is... You're doing fine, sweet thing. Easy for you to say. "Oh, oh, we might have a problem," Ruben said. "The driver is on his cell phone." "Mark, where are you?" I asked. "Just driving out of the garage and turning right on 24th Street." "Heather, what's your location?" I asked. "I'm leaving the office building now." "I'm turning right on Elm," Mark said. Ruben said, "The driver is off the phone. He's talking with the shooter in the passenger seat." "The occupants of the sedan on Elm ignored me as I drove past them," Mark said. "The shooter in the garage is getting out of his vehicle," Ruben said. "I'm taking the first right," Mark said. "And... I'm now out of sight. I'm turning around." "The shooter is walking toward the sniper," Ruben said. "I see the Camry returning on Elm. Mark is in place." "I'm in place," Heather said. "Now! Take out the sniper now, Ruben," I said and pushed on the stairwell door to the sound of gunfire. I'd hoped to avoid killing the shooter by the garage, but when I stepped outside, he swung his pistol toward me. I shot him in the head. "The shooter by the entrance to the garage is dead," I said. "The sniper is down," Ruben said. "There, now he's dead." I heard automatic gunfire. Fuck! "The shooter on the ground floor of the garage is dead," Heather said as another burst of automatic gunfire filled the air. "The shooter in front of the condo building is dead," Colleen said. Good girl, I thought without sending her the thought. I was shuffling down 24th Street like a homeless man shuffles. I could see the sedan Heather spotted earlier. Was Hansen inside the car? If so, could I take him alive? The automatic gunfire worried me. "The driver and shooter in the garage are dead," Ruben said. "Mark is pinned down," Heather said. "The Camry is taking heavy fire," Ruben said. "Ruben, use the sniper rifle and give Mark a hand," I said. "You've got it," he replied. "Fuck, Morgan, your lady just took out another shooter. I'm converging on them now." "No need," Ruben said. "I just took out the last shooter with the sniper rifle." "Mark," I said. "Talk to me, Mark." "The fuckers had automatic weapons - all of them, including the fucking driver. Fuck!" "Is the Camry drivable?" I asked. "No fucking way. It took a hundred rounds, maybe more." "Leave it." "Can't. My prints are all over it." "Torch it then. You'll find some flares in the trunk. Do you know how to make a car explode?" "Yes." "Do it. Colleen?" "What?" She had to be pumped sky high. "Can you drive?" "Yes." She sounded irritated by my question. "Drive the Lexus. Heather, you drive the Cadillac. We need to blow this popcorn stand before the..." The sedan down the street from me pulled out onto the street. I shot out the windshield, and then killed the driver. The car swerved out of control - heading straight for me! I dove over the hood of a car, and the sedan slammed into the same car. The airbags deployed. I could see the shooter in the passenger seat. He wasn't Hansen, so I shot him in the head. At the same time, the man in the back seat cursed, pointed his automatic weapon at me and pulled the trigger. Bullets struck my vest, knocking the wind out of me and throwing me backwards. I hit the ground hard and watched Hansen clamor out of the vehicle as I tried to catch my breath. He ejected the clip in the Uzi and slammed in another one. When he pointed the weapon at me again, I shot him twice - both head shots. I rolled over and up onto my knees and promptly threw up. Damn, I hated it when I did that. "Morgan!" Colleen shouted. "Morgan, talk to me!" "Heather, pick up Ruben and Mark. Colleen, pick me up. We'll use escape route number one and rendezvous at the Embassy Suites, as planned. Is anyone hit?" "I have a flesh wound," Mark said. "It's nasty, though, a ricochet." "Can we treat it, or will you need a doctor?" "No doctor," Mark said. "What about Hansen?" Ruben asked. "He's dead. I didn't have a choice." ------- As the Lexus roared onto Highway 51 heading north, my faulty memory retrieval system repaired a synapse or two and gave me the name and phone number of a doctor who wouldn't report a gunshot wound. Necessity isn't just the mother of invention. It helps in the recovery of memories, too. I dialed the doctor's phone number. "Doc Winters," I said when he answered my call. "It's Morgan." "You don't call; you don't write, and then you want me to drop everything and come running. Correct?" I chuckled. "Correct. A flesh wound, but it was a ricochet." "Damn! That's got to hurt. Where?" I didn't know. "I didn't get shot, doc. One of my operatives took the round. I don't know where he got hit." "Bring him to the clinic." "It's a flesh wound. How about you bring your little black doctor bag and meet us at the Embassy Suites Hotel off Highway 51 East on Cactus Road?" "I can do that. House calls cost more." "At least you'll make one. I took two or three rounds, too, body-mass shots." "Humph, you were wearing a vest, huh?" "Yep." I told him to ask for Mark Richardson's room when he arrived at the hotel, hung up and called the security desk at the condo building. Bucky answered my call. "Morgan, you missed some excitement around here today. The lead was flying, I'm here to tell you." "That's what I hear. Bucky, do you remember the pretty lady in the lobby this afternoon?" "I sure do. She..." "Wrong answer. You never saw her. One thousand dollars say you never saw her. Now, do you remember that pretty lady, Bucky?" "What lady?" "Right answer. The security tape..." "Would another thousand get rid of the security tape?" Bucky asked. "Yep. A man named Paymaster will call you, Bucky. Give him your banking information, and he will wire half the money into your account tomorrow. If the pretty lady stays forgotten and the security tape gets ruined, he'll wire the last thousand one week from today." "Fine by me. Gotta go. The cops might want that tape, and they're as thick as mosquitoes in a swamp out there." Dial tone. "Thanks, cowboy," Colleen said. "How bad is the adrenaline dump? Do you want me to drive?" She looked at me. "I'm in better shape than you. No one shot me." I grinned. "You did good today, sidekick." "And mate," she insisted. "And mate. Blount will be biting bullets by now. I'd better call him." "Go ahead. I'll listen to your side of the conversation to keep me alert." She yawned and shook her head. "Blount, it's Morgan." "Morgan! You are a crazy man! Stark raving mad! If the cops get hold of you, I won't be able to save you." "Sure you will. Hansen brought fifteen men with him to kill me, most of them with illegal, automatic weapons, one with a sniper rifle. I merely defended myself." "Were you recognized?" "I was disguised. I do a pretty good act as a homeless man, even if I have to say so myself." "Was anyone on your side hurt?" "Mark took a ricochet, a nasty flesh wound. I've got a doc on the way to take care of him." "A doctor will report..." "Not this doc. We had to torch a car. It's registered to one of my aliases. The license plate on the car is from Texas. It's phony. I'll abandon the address where it's registered, as well as the alias." "Why did you torch the car?" "We didn't just torch it; we blew it to smithereens. Hopefully it can't be traced back to my alias now. Besides, the car was full of fingerprints that would've pointed the gendarmes at my crewmembers and me. I think we're in the clear. If for some reason we're not, I'll call you. Did my paymaster wire transfer your retainer today?" "Yes." "Thanks for standing by, Blount. You're a good man." When I hung up, Colleen said, "Cactus Road is the next exit, cowboy." "Take it and turn right on Cactus. Embassy Suites is on the right beyond 40th Street." She yawned again. "You are so not going to get laid tonight. I'm wiped." "Not to worry; I'm wiped, too. Will it be okay if I hold you in my loving arms?" "Oh, yes!" She sniffed. "Now you've gone and done it. You made me cry." "You can't cry. You're driving." "Not as soon as I get off this freeway, I'm not." She pulled the car to the side of the road at the bottom of the exit ramp. "Oh, Luke. I killed a man today. I took a life. Two of them. Hold me now, please. Hold me in your loving arms right now, for just a minute. Okay?" I wrapped my arms around her and let her cry. ------- Chapter 7 I sat alone on the balcony off my hotel suite drinking my morning coffee. The balcony offered a golf-course view. I watched sprinklers throw water over the grass. This is a desert, dammit! Wasting water on grass should be against the law. I was grouchy because, in the cold light of this day, I'd reviewed the previous day and found myself lacking. I'd made some serious mistakes, mistakes that could have gotten one or more of us killed, mistakes that could still bring the police to my door. I could blame the mistakes on my memory loss, but that would be a copout. Plain and simple, I'd fucked up, and not just once, either. Colleen stepped outside wearing a robe supplied by the hotel. She didn't look like her normally perky self. Nightmares had awakened her twice during the night. She draped her arms over my shoulders and gave the top of my head a kiss. "What are you thinking about?" she asked as she moved around me and sat on my lap. "Mistakes I made." She brushed my lips with hers and nuzzled my neck with her face. "What mistakes?" "Involving you in a shootout, for one." She stiffened briefly, and then relaxed. "I'll be okay." "Maybe. Mr. Bart conditioned me from boyhood to kill, but at the same time he also taught me how to retain my humanity and sanity after killing. You don't have that training to fall back on. I'm afraid I moved you too far, too fast into my business." She tightened her arms around me with a hug. I winced. My chest was black and blue. The vest had saved my life, but most likely, the bullets slamming into Kevlar had cracked some ribs. "Sorry," she muttered, straightened up and looked me in the eye. "I'll be fine, cowboy. Do you know why?" "Tell me." "Because I'm loved and I'm in love. I'm your sidekick and mate. Yes, I killed. Yes, I had nightmares about it. Will I lose my sanity over it? No. Am I less human because of it? No. Life is more sacred, more important to me today than ever before. Involving me in that shootout was not a mistake, and it wasn't too soon. Mark accused you of precipitating the confrontation. He was both right and wrong. True, you faced those shooters head-on when you could have run the other way, but being the man you are, you had no choice. Being the woman I am, I had no choice, either. I stood by my man. I faced my fears and did what I had to do." I hugged her fiercely. Fuck the cracked ribs. "And did it well." "You said mistakes - plural." "Yes." "Well, tell me." "We used vehicles that could be traced to us, and we're not home free yet. That mistake could still bite us." "How? You switched license plates and Mark torched the car we left behind. It exploded in flames, cowboy." "A forensic or arson specialist could recover the VIN number." "What if they do? The car is registered to Ken LaPlant, not Luke or Morgan." "Whose face is on Ken LaPlant's driver's license?" After a brief stunned silence she said softly, "Fuck." "Which means the house in Scottsdale must be sanitized." "Sanitized?" "All traces that you and I lived there must be removed. I spoke with Maggie this morning. She'll hire a moving company to remove and put in storage everything in that house, including the trash. A cleaning crew will move into the house tonight with instructions to steam clean the carpets and clean and wipe down every surface. Painters will move in the day after. When the dust settles, the moving company will move the furniture and other items that belong to the landlord back into the house, and Maggie will send a different cleaning crew into the house to steam clean the upholstered furniture and wipe down every surface. All this because I made a mistake. A simple call to Jasper would have provided vehicles that couldn't be traced to us, and they would have been more applicable to the task, to boot." Colleen nodded. "I won't try to talk you out of this one. You made a mistake, cowboy. What else?" "I should have hired a two drivers. We got lucky. We managed to leave the scene before the police arrived - barely. We lost minutes escaping because you and Heather had to retrieve vehicles from the garages. What's more, both of you were under the influence of massive adrenaline dump. Professional drivers get pumped to drive. They aren't falling apart with adrenaline dump when they start driving. The mistake wasn't fatal, but it was a mistake." "You can't think of everything, cowboy." "Wrong! I have to, sweet thing. When it's life and death, I have to, and that brings me to my biggest mistake. Mark's position on Elm was weak. We're lucky all he got out of it was a nasty flesh wound." "Could you have made his position stronger?" "Oh, yeah. I ordered everyone to wait until he was in position before the shooting started. Dumb! The shooting should have started when he turned right off Elm and went out of sight. I didn't think of Ruben becoming a sniper until it was almost too late. If I'd ordered Ruben to take out the sniper, the shooter and the driver on the second floor of the garage at the same time you took out the shooter in front of the condo building and Heather the shooter on the ground floor of the garage, Ruben could have covered Mark with the rifle, and you and Heather could have created a crossfire at ground level in front of the sedan on Elm while Mark attacked from the rear." "Hindsight is twenty-twenty." "In a shootout, twenty-twenty is necessary upfront. I made a mistake, Colleen, one that could've cost Mark's life. Once again, we got lucky." "Is that it?" "I wish. I didn't think about your exposure until later." "You fixed it, though." "What if one of the bullets I took hit flesh instead of the vest? In that case, I couldn't have fixed it soon enough, and the police would have your pretty face on tape. I was in a disguise. You should have been disguised, too, and not thinking about how exposed you'd be in that lobby wasn't my last mistake. When Hansen tried to escape, I thought I could stop him and could take him alive. In my quest to capture him so I could determine the identity of my nemesis, I did what I told the rest of you not to do. I risked my life. Dumb! If I'd let him escape, I could have tracked him down wherever he tried to hide. Now I have nothing, no way to move forward against my enemy. He'll have to come at me again before I can grab the end of another thread I can follow that will lead me to him." "Or," Colleen said, "you can recover your memories and pull his identity from your mind." "There's that." "How's Mark doing?" "He'll be fine." I chuckled. "I checked on him earlier - telepathically, not in person. Heather was playing nurse." "Oh? How?" "A blow job. Mark wasn't feeling any pain right then." "I thought Ruben was her fuck buddy." You, too, you louse. "Heather is an equal opportunity fuck buddy. She took care of Ruben, and Ruben took care of her before she played nurse with Mark." "And you experienced all this telepathically?" "Fleeting thoughts only. I'm not a voyeur, sweet thing." I am, she thought, and then blushed. "You heard that, didn't you?" "Yep." "If I could do what you do, I would've experienced everything, not mere fleeting thoughts." I snickered. "If I were an empath as well as a telepath, I might do the same thing, but all I experience are thoughts, sweet thing. I can't assimilate sensations." She shivered. "Ooh, that would be something else again." She slipped her hand in my robe and fondled my cock. "Heather was your fuck buddy, huh?" "That's what she called it." Colleen's soft hand achieved her purpose. I got hard, not boy-cock hard, but hard enough. "What did you call it?" "Casual sex." She stood up and opened her robe. "Open yours," she said. "We're pretty exposed out here, sweet thing." "I'm an exhibitionist, too," she said as she straddled my lap and took my hard cock in her hand again. She leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss. I'm your fuck buddy, buster. Got it? Got it. With that, she rose up a little, swiped the head of my cock through her wet crease, and settled down around my length. Oh, baby, that feels so good. I love your cock in me, she said. I grabbed the globes of her gorgeous ass, thrust upward and buried my shaft to the hilt. Now I'm in you. You sure are. You hit bottom. Suck on your fuck buddy's tits, suck on them and play with them while you fuck me. I sucked as much of one tit into my mouth as I could and pinched her other nipple. Oh, yeah, like that. Suck on the other one now. Oh, God, they're fucking! That thought came from someone else. I moved my eyes left and right. Heather was on a balcony to my left with one vacant balcony between us. You're an exhibitionist, huh? I said silently to Colleen. Yeah. I enjoy fucking out of doors or in places where I might be seen. The idea that someone might watch excites me. That's good because someone is watching us. She stiffened briefly and then continued to move on me. Who? Heather. She's on your right, two balconies over. I'm connected with her. What is she thinking? That we're sexy. Is she playing with herself? I don't know. Maybe. I hope she is. That would be so sexy. Let's give her a good show. Colleen shrugged off her robe and increased the pace of her rotating hips. Suck on a tit again, like you did before. Her tits are gorgeous, Heather thought, and look at him suck on 'em! That's so hot! I'm hot. Fuck her, fuck buddy. Fuck her. Colleen shook her head left and right as if in the throws of passion, or in real passion. I didn't know which, but the gesture let her see Heather. She's doing it, cowboy! She's finger-fucking herself. Oh, I'm hot! I'm fucking the love of my life, and his old fuck buddy is watching us and finger-fucking her cunt. Maybe I am an exhibitionist. I'm hot, too, I said to Colleen. Can you see her? Can you see her fingers in her cunt? I looked to my left. I could indeed see Heather's busy fingers, and she saw me looking at her. She took her fingers from her cunt and put them over her lips to silently tell me to be quiet about what was happening. Then she sucked her fingers into her mouth. I bet he likes this, Heather thought. He's getting royally fucked and watching me finger-fuck. Her fingers went back to her cunt. She spread her outer lips wide, and then stuffed two fingers inside. I sensed her moan of pleasure. I see her, and she knows I'm watching her, I said to Colleen. Did she stop? I chuckled. No way. She's having as much fun as you are. What? You're not having fun? Sure I am, just not as much as you. Or Heather, I suspect. Should I let her know that I know she's watching? No. Let her know later. Surprise her. Okay. Are you close? Yes. I have been for a while. Well, come in me, baby. Come in your fuck buddy, and I mean me, not that sexy slut, two balconies over. That was an easy request to satisfy. I grabbed the globes of her ass again, let out an orgasmic roar and blasted semen into her. She climaxed with me, I noticed. Sexy, Heather thought. I'm coming with them. I'm coming, too! The ladies were still coming when I finished. Typical. Female orgasms last longer than a male's. I also noticed that Colleen's climax lasted longer than Heather's because Heather gave me a little wave and sashayed back into her suite before the pulses of Colleen's orgasm let her return to the here and now. "That was a good one, cowboy," she breathed. ------- We'd watched the news on television the night before, and I picked up a newspaper and read the article about what was being called the "Gunfight at the 24th Street Corral." Colleen and I also watched the news before our scheduled debriefing session, which I dreaded. I planned to admit my mistakes and feared my errors in judgment and just plain stupidity had annihilated my recruitment effort. Thirteen of the sixteen men who arrived to ambush me died in their attempt. Ruben shot the driver in the garage, but he didn't die from the wound, and after surgery, he was expected to recover. The two men I'd clubbed with my cudgel were in the hospital. The driver was in critical condition. I'd hit him hard enough to do serious damage. The shooter was listed in serious condition. All three men were under police guard. No witnesses had come forth, at least a witness that the press and the police would admit to. I found that hard to believe. 24th Street between Highland and Camelback is a busy street. Also, no human collateral damage was reported. With all the bullets flying around from our opponents, I found that absolutely amazing. There was property collateral damage. Bullets fly until they hit something and then create holes and smash things. A call to Blount assured me that the police didn't have a line on my crew or me. He said the police suspected my involvement but had no proof. They suspected me because I'd had run-ins with them before and lived in the area. Of the three assailants still alive, two of them were lawyered up and not talking. The other one was still unconscious. "It looks like you were right, Morgan," Blount said. "You might get a get-out-jail card this time." Except for the VIN number on the Camry, I thought, and kicked myself yet again for not using vehicles Jasper could have provided. I did call Jasper. The Lexus and Colleen's Cadillac had to disappear for a while, and Jasper rented me two late-model, nondescript sedans. Maggie arranged for two self-locking storage units, and Colleen and I parked the Lexus and Cadillac in the storage units until the hoorah about the gunfight cooled down. Colleen and I used one of Jasper's cars to drive to the house in Carefree to change clothes and freshen up, and Ruben, Mark and Heather did the same at the Ritz-Carlton using the other vehicle. Eileen booked a suite for Colleen and me at the Boulders Resort in Carefree, as well as rooms for my crew, and cancelled the rooms at the Ritz. That hotel was too close to the site of the gun battle. We used the suite at the Boulders for the debriefing. I opened the session by saying, "Mistakes were made. I made them." "You're not alone," Mark said. "I made some doozies." "Likewise for me," Ruben said. "You had to prompt me to take up that sniper rifle, Morgan." "I should have converged on the Elm Street sector faster," Heather said. "Me, too," Colleen said. I outlined my mistakes without making excuses or claiming extenuating circumstances. And then I apologized. "Mark, I'm especially sorry I put you in such a weak position against three men with automatic weapons. I'd understand if you wanted to take a poke at me. I'd also understand if you want to back off and go on your merry way. The same goes for you, Ruben, and you, Heather. Each of you performed admirably, and because of your above-and-beyond effort we succeeded in spite of my error-riddled plan. Whether you leave or stay, check your bank accounts. I instructed my paymaster to wire transfer $10,000 bonuses to each of you, and that includes you, Colleen." When Mark started to speak, I held up my hand to stop him. "Folks, this was my sidekick and mate's first firefight. She did her job and she did it well. She stayed in her sector and followed the plan, as lousy as that plan was. I believe she deserves some attagirls from us." I started the applause, and Mark jumped in, shouting some hoorahs in addition to clapping. Ruben and Heather were also effusive with there appreciation, especially Heather. I sat down. When Mark started to speak, Ruben stopped him and took the floor. "I agree, Morgan. You made some mistakes. Mark's position was weak. Colleen should have been wearing a disguise, and you should have hired drivers and used vehicles that couldn't be traced to you. That being said, I'm proud to have served you yesterday, and I'll serve you again. I, for one, am not going anywhere until this job is done. Go ahead, Mark." Mark jumped up. He was a demonstrative cuss. "Take a poke at you!" he shouted. "I ought to take a poke at you for even suggesting that I'd so something like that to you. I admire you, Morgan, more than any other man, and mistakes or not, I'll follow you into Hell. Got it?" I nodded. "Say it, goddamit! Tell me you understand how I feel about you." "Got it," I said. "Good. Now we've got that out of the way, I'm here to tell you that I'm not going anywhere, including after this job is finished. You say you turn away jobs all the time. Well, I want them, Morgan. I want you to be my agent. I want to work for you. Waddaya say to that?" "Okay." "I..." He looked confused. "You agree?" He'd obviously anticipated a negative response. "Yes. I do turn jobs away all the time. If you want me to be your agent, I'll do it. You're a protection specialist, right?" "Yes." "I'm a recovery specialist. You might as well take the protection gigs that come my way. Your fee is $1,000 a day plus expenses, correct." "Yes, but that includes my agent's cut. He takes half." I grinned. "Then you just got a big raise. I charge my principals $2,000 a day plus expenses for protection services, and I won't take a contract with less than a $10,000 retainer. I'll pay you $1,000 per day plus expenses." "What about missing-person gigs?" Heather said. "Do you turn some of them away, too?" I grinned. "Yes. How many do you average a year?" "That varies. Eight to fifteen." I frowned. "I don't turn that many away. Would you take recovery or protection jobs as fill-ins until I can beef up my referral source list to attract more missing-person assignments?" "What's a referral source list?" After I explained, she turned to Ruben and said, "Why didn't you tell me about this, Ruben. What are you doing? Trying to hog a good thing for yourself?" "Nope. You heard Morgan. He's a recovery specialist. That's what I do. He can't do me any good." "Ah, Ruben, that's not entirely true. I have a problem you might be able to solve for me." "What's that?" he asked. "I want to spend time with my sidekick and mate. I can't do that if I'm out and about somewhere on assignments ten months out of every year." Ruben's grin lit up the room. "Now we're talking." "Whoa," Heather said. "Me, first. You asked a question, Morgan. Before I answer, answer this question. How long will it take to beef up your referral source list so that most of my jobs are missing-person assignments?" "I'm not sure. A year, maybe less. I'd plug Protect & Serve into all the missing-person organizations, government and private, as well as individuals in occupations that would learn about missing persons early on. You could guide my effort. Combined with my current referral sources, an additional three hundred individuals scattered around the country ought to do it. I'd only need to recruit twenty-five new referral sources a month. Piece of cake. Of course, I'd also need to train my screener regarding missing-person referral calls, but she's experienced with protection and recovery screening, so she won't become a bottleneck." "Screener?" Heather said. I told her about my screener and added, "She's part of my support system." "Support system?" she said, becoming more and more agitated. "You won't believe the support he has on call!" Mark said. "That's my biggest gripe with my agent. If I need a weapon, it's up to me to find and buy it. If I need an airplane ticket, I have to check flight schedules, book the flight with my own credit card, and then wait months for the expense reimbursement. I could go on and on." "He's right, Heather. Morgan has the best support system I've ever seen. You offered Mark a raise, Morgan. What's your deal for me?" "Let's see. You're fee is $1,500 per day plus expenses, right?" "Yes." "What's your net?" "$900. My agent takes 40%." "Whew! You're way low. I charge $5,000 per day plus expenses for recoveries. The same for missing-person jobs, Heather. I'd split that with you." I gave each of them a hard look. "I'll pay half of what I can charge. If either of you take a protection job, you'll be paid $1,000 a day, not the $2,500 a day for a recovery or missing-person job. That's fair, isn't it?" "I'll say," Heather said. "I'm in." "So am I," Ruben said. "Whoa! There's a bunch of other stuff we need to work out first. Tell me Ruben, how did you get in the business?" "When I left the military, I started in protection, and later trained under a man working recoveries." "In other words for a while you took second chair, right?" "Yeah." "Would you be willing to train someone I'd put under you on a job?" "That would depend on his level of competence to start with. I won't be shackled with someone who could get me killed." "Fair enough. What about you, Heather?" "Ditto what Ruben said, except I'm not usually at risk. Some missing-person gigs turn into recoveries, though." I grinned. "I know - abductions." "You've got it," she said, returning my grin. "What about you, Mark?" I asked. "If the trainee isn't too green and listens, I enjoy teaching the principles of protection. I have a question, though. Why do recovery and missing-person assignments pay so much more than protection jobs?" "Ruben, will you take the question as it relates to recovery jobs?" I said. "Sure. Remember yesterday, Mark? You came face to face with death. That's a recovery for you. Not every time, but more often than not, recovery operatives must face the guns of the kidnappers, abductors or zealots to release hostages or captives. In other words, the extra money is a risk premium." "That's a good explanation, Ruben," I said. "I'll add that in addition to the risk premium, the principal is also paying for specialized knowledge and skills, which leads us to the second part of your question, Mark. Heather, tell Mark why you're worth what you're paid." "You said it already, Morgan. Specialized knowledge and skills. I even specialize in the specialty. I'm known for locating missing children, so I deal mostly with runaways, but many children are abducted. As Morgan said, a missing person who has been abducted is handled much like a recovery, so besides being a specialist in missing persons, I must also understand and perform the recovery end of the business." Mark looked pensive. "Morgan, I'll work second chair to either Ruben or Heather to learn their specialties, and not just for the extra money. I've got to say that finding missing children appeals to me." "Does second-chair pay come out of first-chair pay?" Ruben asked. "No. Second chair is an expense to the job. Ruben, Mark, our discussion about the business before Heather arrived made me step back and take a look at what I do and what I want to do, and after speaking with Colleen on the subject, I've decided to change Protect & Serve from the one-man band that it is into an organization. I plan to expand marketing and support systems, set up training programs to bring youngsters into the business (I started when I was twelve years old). I'll also establish retraining programs for operatives who join the organization from other agencies. My goal is to make Protect and Serve the best in the business. Notice I didn't say the largest. I'm not interested in big. I'm interested in good. If the three of you are serious, I think I can place each of you on a job in the next few days." "What about your problem?" Ruben said. I grimaced. "At the moment, I don't have a direction I can take. I killed the man who could lead me to my enemy. It's a waiting game again, and I'm not good at waiting, so while I'm waiting, I'll start turning Protect & Serve from a one-man band into a symphony orchestra. If I can produce a job for you, Ruben, do you want an assignment?" "Sure. I'm not any good at waiting, either." "Heather?" "I'd rather work than sit around. I'm serious about Protect & Serve." "Mark?" "I'm serious, but... Morgan, what if your enemy finds you again, and we're on jobs and can't help you?" I chuckled. "I'll do what you wanted me to do to start with, Mark. I won't precipitate a confrontation with him that I can't handle by myself." Or hire other help, I thought, but kept the thought to myself. "He could ambush you again," Mark said. "Which, by definition, you can't stop any more than I can. All I can do is be better than the shooters he sends at me." "What happens to Protect & Serve if your nemesis, as you call him, succeeds?" Heather asked. I looked her in the eye. "Tell me, Heather, do you plan to fire your current agent or tell him your taking some downtime?" I knew the answer to my question before I asked it. She blushed. I said, "If I were you, I'd take some downtime, too. The opportunity intrigues you, but you want to make sure it's real before you burn any bridges. That doesn't offend me in the least. I know I've got to perform or you'll walk, and if I'm dead, I can't perform. For what it's worth, once the organization is up and running, I'll initiate procedures and systems that will ensure Protect & Serve's continuity should anything happen to me." ------- I admit it. After the meeting broke up, I listened in on their thoughts and conversations. I'm pumped, Heather, Mark said. I'm really excited. Are you referring to the opportunity Morgan offered you, or me? she said. The opportunity, but you excite me, too. Which is no great feat. He's easy to excite, business-wise or otherwise, she thought. Still, the opportunity Morgan offers is amazing. I haven't made more than a half million in any one year during my entire career. If I take two months off, I can still clear $750,000 working for Morgan. I felt her inward groan. That's if he can produce the missing-person assignments. The proof will be in the jobs he hands me. Pumped, huh? she said to Mark. I know about being pumped, or is it punched? Mark, as a girl, I was known as the neighborhood punch. Is that the same as being pumped? Or... is this pumping? In my neighborhood when I was a boy, what you're doing was called a hand job. My neighborhood, too. What was this called? I sensed his groan of pleasure. A blow job. And later, Waddaya think, Ruben? Heather asked. About what? Morgan's offer? I experienced his laugh. What's not to like? Can he perform? Morgan's word is his bond. He's an anachronism. You heard him. A man he calls Mr. Bart took Morgan under his wing when Morgan was a lad of twelve. The man put him in kung fu classes, fed him tradecraft until the principles of protection were second nature to the boy, hired a shooter to show him how to handle handguns, and Lord knows what else. Can he perform, you ask. Yes, and he will. Unlike you, I plan to fire my agent. I'm in, Heather, one hundred percent. You're the best I've seen in the martial arts, Ruben. Could you take him? Not on my best day. You're good with a pistol. I've seen you in action, but you're not in Morgan's class. Humph, I'll bet you... hmm what would be a good wager? What's the bet? That I can take Morgan in a shooting contest. In your dreams, sweetheart. I've yet to meet a man I couldn't out shoot. Come on. Put up or shut up. What can you afford to lose? Hey, I'm not talking money here. Five pussy lickings versus five blow jobs. If I beat him, you do the licking. If he beats me I do the licking. You're on, baby, and to show you I'm a good sport, I'll give you a free licking right now. ------- I made some calls. Sherry had a protection assignment that on the surface looked perfect for Mark, but after checking further, I passed. Protect & Serve did not protect bad guys. I told Sherry what I was looking for, and when I mentioned missing-person assignments, she perked up. "I got a call yesterday, Morgan. I discounted it and didn't get the details 'cause it had to do with a runaway teenage girl, and I know you don't take jobs like that. I'll call the referral source back and get the details." With my screener alerted, I called my get-it-done gal and explained my support system. "Maggie, my faulty memory apparatus has yet to give me to the names of the individuals who provide certain support functions. I remember the functions but not the people involved." "Give me the list of functions, and I'll try to track down the people for you." "I use what I call an armorer. If I need a weapon, a Kevlar vest, specific ammunition, things like that, I call my armorer. Next is what I call my documents and identity specialist. This person supplies me with real or forged documents like driver's licenses, passports, social security cards, birth certificates, in other words documents that establish identities, but I also sense I've used him for forgeries needed outside the scope of identities. Gordy is putting together or has already put together a Protect & Serve vendor list. You should be able to determine the name of my electronic surveillance specialist and my skip-tracer slash private investigator from that list. If I've paid more than one person in either category, give me the list of names and their phone numbers, and I'll take it from there. Last but not least, I'm in desperate need of a computer whiz slash hacker." "Morgan," Maggie said, "There are hardware guys and there are software guys and there are hackers. You might have three computer whizzes out there." "No, I'd have one who would point me at another when I gave him the specifics of the problem." "That makes sense. Is that it, the list of missing support functions, I mean?" "Yes." "I'm on it, bubba." My next call went to Marna Crispin. Without hesitating, she agreed to sit on my advisory board, and then reiterated her desire to meet Colleen. "Speaking of Colleen," Marna said, "the documents we discussed are ready for your signature. I'll messenger them to you today." While on the telephone with Marna, I spoke telepathically with Colleen, and she agreed to meet Marna the next morning. I also scheduled the first advisory board meeting at noon the next day in our suite at the Boulders. I spoke with Eileen, and she set up a spa session for the ladies after the meeting, and Sifu agreed to a sparring session at my kwoon in Carefree while the ladies were getting pampered. The sparring session was subject to cancellation. With my bruises, I might not be up to the task. Speaking with Sifu reminded me that I hadn't resolved the Jim Gill issue with Colleen. "Sweet thing, we need to talk about your friend, Jim Gill." "No need, cowboy. I'll maintain my contact with him at the kwoon but won't try to deepen the friendship further." "As you know, I'm recruiting operatives for Protect & Serve. I asked Sifu if he could recommend anyone, and he recommended Jim Gill." Colleen grinned. "That's interesting." "It also presents a problem." "Why?" "He's your friend. He knows you live with a man named Ken LaPlant, and you planned to tell him LaPlant is actually Luke Upton." "That won't work, but I could tell him Ken LaPlant is Morgan and use the same amnesia explanation I would have given him to introduce him to Luke Upton. What I can't do is invite him to our house in Carefree. Where's the problem?" "Does he know Kate, Gary or Ellie?" "No, and I can keep them separate." "Then there isn't a problem." I called Sifu. When he answered my call, he said, "Why did you use a telephone to get in touch with me?" "Because I could. I know you don't like me in your mind, Sifu." "Your mind in mine no longer bothers me. I've come to accept it. It amuses me, and a mind connection enhances communication. Why did you call?" I explained the results of my discussion with Colleen concerning Jim Gill, which pleased the Chinese gentleman. "Sifu, if Gill is proficient enough in kung fu to be one of your instructors, he..." "He is my most advanced student, Morgan, but you should spar with him to test his ability." "Okay. Can he shoot?" "Mr. Dean Woodhouse is his teacher for firearms." The name struck a chord. "Tell me about Dean Woodhouse." "He's an instructor at the Ben Avery Shooting Facility." A face formed in my mind. I knew Dean Woodhouse and counted him a friend. "Jim is proficient with the tools of the protection profession, but he will need some training in the tradecraft used in the business," Sifu said. Sifu gave me Gill's phone number, and I ended the call. Before I called Gill, I sat back and did some thinking, and then called Avery and asked for Woodhouse. "Woodhouse," a man said when he picked up the phone after being paged. "It's Morgan, Dean." "Hell's bells, Morgan! Where you been?" The sound of his voice resurrected some lost memories. I'd just found my armorer. ------- Kung fu sparring without weapons involves fists, hands, feet, legs and body movements. Specialized kung fu strikes include the backfist, ridgehand, and reverse punch. Sidekick and roundhouse kicks come into play. The jumps, leaps, hops and rolls require practitioners to be quick and agile, and I wasn't at my best. The bullets striking my vest had not cracked ribs, as I'd first suspected, but I was still bruised and tender. Jim Gill's sparring ability was... adequate. He was young; he'd continue to improve. After the session, I conferred with my crew. They'd joined me to watch me test our first potential second-chair operative. "He's pretty good," Mark said. Against Morgan, as good as I'd be, he thought. "Above average for newbies," Heather said. And Morgan skewed the average curve. "He'll do," Ruben said. "Colleen mentioned that you spar with this man's teacher using Shaolin wushu weapons. That's something I'd like to see." Sifu, I said mentally, my crew would like to see us spar with wushu weapons. I believe such a demonstration would be advantageous, he replied and walked out of his office. "Cudgels?" he said out loud. I bowed. "No pads," Sifu added. We know enough about how the other fights to avoid injury. Stopping my strikes, instead of pulling them, would reduce my effectiveness, I knew, which would make Sifu and me more equal as adversaries, and then I realized Sifu made the offer because I was so bruised. A blow, even over pads, could acerbate recovery. "No pads," I agreed. Are you out of your minds? Colleen asked silently. I'd allowed her comment to move through my mind to Sifu's. He smiled and replied, Watch and learn, grasshopper. Colleen cracked up laughing, which made my crew and Jim Gill wonder if she were out of her mind. Sifu and I squared off with cudgels. I won but the match was close. Have you sparred with mixed weapons? Sifu asked as we bowed to each other after the match. Yes. I will use the saber, Sifu said. I'll stay with the cudgel, I replied. I have never seen anything like that, not even close, Heather said to Ruben. I didn't hear her words. She was off to one side and she was whispering, but I experienced each word just before she spoke them. If he shoots as well as he spars, " Heather said, "I'll owe you five blow jobs, fuck buddy. That's why I offered the freebie cunt licking earlier. I didn't want you to feel completely neglected. Of course, I thoroughly enjoy licking your tasty pussy, so my offer can't be considered magnanimous. Ooh, you silver-tongued devil! Now you've gone and done it. You've made me wet. Sifu attacked without warning. I blocked his saber strike with my cudgel, and his foot swept me off my feet. I rolled away from another strike, and my cudgel forced him to leap as it swept under his feet. I hunched my back and sprang to my feet. We sparred for about ten minutes, and the speed and agility we demonstrated had to be impressive. While blocking another saber strike, my foot struck the side of his knee. I'd pulled the kick, but Sifu staggered, and I moved in with a half-dozen lightning fast blows, stopping each just before they struck his body, the last one atop his head. Sifu and I faced each other and bowed. That is enough, he said. You are hurting. Watching Morgan really makes me wet, Heather thought. For the fun of it, I'd passed Heather's thought onto Colleen. My sidekick glared at first, and then smiled. Eat your heart out, slut. He's my fuck buddy now. ------- The rapid-fire range at Ben Avery wasn't designed for practicing the Olympic event, but five targets at 25 meters were offered to each shooting lane. An Olympic rapid-fire match consists of 60 shots, which is subdivided into two courses of 30 shots. Each course is further subdivided into six series of five shots: two series in eight seconds, two in six seconds, and two in four seconds. In each series, one shot is fired at each of five targets. The standard rapid-fire pistol shoots .22 caliber short cartridges from five-shot magazines. Ported barrels reduce recoil, and the gun grips completely envelope the shooter's hand for additional stability. Jim Gill's gun was an FAZ 603, an ideal weapon for the rapid-fire range. While he shot the first course, Dean Woodhouse and I stepped away so we could talk. I told him about my memory loss and that someone was trying to kill me. "I don't know who, Dean, and I don't know why. Over the months, I've recovered much of my memory, but it's been slow going. For example, you were a blank until I heard your name this morning, and I didn't recover all of my memories of you until I heard your voice on the telephone. Unfortunately, any and all memories tied to the person or group trying to kill me are still a complete blank." "I wondered," he said. "You've taken jobs that took months before, but even then you'd need a weapon or accessory, and you'd call me during the job. Frankly, I thought your number had come up." I grinned. "It almost did at the Gunfight at the 24th Street Corral." His eyes widened briefly and then softened and glinted with humor. "That figures." "Dean, I'm changing how Protect & Serve functions. I'm turning it into an organization. A few minutes ago, I introduced you to Ruben, Heather and Mark. They became Protect & Serve operatives this morning, and if Jim Gill shoots well today, he'll be an operative in training. In other words, the need for your services will expand dramatically. May I still count on you to do what you've done so well for me in the past?" He smiled. "You know you can, Morgan." I noticed Jim Gill had finished both rapid-fire courses. I said, "Let's go see how Jim did." A perfect score for 60 rounds is 600 points. Jim shot an excellent 541." "Nice shooting, Jim," I said. "I can do better," Heather said. Ruben laughed. "Morgan, Heather and I have a bet. She thinks she can beat you in a shooting match." "What handgun?" I asked her. "I'm carrying the XD-9 you gave me." We'd dumped the weapons we used in the gunfight, and I'd given everyone an XD-9, mostly because that's what I had on hand. I'd have to order some more from Dean. "XD-9s it is," I said. "Women shoot 40 rounds, not 60." "That's insulting, Morgan. We'll both shoot 60." Heather considered herself equal to any man. "All right. Must I follow Olympic rules regarding time, or may I shoot faster?" "Knock yourself out as long as you fire the 60 rounds moving from target to target for each shot and finish in 72 seconds of shooting time." The 72 seconds did not count the time it took to reload. "Ladies first," I said, which elicited another glare from Heather. She said, "No, go ahead." "Shoot first, Heather," Ruben said. "You won't want to shoot after he's finished." Watching her shoot made me proud to have her on Protect & Serve's team. She shot an amazing 581. I'd never seen a woman shoot that well. "Beat that, big guy," she said with a smirk. "That's world-class shooting, Heather. I'm impressed." While she was shooting I'd gathered up five, loaded clips for an XD-9. I set them on the shooting table to my right and donned the eye and ear protection required on the range. I pointed my weapon at the ground at a forty-five degree angle, and because the targets wouldn't turn, I didn't look downrange. "Attention!" Dean shouted. I turned, raised my pistol and squeezed off the first round, came out of the recoil, brought my shooting arm in line with the next target, squeezed off another shot, and did the same with the third target, the fourth and the fifth, turned back to the first target and started the process again. After the tenth round, I released the empty clip and slammed in a new one, raised my pistol and fired again. My kind of shooting, I thought as my mind and body became one and moved into the zone of concentration needed for rapid-fire shooting. Nothing on my body moved but my waist and trigger finger as I turned from target to target. When I finished firing the sixty rounds, I set my XD-9 on the shooting table, removed the eye and ear protection gear, turned to Ruben and said, "You win." "60 rounds in 29 seconds including magazine changes," Dean announced. He'd timed me with a stopwatch. I'd done better in the past and attributed my slower time to my bruises - the misses, too. "Did you miss?" Dean asked. I grimaced. "Three times." Three misses. That's 30 points. Maybe I beat him after all, Heather thought. Still, that was an astonishing demonstration of rapid-fire shooting. Except for Colleen, the group crowded around the targets. Show off, she said silently. Did I go too far? Not really. Heather needed to be taken down a peg or two. I just hope you didn't intimidate Jim too much. She had a point. That's why she was on my advisory board. "Yep," Dean said. "Three nines. The rest are in the ten rings. A 597, now that's shooting!" 597! The misses were nines! Heather thought. "Judas Priest!" Mark exclaimed. "That ties the world record!" "No, Mark, it doesn't," I said. "I broke rules. Wrong gun, wrong caliber, 10 round magazine instead of 5, and I ignored the 8, 6, 4 second rules." "But..." "Let it go, Mark." He closed his mouth and nodded. Heather looked at me, then Colleen. "I've gotta kiss him, sidekick and mate. I've just gotta!" Colleen laughed. "Go ahead." Heather molded her body to mine and kissed me as passionately as I've ever been kissed, gave me a hard-on, too. She stepped back, curtsied and lowered her head. "I bow to your superior shooting skill, Morgan." And I want nothing more than to fuck your brains out one more time, but that'll never happen, not with the way you are with your sidekick and mate. I wished I'd let that thought go through to Colleen. Heather raised her eyes to mine. "Fuck, Morgan, you're a killing machine." "No, Heather," I said. "I protect and serve. That is my purpose in life. If I must kill to achieve my purpose, I will, but I am not a killing machine." My crew agreed with me regarding Jim Gill. They all stated that they would welcome Jim as second chair on any job they took. While I pulled him to the side to make my deal with him, Jim let Colleen use his FAZ 603, and Dean gave her a lesson in Olympic rapid-fire shooting. We spent the rest of the afternoon shooting. A good time was had by all. I was careful not to show off again. ------- I had four operatives without assignments. I called Sherry. She had the details on the runaway teenager. I spoke directly to the referral source involved, a partner in a law firm in St. Louis. That conversation led me to the principal, Glenda Redmond, the runaway's grandmother and guardian. Her fifteen-year-old granddaughter left the house five days before and hadn't been seen since. One of the girl's friends reported that the girl had hooked up with some older boys, young men really, in their early twenties, the friend reported. That being the case, the situation probably wasn't a kidnapping or abduction. The girl had run away with boys before, and no ransom demand had been made. Mrs. Redmond said, "Mr. Morgan, please find her for me before the police pick her up. If she's drinking and doing drugs like the last time she ran away, and the police find her first, I don't know what will happen. If you find her, I'll put her in a rehabilitation program and engage a therapist or any other professional help needed. I might be able to save her. The authorities won't even try. I must try to save her Mr. Morgan." She agreed to my daily rate plus expenses and a $50,000 retainer. I initiated my new policy that added a five percent handling fee for expenses, and I told her my most experienced missing-person specialist would call her within the hour. Heather spoke with Mrs. Redmond, accepted the assignment, and I put her on an airplane that evening. Gordy handled the money, and Eileen arranged travel, lodging and a rental car for the assignment. Heather would need a weapon in St. Louis. Dean told me an XD-9 with accessories and ammo would be delivered to her at her hotel early the next morning. Blount started the process to obtain a conceal-carry permit for the State of Missouri. "The permit might take more time to arrange than she'll be in the state," Blount said. "I don't have the pull there that I have in Arizona." "Do it anyway. That way, she'll be good to go the next time she takes an assignment in Missouri." I drove her to the airport. At the drop-off curb, she said, "I thought I'd be the last of your new operatives to get an assignment. Instead, I'm the first." I gave her a credit card and a sealed envelope. "My paymaster says you should use the card for any job expense that accepts a credit card. It'll make my accounting department happier, too. The envelope contains cash - $1,000. That's advance expense money. You must account for its use. Use my paymaster to wire transfer any other funds you require." She kissed me goodbye, and she was gone. One down, two to go, three with my new second-chair operative, but he'd go with Mark or Ruben, probably Mark, because just before I left to take Heather to the airport, Sherry called and said she'd started the screening process on a protection gig. I went to work on that assignment early the next morning, and put Mark and Jim on an airplane for Washington, D.C., before my advisory board meeting. That left Ruben foot loose, but I wasn't concerned. My referral sources would hand over a recovery assignment in the next day or two. ------- "How did your meeting with Marna go," I asked Colleen. "What? You didn't listen in?" "I've been busy, baby. Besides, I figured you could and would handle Marna's initial doubts, and in the end, leave her as bosom buddies." "Cowboy, Marna Crispin and I will never be bosom buddies. Do you know why?" "Tell me." "Two reasons. One, the generation gap applies big time. She could be a surrogate grandmother, but not a close friend. Two, she didn't stand by her man. Still, I can and do respect and admire her otherwise." "How did you leave it with her?" Colleen grinned. "Before she looked me in the eye, she thought that perhaps I'd cast a spell on you. Now, she knows I have, but that's all right with her, because I'm a good witch, and the spell is a good spell, the spell called love. Marna and I will get along just fine, cowboy. We're looking forward to the spa session after the meeting." My cell phone rang. "Bubba," Maggie said after I answered the call, "I found your skip-tracer and private eye. Notice I didn't say private dick. That's 'cause your investigator is a lady. Her name is Robyn. That's spelled R, O, B, Y, N. Her last name is Berdan, and she's waiting for your call." Maggie gave me her phone number, so I called her. The name didn't ring any bells. While the phone was ringing, a knock sounded at the door. Colleen rose and walked toward the door, and the hair on the back of my neck started to itch. "Colleen, don't answer the door," I whispered loudly, dropped the phone, and pulled my pistol from my shoulder holster. Colleen had stopped in front of the door, so I pointed and said, "Over there." She moved to the side of the door and pulled her pistol. "A premonition," I said by way of explanation. "Who is it?" I yelled through the door, standing to the right of it. "Room Service." Maggie had made arrangements for lunch for the meeting, but that wasn't what was happening. In a pig's eye, I said to Colleen silently. I'm connected with him. He's a... he thinks of himself as an assassin. "Just a minute," I yelled again as I returned to the sofa and picked up my phone. My private eye had answered the call. "It's Morgan. I have a situation. I'll call you back." I got a dial tone and called Ruben and quickly told him what was happening. "Check the hall. I need to know if the man at the door is alone or has backup." My telepathic sense told me the assassin was alone in the hall, but I wanted visual confirmation, and with the hotel-room walls and door, I could only cast my mind out thirty feet to make a new connection. "As far as I can see, he's alone, Morgan," Ruben said. "What's more, he's wearing a hotel smock and he pushed a serving cart to your door." Ruben doubted my judgment. I didn't care and didn't have time to explain. "Leave your room while talking on the cell phone, and walk toward him. When you're a few steps away, say 'now, ' and I'll open the door and shove my pistol in his face. You do the same, but at the side. Let's take him alive." "Will do. There, I'm in the corridor walking toward him... Now!" The startled man looked terrified. I'd be terrified, too, if two pistols were aimed at my head from less that three feet away. "Put your hands on your head," I said as I cast my mind out a hundred feet. Nothing. Which meant nothing. More shooters could be behind obstructions and far enough away that I couldn't connect with them. "Thank you. I might not kill you if you do as I say. Leave your hands on your head and walk around the cart into the room." His eyes got bigger when he saw another gun cover him as he moved into the room - Colleen's XD-9. "Check the cart for explosives and weapons before you roll it into the room, Ruben," I said and jerked a straight back chair to the center of the foyer. "Sit, but keep your hands on your head." "A silenced pistol under a serving cover. No explosives," Ruben said. "You called it, Morgan." I reached and pressed my fingers to the assassin's neck. He jerked his head away. "Don't move!" Colleen threatened. My fingers pressed again, and I maintained the pressure until he lapsed into unconsciousness. "You've got to show me how you do that," Ruben said. "Me, too," Colleen said. "Let's take him to your room, Ruben. This room is blown. Colleen, call Marna and Sifu and cancel the advisory board meeting. They're en route, no doubt." "I don't have Marna's cell phone number," Colleen said. I gave it to her and added silently, Call Marna, but I'll contact Sifu telepathically. I picked up the assassin in a fireman's carry and lugged him to Ruben's room. Ruben and Colleen covered the move. A minute later we were once again behind a locked door. Sifu had been warned away, but Marna hadn't answered Colleen's call. I tried to connect with Marna and failed, which bothered me. Was I losing my ability to immediately connect with minds I'd connected with before? I quickly connected with Heather and Mark. No problem. My second attempt with Marna failed like the first. Then it hit me! I couldn't connect with a mind that had stopped functioning. Marna Crispin was dead! ------- Chapter 8 While the assassin was unconscious, we stripped him and, using a couple of neckties Ruben donated to the cause, tied him sitting up in a chair. I stuffed one of his dirty socks in his mouth for a gag. "You carry a knife, don't you?" I said to Ruben. "Yeah, a little carved Damascus two blade. Why?" "Even strong men talk when they're naked with a knife at their balls." "A bluff?" I shrugged. Was this the man who killed my old friend? Then I grinned and nodded. "How did you spot him?" Ruben asked. "To me, he looked like an authentic room-service waiter." "How many waiters wear $300 Bally shoes and a Rolex wristwatch? He's an amateur." I'd noticed the shoes and watch when we'd stripped him. "He's coming around," Colleen said. The assassin's black eyes fluttered open and then filled with fear. "Give Colleen the knife," I said to Ruben, which shocked him momentarily, and then he smiled. Uh-huh, now I understand. Women can be more ruthless than men. Sometimes violent know this as a fact, he thought as he opened one blade on the knife and handed it to Colleen. Sweet thing, I said silently, grab him by his cock and cut it, not a lot, just a little, but make him bleed. Can you do that? I can and I will. The skunk planned to kill us. She brandished the blade in front of his eyes. "Morgan will ask you some questions," she said. "Answer them truthfully without hesitating, or I'll cut off your puny cock." With that, she grabbed the man's penis, jerked it, stretching it out away from his body and laid the sharp blade on the upper part of his limp shaft close to his pubic mound. With an evil smile, she sliced, drawing a trickle of blood. "Jesus!" Ruben muttered. "Oops," Colleen said. "I hope he doesn't talk, Morgan. Thinking about cutting off his cock and watching blood squirt until he bleeds to death is making my pussy wet." Nauseated is more like it, cowboy. Let's get this over with. I need to wash my hands. He'd finished the muffled scream the cut evoked, so I jerked the sock from his mouth. "Scream and you lose your cock and your life. What is your name?" Don't cut him again unless I tell you to do it with mind-talk. Okay. The assassin gulped. Sweat beaded his brow. "Ramon Chavez." "That's a lie. Cut him again, Colleen." "Paul Sanchez! Don't cut me! I'm Paul Sanchez." "Who hired you?" He thought a first name - Joseph - but didn't speak. "Get ready to cut him again, Colleen. Who hired you?" "He'll kill me." "You might escape his wrath. You can't escape mine - or Colleen's. You heard her. She's looking for an excuse. Fuck, she doesn't need an excuse. Talk to me Sanchez." Colleen grabbed his cock again. "No! I'll talk! Joe, his name is Joseph Karsh." "Where does Karsh live?" "Las Vegas." "Who hired Karsh?" "I don't know. Honest! I don't know." "Why am I marked for death?" "I don't know." He was telling the truth. "Did you kill Marna Crispin?" "No!" "Who did?" "I don't know." A lie. His thoughts gave me a name, and Sanchez feared Joel Hall more than Karsh. He'd never reveal Hall's name. He'd die first. "Marna is dead?" Colleen asked out loud, looking shocked and upset. "Yes." I can't connect with her. "You took the place of the room-service waiter to gain access to my room. Did you kill him?" I asked. "No, he's tied up and gagged in a linen closet." "Do you have backup?" "No, I work alone." He was telling the truth. I looked at Ruben. "Check the linen closet. Make sure the waiter is still alive, and check our perimeter." Ruben nodded and left the room, wondering as he walked away if I'd kill the man in the chair while he was gone. "I was told Joel Hall killed Marna Crispin," I said. "Is Hall local or from out of town?" "Vegas," he said, and then shivered with fear. How did he find out about Hall? "Did you kill Candice Singer?" Oh, fuck, I'm going to die! "I can see it in your eyes! You killed her, you fuck!" My faulty memory system took that moment to briefly correct itself and give me my Candice memories. She was a loving friend, not an enemy. Maggie had read her wrong, too. Candice wasn't a piranha; she loved me. I didn't love her, not like I loved Colleen, but still I gravitated to Candice for my downtimes. I was the user, not Candice, and because I used her, she was dead. "I want to kill you now! Right now!" I screamed and cocked my hand and arm for a strike. I was furious! "I'm expert in the martial arts. I could drive the bone in your nose into your brain, and it's taking all the will power I have to control that urge, so talk to me. Tell me everything. Why? Why did you kill Candice?" "I'm an assassin. That's what I do. Karsh through Hall hired me to kill her." "Why did he want her dead?" "She'd been under a watch; her house was bugged. After you made arrangements to meet her, she found a bug. She planned to tell you. That's what I was told. That's all I know. Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me." I'd broken his spirit. He'd answer any question I asked, so I asked for details, how he'd murdered Candice, step by step, starting from the moment Joel Hall ordered the hit. Then I questioned him about Joel Hall and Joe Karsh. Hall and Sanchez worked for Karsh. Sanchez feared Hall more than Karsh because Hall was a stone-cold killer, a man without conscience or mercy, a man who enjoyed inflicting pain. From what Sanchez said, Karsh wasn't my enemy, but my enemy had hired him. "Go wash your hands," I said to Colleen. While Colleen was in the bathroom, I was sorely tempted to drive the bone in Sanchez's nose up into his brain. He was evil. He didn't deserve to live. With a sigh, I reached and pressed and put him to sleep. Killing an unarmed man tied naked to a chair with borrowed neckties was counter to Mr. Bart's conditioning. ------- Ruben returned, looked at the assassin and said, "Is he dead?" "No, taking a nap. What about the waiter?" "He's alive." "Did you release him?" "No. He was kicking the door and screaming through a gag. Someone else will find him. Our perimeter is clear." Paul Sanchez alive presented a problem. I couldn't release him. His first call would be to Joel Hall, his second to Joe Karsh. I didn't want Hall or Karsh to know that I knew their names. Colleen returned from the bathroom, looked at the assassin and said, "Is he dead?" "No," I said. She grinned. "Couldn't do it, huh?" "No." "Softy. That's what you are - a softy. Heather was wrong. You're not a killing machine." She gave me a gentle kiss. Course I already knew that. I couldn't love a killing machine. "What should we do with this asshole," Ruben asked. "I can't kill him," I said. "Can you?" Ruben grinned. "Nope. What about you, Colleen? Can you kill him?" "Untie him. Put a gun in his hand, and if he tries to kill one of us, I could kill him. The way he is - no way. He should be brought to justice, though." Chicanery is required, Colleen said silently. Speak to this scum's mind, cowboy. Become his conscience. In other words, brainwash the fucker. "What a good idea," I said. "We'll turn him over to the police. I'll work on him some more when he comes around." Wake up, Sanchez. Wake up, I said inside his mind. It's your conscience. Wake up. His eyes suddenly opened wide. He stiffened with terror when he remembered where he was and what had happened, was still happening to him. You must confess your crimes. His head spun right and then left, searching for the source of the words entering his mind. This is your conscience. You've ignored me too long. I don't want to die. If you die, I die. Confess! Tell them your crimes. No! Don't tell them. Tell them that you'll tell the cops. They might let you go if you promise to confess your crimes to the authorities. Tell them! Tell them if they let you go that you'll confess your crimes - all of them. His black eyes bulged with fear. I must be going crazy. My conscience has never spoken to me before. Why now? "How about it, Colleen? Do you want to kill him?" I asked. I'd let her experience the thoughts I was sending Sanchez as his conscience. "May I cut off his cock?" she asked with eager glints in her pretty eyes. Tell them, or that ruthless bitch will kill you! She'll cut off your cock, stuff it in your mouth and watch you bleed to death. "Don't kill me!" Sanchez gushed. "Turn me over to the police. I'll confess my crimes. Please! Don't let her touch me! Please!" "Can't do that," I said. "You'll tell them about me, tell them what I did to you, and they'll arrest me. Oh, I'd get off. I've got a good lawyer, but I don't want the hassle." Agree with him, you idiot! "I won't mention you, Morgan. I promise!" Include the woman. Tell him you won't tell the police about her, either. The other man, too. Save us! Confess! Confess! I hammered him until his black eyes stared blank and unseeing, luminescent with the madness while I carved into his mind wielding a surgeon's scalpel with my telepathy. As his conscience, I thrashed him while we untied him, and I continued my assault on his besieged mind while he dressed, telling him over and over again what he had to do to save himself. He became as docile as a purring cat and as obedient as a well-trained dog. I asked silent questions, which he answered out loud until I told him to think his answers, not speak them. "This guy is nuts," Ruben said as we drove away from the Boulders. I was unrelenting. Confess! Confess! Confess! Don't let the name Morgan pass your lips. Confess all your crimes except the last. Don't tell the police about Morgan. Tell them everything, but don't mention Morgan. What about Hall? he asked his conscience. Leave Hall out of it. Morgan will take care of Hall. Save yourself. If you tell them about Hall, he'll torture you, and then kill you. That's what I'll do. That's good. What about Karsh? Leave Karsh out of it. Confess your crimes. All of them, but don't bring up Morgan or Hall or Karsh. This is about you, Paul. About us. You're not like Hall. You have a conscience. I'm your conscience. Confess your crimes but leave Hall and Karsh and Morgan out of it. At the corner near the headquarters building for the Scottsdale Police Department, I emptied his silenced weapon, wiped it down, and put it in his hands. "When you confess, you'll need this gun with you. It's the weapon you used to kill Candice Singer. Right?" "Right," he said. This is good. Morgan is helping you do what you know you must do. We watched him walk into the building with the gun in his hand. I coached him mentally at every step. I'm not sure what happened inside. I was too far away to connect with anyone except Sanchez. My plan fell apart, though. Shortly after he walked into the building, gunshots rang out, and my mind lost its connection with him. They killed him, I told Colleen silently. Why? I don't know. Later, a television reporter gave us the story. Supposedly, Sanchez walked into the police station brandishing his weapon. Someone yelled, "Gun!" and four police officers drew their weapons and shot him. ------- I called my skip-tracer/private investigator and apologized for my rude but necessary behavior when I'd called her before, explaining why I'd hung up on her. I did my song and dance about my memory loss and nemesis, and then brought her up to date on my effort to turn Protect & Serve into an organization, finally arriving at the reason I'd called her. "I need two dossiers, Robyn: one for Joel Hall and another for Joseph Karsh. They reside in Las Vegas. Hall works for Karsh." "What kind of detail do you want?" she asked. "As detailed as possible. Karsh can lead me to my enemy." "How soon do you want the dossiers?" "Yesterday, but..." "If you want detail and speed, I could do a better job for you on the ground." "You mean go to Vegas?" "Yes, on the next flight." Not a bad idea, except... "Robyn, they're killers, especially Hall. He enjoys torturing his victims. If either of them found out you were nosing around asking questions..." "I can take care of myself, Morgan." "I'm sure you can." Hmm, Ruben was still on the clock. "All right, but I'm sending one of my new operatives with you, a man named Ruben. He..." "I don't need a nursemaid, Morgan." "Don't get your panties in a twist. I want Ruben on the ground because he'll look at Hall and Karsh and the situation from an entirely different perspective than you. He's a protector, like me, and at the moment, I'm his principal, not you, so I'm not sending him to Vegas to protect you. Still, it wouldn't hurt either of you to get along and watch each other's back." When I told Ruben what I wanted, he wasn't happy about teaming up with Robyn either. "A female private dick, huh? What is she a bull dyke?" "Shame on you, Ruben," Colleen said. He blushed. "Sorry." "Ruben, I don't remember her, but her appearance and sexual preference aren't material. Look, she'll gather personal information about the men to develop the dossiers. I want you to take a gander at their strongholds. The dossiers should tell us their personal weaknesses; your investigation should tell us their physical weaknesses. We might need to breach their strongholds to get at them, and if possible, take Karsh alive. Besides, where's the harm in watching Robyn's back at the same time?" They flew out of Scottsdale Airport late that afternoon. Eileen set it up. They could carry their weapons and a large bag of goodies from my armory with them on a chartered flight. Colleen and I drove Ruben to the airport. I wanted to meet my skip-tracer in the flesh, mostly so I could connect with her while she was in Vegas. I checked on Mark, Heather and Jim three or four times everyday - to make sure they were all right, not to spy on them. Robyn Berdan was not a bull dyke. She was a doll baby - a Barbie doll, big blonde hair, long neck, big bosoms, tiny waist, womanly hips and long, long legs. I put her age at thirty-three or -four. I can see it in his eyes, Robyn thought as she watched me walk toward her. He doesn't remember me. That's not right, dagnabit. I'm memorable. I am! Sure, it was just one time, and it was ages ago, but if I trip a guy, he ought to remember landing on me. Jeez, cowboy, did you bed every good-looking woman you ever met? Colleen said and dug her elbow in my ribs. I'd plugged her into Robyn's thoughts. We were like two ships that pass in the night - one night. Then I hooked up with George, and when I sent George packing, Gabby had him by the gonads, Robyn thought. Nice gonads they were, too, if memory serves, and there's the rub - his lost and wandering memory, that and the beauty on his arm. I don't normally swing that way, but she sure could tempt me. Hoo boy! Ruben thought. What a woman! She could give a dead man chronic, raging tumescence. That's when Robyn noticed Ruben. Ooh, be still my heart. What a hunk! Down girl. He's probably married with six screaming, snot-nosed kids. Oh, oh, I'm in deep doo-doo. Married with children or not, that man makes me wet. I introduced everyone. Ruben looked stunned. Robyn looked nervous. Colleen chortled inwardly. You're having way too much fun, sweet thing, I said. They're cute. Ruben's smitten; Robyn's got it just as bad. It's love at first sight for both of them. Lust at first sight, you mean. Uh-uh, love, baby. I know about love, and that's love. Oh, they'll jump each other's bones at the first opportunity. That's lust, and they've got lust galore, but they're twittering, and twittering slips the situation beyond mere lust way out on the other end to romantic love. Twittering, huh? Yep. Ruben lusted after Heather and vice versa, but neither twittered. I chuckled. I think you mean that they weren't all atwitter. That, too. ------- As the chartered aircraft taxied toward the runway, my cell phone rang. My get-it-done gal had identified another support staff member, my electronic-surveillance and spy-gadget guy, Horace Reed. "Thanks, Maggie, I'll give him a call. Have you made any headway on my forger or hacker?" "I've crossed off some names. Is that headway?" "Sure, if some names remain on the list." "Then I haven't made any headway. Call Gordy. He has some bad news for you." I connected with Gordy's mind immediately. He'd heard about Marna. "All right. Maggie, I need to change cell phones. Too many folks know my current number, and I've been using it too long, which means I'll soon need to call a pot full of people and give them my new number. That doesn't make sense, and it occurred to me that I might have a support staff function I didn't put on the list - an answering service, one number that anyone can call twenty-four/seven, a communications clearing house, if you will." She laughed. "I don't need to track down that staff member. Her name's Jennifer DuPont, Jenny for short. Protect & Serve is in the phone book, bubba, and Jenny or one of her operators answers the calls to that number. I thought you knew that." "Nope. I thought Leticia, the receptionist at the executive office, answered those calls." Which, upon reflection, didn't make sense. She didn't have any messages for me the first time and only time I stepped into the offices since my memory loss. "What's Protect & Serve's phone number. I'll call her." "Call Gordy first," Maggie said but gave me the number. "All right. Maggie, call Jenny for me. Fill her in and wade through the messages she's taken since I lost my memories. There's gotta be a bunch. Save me some time, please." "Will do." I called Gordy and told him I knew about Marna, but didn't know any details. He knew some. "Whoever killed her tortured her first, Luke." "Where was she killed?" I asked. Tortured. That's why she gave up my location. "In her car. It was parked in the garage next to her office building." His thoughts gave me some gruesome details he didn't express. "Under torture, she might have given you up, Luke." "She gave up Morgan," I said and told him about the attempted hit at the Boulders. "If she gave up Luke Upton, as well, my house in Carefree isn't safe, and I'll be forced to discard my Luke Upton identity." Giving up the real me went against my grain. Suddenly, I felt compelled to know one way or the other. I hung up, and Colleen and I drove away. I didn't know what we'd face as we approached the Carefree house. Some evasive driving might be necessary, so I drove. As I started up the long drive to the house, I searched the mountainside, as did Colleen, but neither of us saw anything out of place, and the back of my neck didn't itch. After I drove through the gates, I hopped out and moved into the house through the front door. The house is clear, I told Colleen a few minutes later. Park the car in the garage and meet me in the security room. I checked for any breaches in the perimeter defenses and armed the mines. If Marna gave up Luke Upton, my enemy had yet to marshal a force to attack my stronghold. I breathed a sigh of relief as Colleen stepped into the room. My cell phone rang. "Morgan," Maggie said, "Jenny took a call from an attorney from Marna Crispin's firm today. I thought you'd want to return his call right away." "I do." I dialed the number Maggie gave me and asked for Richard Dent. "Who may I say is calling, sir?" the receptionist asked. "Morgan." "Thank you. I'll transfer your call now, sir." "Dent, here," a gruff male voice said. "I'm Morgan. You called." "Ah, yes. Ah, Marna Crispin was murdered this morning." "I heard." "I've been given her files. She left specific instructions regarding your files, Mr. Morgan, yours and the files of another man named Luke Upton." "I understand." "Then you understand more than I." "What were her instructions?" "To seal the files, contact you, and turn the files over to you. Failing to contact you or Mr. Upton, the files were to be destroyed. This is highly irregular, Mr. Morgan. The firm doesn't... can't turn our files over to anyone, let alone destroy them. The liability, you understand." Bless you, Marna, I thought. "Are you saying you're refusing to comply with Marna's instructions because of potential liability to your firm?" "Ah, yes." "Then you just jumped from the frying pan into the fire, Mr. Dent. If you don't comply with her instructions, I'll file suit today. As Marna's client, those instructions were mine. Seal those files, and seal them now. If anyone, including you or anyone in your firm, looks inside those files, I'll consider your actions a breach of attorney/client confidentiality, Mr. Dent. Am I making myself clear?" Colleen, call Blount on your cell phone. I gave her the number. "Highly irregular," Dent muttered. "Mr. Blount, Morgan would like to speak to you," Colleen said. "Dent, hold for a second," I said and took Colleen's phone. I told Blount what was going on, referring to Luke Upton as a client to explain the Upton files. "I understand. I'll call Dent. I know him. He's a wimp." "I'm in a fix, Tim. Could you pick up the sealed files for me, as well?" "Sure." "Don't break the seals and take some armed muscle with you." "It's that way, huh?" "Maybe." "All right." I told Dent my attorney would be calling him, gave him my attorney's name, and told him that Blount would pick up the files as soon as possible. And breathed another sigh of relief. "The sun's over the yardarm, baby. Wanna drink?" Colleen asked with a bright smile. ------- I sipped scotch, and Colleen put a plate of cheeses, crackers and fruit in front of me at the bar. "Thanks," I muttered and munched a cracker. "What are you thinking about?" "I was wondering how my enemy connected Marna to Morgan?" "The first time you met with her, some watchers spotted you leaving the building where she works." "True, and I didn't notice them going in, so I don't think they were watching the building for me. Someone in or around the building spotted me and alerted my enemy, who called Karsh or Hall or Hansen, probably Karsh, who called Hansen, who didn't have enough time to deploy shooters, so Hansen called Greenfield at Modern Security, who sent out watchers with orders to follow me, none of which explains how my enemy tied me to Marna." The cheddar cheese was sharp - my favorite. The flavors exploded as I chewed and swallowed. I said, "Sanchez told me that my enemy bugged Candice's home. When she found one of the listening devices, she planned to tell me the next time I called, but she couldn't call me. She didn't have my cell phone number. To insure the success of the ambush at the Wrigley Mansion, Joel Hall, who works for Karsh, sent Sanchez to kill Candice. Perhaps my enemy bugged... no, that doesn't fly. If Marna's phones were bugged, my enemy would have had plenty time to deploy shooters at her office for my arrival." I popped a grape in my mouth - more explosive flavors. "It's a dilemma." Suddenly it occurred to me that Candice could have called Jenny. I dialed Maggie. "Are you still sifting through Protect & Serve's messages?" "Yes." "Did Candice Singer call and leave any messages?" "Over a dozen during the last three months. That's as far back as I've gone. I started with the most recent calls and worked backwards." "What was the date of her most recent call?" "Lemmee check." She came back and gave me the time and date. It was the Saturday night before the ambush at the Wrigley Mansion. "Did you listen to her message?" "No, Jenny lists the calls on a log. I've been working off the logs." "How does the system work? Does Jenny or one of her operators answer each call?" "No. A machine answers each call. Jenny and her operators log the calls and give them to you when you call in. If a call is an emergency, or if you've told Jenny to alert you to a specific call, the operator will call you immediately. Frankly, Jenny thought you'd been killed or seriously injured, Morgan. She's been worried sick." "Is Candice's last message still available?" "Lemmee check?" A minute later, she came back and told me no. The tapes were cleaned and reused weekly. That'll need to change, I thought. Then an idea struck me. "Hang on, Maggie. I want to try something." I picked up the hardwired phone on the bar and hit speed-dial number one. The phone rang, and a machine answered the call with an anonymous message, telling me to leave my name and number. At the beep, I said, "This is Morgan." I gave the machine the number for the phone on the bar, hung up, picked up my cell phone and told Maggie about speed-dial number one. "Are you with Jenny now?" I asked Maggie. "Yes." "If I'm right, she just received a call from me." "Jenny," Maggie said. I heard muffled sounds, and shortly, the hardwired telephone rang. "Morgan," a female voice said when I answered the call, "you can't believe how happy I was to find out that you're still alive and kicking. This is Jenny, by the way, and yes, I'm speed-dial number one." "I tried speed-dial number one a while back, but the anonymous message worried me. Someone is trying to kill me. Did Maggie fill you in?" "Yes." "Anyway, that's the reason I didn't leave a message. You're not an employee. What are you? A contract service?" "Yes." "Do you have other customers?" "Sure" "How many? Are you at capacity?" "Yes and no. I will be now that you're active again. Why do you ask?" "Did Maggie tell you that I'm changing Protect & Serve from a one-man band into an organization?" "Yes." "I plan to put to work somewhere between fifteen to twenty operatives. Can you handle that much more phone traffic?" "No." "What's the bottleneck? Equipment or operators or both?" "You demanded the personal touch, Morgan. Will that change?" Her voice had lost its warmth. "Nope, just the opposite. Jenny, I sense that you're upset. Why?" "I can't serve you. You'll look elsewhere for the service." "Not if we work together. I'm nothing if not loyal, Jenny. Talk to me." "I don't have the money to expand, but that's not all. I work out of my house. My ratfink husband ran off four years ago, leaving me with three small children. I can't work out of an office and take care of my kids. If I try to put in more equipment, the telephone company will get wise and change my billing to business rates instead of residential, and that'd put me out of business. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, because I need your business, Morgan." "You answer my phone twenty-four/seven, right?" "Yes. A friend of mine down the street covers the phones at night and wakes me if a call comes in that she can't handle." "You didn't answer an earlier question, Jenny. How many other customers do you service?" "Five, but they're easy. I'd tell them to find another service if it'd do any good, but you said fifteen new operatives. I can't handle fifteen Morgans, and that's the truth." "Wanna bet?" I said. "What do I pay you now?" "$2,000 per month. That's high, I know, but you wanted and demanded personal service." "I can fix this, Jenny, but you'll need to level with me. What's your monthly gross income?" "I don't know what gross means." "How much do you take in each month before you pay any expenses?" "That varies, but about $3,000." "How much would you need to charge me if you let your five other customers go and had to pay the telephone company business rates?" "I don't know. I'd have to do some checking and make a budget." "While you're checking, calculate any capital expenditures needed, and add the expenses for some more operators." "Morgan, I don't know what capital expenditures are, and my house is small. It can't handle more operators." "Is Maggie still there?" "Yes." "Let me speak with her." I put some cheese on a cracker and ate it. "What's happening, Morgan?" Maggie said. "Jenny's very upset." "I told her about my expansion plans, and she can't handle them. She thinks I'm going to fire her. Here's what I want you to do. Call Gordy..." I spoke for five or ten minutes. "If any of what I said doesn't work for Jenny, let me know, and we'll adjust my plan. A communication clearing house is critical for my new business, Maggie, and Jenny's problems are fixable." "They sure are. You're doing a good thing, Morgan." I hung up as Colleen walked into the room. "Two new untraceable cell phones are charging now," she said. "How's Maggie?" "Fine. She's with Jenny. Jenny answers any calls to Protect & Serve." I grinned. "She's speed-dial number one." "How about that! Another mystery solved." I told her about Jenny's problems and realized the situation was a good training opportunity for my sidekick. "Should I fire her?" Colleen looked at me as if I were a crazy man. "That, buster, is not an option." "What should I do about it then?" "How many operators will you need?" "Don't know. Whatever it takes as Protect & Serve expands, and I'll also expand the services Jenny offers now. For example, information will flow from our operatives to the communication center, and then to the archivist on a daily basis, when I figure out whom to hire as my archivist, that is. I need a true communication center, sweet thing." "Does the operator who mans the phones while Jenny sleeps have children?" "Don't know." "Single mothers have a hard row to hoe, cowboy." "I agree." "If it were up to me, I'd say that any new operators hired would have to be single mothers." "Wouldn't that compound the problem?" "Just the opposite if you provide space for a nursery and pre-school at the communication facility. The operators can rotate from working the telephones to childcare. Actually, I'd go further. I'd setup the facility for home schooling, but I'd want to talk with the mothers first. They might prefer sending their older children to the public schools to get them out from underfoot, but that would mean we'd need to consider childcare for those children during school holidays." I grinned. "Your solution is better than mine. I told Maggie to find a bigger house for Jenny and her children, a house big enough to handle more operators. I also said I'd take care of any capital expenditures and increase Jenny's fee enough to pay her and her operators a living wage." I called Maggie again, using the landline, and put the call on the speakerphone. The three of us discussed Colleen's ideas, and because we had questions, Jenny joined the discussion. It didn't take me long to realize my input wasn't necessary, just my money, so I left it to the ladies to work out the details and called my electronic-surveillance and spy-gadget guy. Horace Reed was happy to hear from me. I told him my sad saga and brought him up to date. Unlike Jenny, Horace was happy about my expansion plans. "What do you know about Cecil Greenfield and Modern Security?" I asked. "Not much. Greenfield puts himself out as a hotshot security specialist, but he doesn't know diddlysquat. He's a busy boy, though, joining this group, joining that group, so he scares up a lot of business. For the most part, it's night-watchmen and minimum-wage type crap, though. He did try to hire me for a couple of jobs, but I turned him down flat. I don't suffer fools. Why are you asking about Greenfield?" I told him about Greenfield's involvement with the attempts on my life. "That doesn't surprise me," Horace said, and then he laughed. "Let's tap his fucking phone." I grinned. "Let's. And in a day or two, I'll ask you to tap two more phones in Las Vegas." "Vegas, huh? I can make that happen. Let me know when you're ready." ------- Hot water bubbled around me. Jets of water massaged my back, and I started to relax. Memories. A double-whammy. Candice and Marna. Tears stung my eyes. Memories of Candice. Bucky at the condo had it right. Candice was good people. She was a lovely, caring woman, and because she cared for me, she was dead. I grieved for her loss. I didn't feel guilty. I hadn't killed her. Sanchez and Hall and Karsh had killed her. Still, I had some responsibility for her death. But that wasn't what I was thinking about. I saw her in my mind's eye standing in a field of California poppies, the sun shining on her lustrous golden hair. My golden girl, that's what I called her, and I'd never see her again, never see her soft smile, hear her warm voice. A tear rolled from my down my cheek. Memories of Mr. Bart and Marna. I'd loved Bartholomew Q. Craven. He was the father I never had, but I never thought of Marna as a mother, and I never loved her. Affection was there, strong affection, and as a boy I could have loved her, but she repelled any move I made to express or ask for more intimacy. She didn't want me to think of her as the mother I never had. And, she was jealous, green with envy, about my relationship with Mr. Bart. Still, over the years, Marna and I fashioned methods and attitudes that allowed us to be friends, and I'd just lost that friend forever. Like me, Mr. Bart forgave her for abandoning him. In lucid moments before his disease took his mind completely, he talked about Marna. That he loved her there could be no doubt, but he hadn't married her. "I couldn't," he said one day when I asked him why. "I have a wife." His statement shocked me, and I questioned him further, but the lucid moment passed, one of his last lucid moments, and the subject didn't surface again. I brought up the subject with Marna when she told me that Mr. Bart had left me $10,000,000. "What about you? What about his wife?" "Bart provided for us, Luke, both of us." I pressed the issue, but Marna refused to say more. I looked up when Colleen stepped from the house. She smiled when she saw me in the hot tub. I watched as she shed her clothes and moved into the bubbling water with such grace and beauty that my breath caught in my throat. "You constantly surprise me, baby," she said as she cuddled next to me. "Each day I don't' think it's possible for me to love you more, and then you do something like you just did for Jenny, and my love for you bubbles over like this frothing water." She kissed me, a tender, romantic kiss - a kiss without demands. Her ability to read my moods was uncanny. "You're grieving," she said. I nodded. "I lost a friend today." Two friends. "I'm glad I met Marna before she died. She loved you, you know." "No. We were..." Colleen interrupted me. "She would have denied her love for you, too, if asked, but she loved you, Luke, and you loved her. You loved the same man, you as his unofficially adopted son, Marna as his lover, and when he was alive, you resented each other, resented the love the man bestowed on the other, but when the man left you, you were left with each other, and that's when the love happened." The smarting tears in my eyes welled up and overflowed. "You're right," I muttered and swallowed back a sob. "I forgave her for abandoning him. It was at his funeral. Forgiveness let love happen, but still I denied it. The resentment was too deep, too abiding, to allow me to admit to myself that I loved her. But now, tonight when it's too late, I can see it. You helped me see it." I hugged Colleen fiercely. "Thank you, sweet thing. Marna was always kind, never harsh, never critical. You're right about her loving me, too. She held me. In her office when my memories of Mr. Bart surfaced, and I grieved for him, she held me, and I held her, and we cried together, me with grief, her - I realize now - for the sadness, the grief I was experiencing. She cried for me. We held each other, and what passed silently between us with that embrace was love." I tightened my arms around Colleen and held her while I cried for Marna, my friend, a friend I loved. While I cried for Candice, a lover and friend. "I can't even go to her funeral, and that makes me angry," I said. "I understand. I couldn't go to my father's funeral either. When this is over, you can stand by her grave and make peace with her, and I'll do the same at my father's grave," Colleen said. Later, Colleen helped me out of the water, dried me off with a fluffy towel and took me inside. She put me in our bed and wrapped me in her tender, sweet love, and as sometimes happens when death invades, I felt an intense urge to celebrated life. Colleen joined the celebration by taking me inside her, and the orgasmic fireworks from our celebration made any 4th of July displays pale in comparison. We journeyed together to that place of pure pleasure to commune with the universe. I can't say for sure, but I believe Mr. Bart and Marna looked in on us and approved. In my mind's eye, they were holding hands. ------- Sifu and I had a good workout. We sparred with broadswords - without pads. After we showered and dressed, he walked with me outside to my Zen garden. It had rained the night before, and Sifu asked if he could rake the sand. "Sure. I'll check on breakfast." I found Colleen in the kitchen and gave her a hug. She said, "Hi, baby. Where's Sifu? Did you kill him with a broadsword?" That we sparred without pads disturbed her. I laughed. "He's raking the sand in my garden." "What's your schedule for the day?" she asked. "After our advisory board meeting, I've gotta make a gazillion calls. I want to turn off my old cell phone and give everyone my new number." "Jenny will do that for you." She huffed. "Heck, she'd do anything for you. Before yesterday, you were her hero. Now you're a superhero on the way to becoming a deity." "I want to make the calls. It'll give me a chance to touch base with everyone and give my operatives the names and phone numbers of the support staff I've uncovered. Right now, all requests for support are directed at me. That's got to change." "I know you check on your operatives telepathically. How's everyone doing?" "Fine. Mark is a good teacher. He's patient and gets a kick out of passing on tradecraft, and Jim soaks it up like a sponge. Heather's in her element. I checked on her while in the shower after sparring with Sifu. She needs some electronic-surveillance support, so I'll introduce her to Horace. What I don't know is whether Horace knows a trusted colleague in St. Louis." I grinned. "Ruben and Robyn were having a grand time when I checked on them this morning. They weren't making love, either. They were slaking their lust with a rousing morning fuck." "Voyeur!" she said, teasing me. "Eavesdropper, maybe. Voyeur, no. Sifu will want tea for breakfast, not coffee." "I know." We ate breakfast and moved from the kitchen table to the dining room for the advisory board meeting. "To start with," I said, "I've gotta say I'm not big on meetings, so don't expect many formal meetings like this one. I can connect with each of you telepathically, and connect you with each other the same way, so when I feel in need of advice, I'll ask for it when I need it. Also, although I'd invited Marna Crispin to join my informal advisory board, I've decided that I won't replace her. I don't want an advisor who doesn't know about my telepathic ability because that knowledge should be part and parcel of any advice given." "I'd planned to advise you accordingly," Sifu said. "I don't know the agenda for this meeting, but to advise you properly I should know the economics of your business." "Likewise, ' Colleen chirped. "All right. Protect & Serve's income comes from fees charged principals for our services. The company hires independent contractors called operatives to perform the services. To keep the numbers simple, let's say P&S has sixteen operatives under contract, half of which supply protection services, and the other half supply recovery or missing-person services. P&S charges $2,000 per day for protection and $5,000 per day for recovery and missing-person gigs. Accordingly, the eight protectors provide $16,000 per day gross income, and the recovery and missing-person specialists total $40,000 per day. That's $56,000 per day total, times 365 days, or $20,440,000. But operatives can't work every day of every year, so let's say they each take downtimes equal to 20% or 2.4 months a year. That reduces gross income to $16,352,000. P&S pays half that amount to its operatives, or $8,176,000, leaving the same amount as gross profit before referral source fees, which are 10% of the $16,352,000 or $1,635,200. This gives the company a gross profit of $6,540,800. Are you with me so far?" "I'm with you," Colleen said, "but please explain gross profit." "Gross income less cost of sales equals gross profit," I said. "Operative fees and referral source commissions are considered cost of sales." "Got it," Colleen said with a bright smile. "What I just outlined reflects the operation of a normal protection company. I'm adding some twists. When I took an assignment in the past, not always but most of the time, I had to hire help. If I were on a protection assignment, I'd hire bodyguards or other protectors. I had to sleep, and someone had to be alert and on guard while I slept, for example. On recoveries, I hire shooters to back me up on the takedown, as another example. It occurred to me that P&S should provide what I call second-chair operatives for the extra functions I just mentioned, as well as some I didn't mention, rather than hire them from local talent for each assignment. Jim Gill is an example. I will charge a principal $1,000 per day for second-chair services and will pay half that to the operative in training. I figure with sixteen first-chair operatives that I'll need eight men and women for second-chair assignments. That's $8,000 per day times 365 times 80%, which equals $2,336,000, less half or $1,168,000 that will be paid to second-chair operatives, less the 10% referral fee, equals $934,400. Adding this number to the previous $6,540,800 gross profit gives P&S a total gross profit of $7,475,200." I took a sip of coffee and continued. "The next twist I'm giving normal protection services involves a 5% handling fee for expenses. P&S contracts with principals stipulate payment based upon operatives fees plus expenses. Expenses for any given job are difficult to budget. I looked at my past expenses for all of my assignments for one year, and they totaled just a little more than my fees, so I used that number to budget the income for the expense-handling fee. 5% of $16,352,000 equals $817,600, which increases gross profit to $8,292,800." "Wow," Colleen breathed. "I had no idea so much money was involved," Sifu said. "Are your fees competitive?" "No. P&S is probably the most expensive service of its kind in the country." "Isn't that a marketing problem?" Sifu asked. "Start with the premise that only the wealthy can afford my services, Sifu, and then ask this question: if someone needs protection, does he want cheap or does he want good? That concept is even more important when someone wants a loved one released from captivity. Early on, I was having trouble getting jobs, so I lowered my fees, anticipating more business. The opposite happened. I thought about the dynamics and raised my fees, and the business started pouring in." Sifu grinned. "I think I'll raise my fees at the kwoon." "You should," Colleen said, emphatically. "What about expenses?" Sifu asked. "As I said, job expenses are reimbursable plus a 5% handling fee, so we've handled those expenses. Although Gordy might include the next item as a cost of sales, I included it as an expense in my calculations, and it's the largest single line-item expense - bonuses. 10% of the fees P&S pays its operatives and referral sources comes to just over $1,000,000." With a grin, Sifu said, "What's the exact number?" I chuckled. "1,097,900." "Go on," he said. "But my operatives and referral sources aren't the only folks deserving bonuses, and some operatives might deserve more than 10%. To simplify the numbers, let's say bonuses equal $1,792,800. That takes the net down to $6,500,000. Without getting into the details, other expenses and overhead will total approximately $1,500,000, leaving a net operating income of $5,000,000." "We don't need $5,000,000 per year, cowboy," Colleen said. I grinned. "Nope. You've forgotten taxes. A big chunk of the $5,000,000 will go to taxes unless we give some of it to charities. Mr. Bart took me by the hand when I was a twelve-year-old orphan boy and helped me realize my dream to protect and serve. Besides giving orphanages lump-sum donations, I will help worthy boys and girls realize their dreams. Some will want to protect and serve; others will have other dreams. I plan to spend $1,000,000 per year for this cause." "That is... oh, it's wonderful, baby," Colleen said. "I want to help single mothers and their children. May I spend some of the net we won't need for that cause?" "Sure, but we're getting ahead of ourselves. We haven't discussed capital expenditures. Like the communication center, the executive office P&S currently rents will be grossly inadequate for the organization I just outlined. Also, I must have been out of my mind to buy that penthouse condo as a residence. Elevators are traps to be avoided if possible. Oh, some safeguards were built-in, like a doorman, and a cardkey to operate the elevator, but I don't like it. A determined assassin could walk into the lobby, kill or render Bucky unconscious and use his cardkey to access the 10th floor. I plan to engage a real estate agent to search for acreage on the fringe of the city where I will construct a stronghold even more difficult to breach than this one. That stronghold will contain P&S offices, Morgan's residence, and facilities for P&S visitors and guests. Colleen, this residence, the one we're sitting in right now, will be our safe haven known only by a select few - Sifu, Gordy, and Maggie. We will purchase another residence for Luke Upton and his lady that we can present to your friends and mine." Colleen grinned. "I like that." Then she frowned. "But your plan is flawed. Gary already knows about this house. Let's use this house for Luke Upton, and create a safe haven nearby. Besides, a safe haven doesn't have to be this fancy. We'll only use it for emergencies." "All right." "You'll need a summer home," Sifu said, "a place to escape the heat." I nodded. "That's for later. All I've described will take time. I haven't nailed down the time frame and won't until I've dispatched my nemesis, but let's call it a five-year plan." "Do you have a ten-year plan?" Sifu asked. I smiled. "Sure." ------- Knowing Heather needed electronic-surveillance support, I called Horace before I called my operative. "Vegas?" he said after I said hello. "No. St. Louis. I have an operative on a missing-person gig in St. Louis - a runaway girl, fifteen, probably raising hell with some older boys. Do you have a counterpart you can recommend in St. Louis?" "Nope, but it won't take long to find one. Call me back in an hour." "I'll have her call you, my operative, I mean. Her work name is Heather." "A woman?" "Yes. You sound surprised." "I've never worked with a female operative before." I hadn't met with Horace. I'd only spoken with him on the telephone, so I couldn't connect with him, which would've been handy. I wanted to know what he was thinking. Perhaps he'd tell me. "Is working with a woman a problem for you?" "No, not if she knows what she's doing." I chuckled. "Horace, I haven't observed Heather in hand-to-hand combat, but I've seen her in a firefight. I'd put her up against any male operative I know." "Except you." I didn't deny his statement. I ignored it and said, "When it comes to missing-person gigs, I'd take second chair to Heather. That's her specialty, not mine, and she's probably the best missing-child specialist in the country. I'll have her call you." "All right." I gave him my new cell phone number and added that Protect & Serve's phone number was active again. "Unless it's an emergency, call that number, leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." "I know the drill." "Do you have a referral connection in Washington, D.C.? "Yes. Why?" "I have an operative working a protection assignment there." He laughed. "That's what I like about you, Morgan. You don't mess around. You just do it. You said you were turning Protect & Serve into an organization, and you have. Does your man - or woman - in D.C. need my services?" "Not that I'm aware of, but you never know. By the way, his work name is Mark Richardson. In the future and as a matter of policy, you'll be informed of the location of any assignment Protect & Serve accepts, as well as the work name for the lead operative on the assignment. That way you can determine and alert your counterpart at each location ahead of time so my operatives can initiate any electronic-surveillance activity required for the assignment immediately." "I like that," Horace said. ------- I called the rest of my support staff and gave them my new cell phone number, informing them that they should call Protect & Serve's normal number first, unless an immediate response was critical. I gave them the work names of my three operatives, as well as the location of their assignments and outlined the new policies. Everyone seemed pleased that my expansion plans had started. Out of those conversations, I realized that I'd need an assignment and support function coordinator, or I'd become the coordinator and create another bottleneck. I spoke with Maggie about the job. "The job sounds part-time for a while," she said. I agreed. "I'll handle it until Jenny's settled in her new place. The job should be one of the functions of the new communication center we're creating." Argh, she was right. "Okay. When will Jenny relocate?" "I'm glad you called. Jenny found the perfect location. Do you want to rent or buy?" "How much to buy?" "$300,000, plus some renovation costs to retrofit the property to our needs." "Buy it then. Work with Gordy regarding the offer and closing." "Don't you want to see the property?" "No, you handle it." "Okay." He trusts me, she thought, and I sensed that she was pleased that I trusted her enough to make such large, important decisions. An hour had passed since I'd spoken with Horace, so I called Heather. "It's Morgan. Can you talk?" "Sure. What's up?" I gave her my new cell phone number and told her about the Protect & Serve Communication Center I was setting up and gave her the Center's phone number. "If you call that number, you'll get a machine. Leave a message and someone will respond, probably me, or my get-it-done gal. Are you in need of any support services?" "Yeah. My runaway is proving elusive. I'd like to monitor her friends' phones." "Call Horace Reed. He's my electronic-surveillance and spy-gadget guy." I gave her Reed's phone number and the phone numbers for the other support staff members. "Deal directly with each of them, Heather. They're aware of your work name and know you have the authority to order equipment or services from them. Most of them will refer you to a local source, but use my people to check the prices quoted by local sources, if needed." "Okay. This is great, Morgan. Have you uncovered a new lead that could identify your nemesis?" "Yeah. Ruben's in Las Vegas with my skip-tracer/private investigator gathering intel as we speak. I'll head that way tomorrow or the day after." "What about Mark?" "He's in D.C. on a protection gig. Gill is second chair on the same job." "Any leads on another missing-person assignment? If the phone taps work, this job could end lickety-split." "I passed on a recovery this morning. Something will come up. If your job ends soon, I might put you back on my clock. We've got two strongholds to breach in Vegas." "I'll hurry the job then." "While you're hurrying, think about the other operatives you've worked with and give me the name of the person you'd put at the top of the list regarding competence and character." She giggled. "That'd be Morgan; number two would be Ruben." "Give me number three, then. Heather, I want the best." "I don't need to think about it. Earlier this year, I worked with a Hispanic female. Her work name is Maria. She's a protection specialist and missing-person-specialist wanna-be. Just a minute and I'll give you her phone number." "No, you call her. Tell her about Protect & Serve. If she's interested, tell her to call me." "Will do." I called Mark, brought him up to date and gave him the names and phone numbers for my support staff. When asked for the name of the best operative he'd worked with in the past, he said, "Besides you, Ruben and Heather, you mean?" "Yes." "Call Dan Green. I'd work second chair with him." Like with Heather, I asked Mark to call him. Mark's enthusiasm and his relationship with Green made him a better recruiter than I'd be speaking to Green as a stranger. Gill was asleep. I told Mark I'd call him later. As I ended my call with Mark, my cell phone rang, not my new one, but rather the one I'd been using too long. I answered the call. "Morgan, it's Robyn." "Hi. How are the dossiers coming?" "They're not. I ran into dead ends on both names." "Explain." "They're pseudonyms, Morgan. Work names. Neither man has a history beyond a year ago when Karsh showed up in Las Vegas with no visible means of support but a shit pot full of cash. He lives large and pays cash for everything." "Drugs?" I said. "No... maybe. I don't know. Don't take this wrong, Morgan, but Karsh's setup, the look of the men who come and go from his stronghold, remind me of you and Protect and Serve." "What about Joel Hall." "If Karsh is you, Joel Hall is Ruben. Hall is known around Vegas, but I can't locate his hidey-hole. I suspect he's still in the Phoenix area looking for you. Also, it's possible that he lives in Karsh's stronghold." "What about identity documents?" "I called on a friend, a LVPD detective. He ran Karsh and Hall through Nevada DMV. Neither showed up. Karsh doesn't drive. He has a driver. Ruben says the limo Karsh uses is souped-up and armored." "Who owns the limo?" "A Nevada LLC." "Who owns the stronghold?" "The same Nevada LLC." "What about women?" "A bevy of beauties - party girls, Morgan. Ruben is out interviewing one of them as we speak." And that's all he better be doing with the cunt or I'll rip his balls out by the roots, she added silently. I had to suppress a chuckle. "Have you picked up a copy of the working drawings for Karsh's place from the building-permit department for the city?" "No, but I will." Cowboy, are you there? Colleen said silently. She was out and about doing some chores. Yes. I think I'm being followed. ------- Chapter 9 Where are you? I asked Colleen. I'm on Hayden coming up on Indian School Road. "Robyn, I have a situation. I'll call you back," I said, ended that call and connected with Sifu to set up a three-way silent conversation. Sifu, Colleen is being followed, I said. Maybe, she said. Probably. She's at Hayden and Indian School Road, which means she's closer to the kwoon than the house, I said. Drive here, Colleen, Sifu said. That could put you and your students at risk, I said. They won't try to kill her, Sifu said. They'll want to interrogate her first. I will protect her. All right, I said. I'm in the garage now, but it will take me a half-hour minimum to drive to the kwoon. That could be a mistake, Sifu said. You'd be playing into your enemy's hand. Colleen, I said, do you remember our discussions on surveillance techniques? Of course. Is just one car following you, or are we dealing with a surveillance team? I drove through the gates at my house in Carefree. A team, I think. The car that followed me out of the Institute's parking lot turned off but returned later. That's what made me wonder if I was being followed. Then this isn't a Greenfield surveillance, I said. His boys are amateurs. If it's a professional surveillance team, Colleen, most likely they'll have a vehicle in front of you as well as the one you spotted behind you, and the team could be using vehicles on parallel streets. That would total four vehicles, but there could be more. How many occupants are in the car following you? Two, the driver and one passenger. The passenger could be a shooter, Sifu. Colleen, are you armed? Yes, my XD-9 with two spare, loaded clips. I'm on Scottsdale Road heading south, I said. Where are you now? On Hayden about three miles from the kwoon. Sifu, have you been trained in evasive-driving techniques? Yes. Let's do this. I outlined my plan. ------- A surveillance team and shooters following Colleen and waiting for the right moment to abduct her made the kwoon a trap, not a safe haven. My plan called for Colleen to stop in front of the kwoon with Sifu waiting outside for her. Colleen would slide over to the passenger seat and Sifu would sit behind the wheel and drive away immediately. I didn't believe my enemy would risk shooting at that time. They wanted Colleen alive. Still, that moment was the weak point in my plan. If the surveillance team converged on Colleen when she stopped in front of the kwoon, they'd take her and kill Sifu, but I believed, with Colleen's sudden, unexpected stop, they wouldn't be organized enough to mount an attack at that moment and would wait for a better opportunity. My vehicle sped down Scottsdale Road toward the public garage where we'd parked the Cadillac the morning I introduced Colleen to Mark and Ruben. Colleen knew the garage's location and layout. She'd direct Sifu to the garage, where I'd be waiting for them. I'd also be waiting for Joel Hall's surveillance team and shooters to follow Colleen and Sifu into the garage. Yes, I believed Hall was behind the attempt to abduct Colleen to get at me. I selected the garage to confront the surveillance team and shooters to minimize the possibility of collateral damage. I'm stopping in front of the kwoon, cowboy, Colleen announced. I held my breath. The follow car, a silver Mercury Sable, drove past me, Colleen added. I'm behind the wheel, Sifu said, and I'm driving away. I let my breath out slowly. Another car I've seen before just pulled in behind us. It's a Ford Taurus, white, Colleen said. Is the Taurus directly behind you? I asked. No, there's one car between us. Once again, I see a driver and one passenger. Sifu, try to spot the surveillance vehicle in front of you. There's one possibility, Sifu said. A car just pulled onto the street from a side street about a half-block in front of us, a white Honda Accord. Two men. A driver and one passenger. Sifu, speed up a little. See if the Honda speeds up, I said. Colleen, without being obvious about it, check out the Taurus to see if it speeds up, too? The Taurus is staying with us, Colleen said a few seconds later. The Honda is matching our speed, Sifu said. That means they're using communication gear, I said. I've seen the Honda before, Colleen said. I'm approaching the parking garage, I said. I'm turning left now, Sifu said. The Taurus is turning left, as well, Colleen said. Watch for a new lead car, Sifu, I said. A green Chevy Caprice just dropped in behind the Taurus, Colleen said. It's the vehicle that followed me out of the Institute's parking lot. A driver and one passenger in the Caprice. A driver and one passenger seems to be the pattern. The Taurus is turning right. The new lead car is a Camry, maroon, Sifu said. Five surveillance vehicles, so far, I said. Look for at least one more, but Hall could be using a total of eight. I'm turning right, Sifu said. I'm in the garage, and I'm parked, I said. The Chevy Caprice turned right with us, Colleen said. The new lead car is probably a Dodge Stratus, dark blue, Sifu said. I said, That's six. The garage is on your right two blocks ahead, Sifu, Colleen said. When you enter the garage, drive quickly to the third floor, Sifu. I'll need the three floors to clear the three vehicles that will follow you into the garage. What about the other three vehicles? Colleen asked. They'll wait at street level. The Mercury Sable just took over for the Caprice as the follow car, Colleen said. Do you see the entrance to the garage, Sifu? Yes. Don't signal. Just turn in and drive as quickly as you can up to the third floor, I said. I'll take out the Sable there, and move down toward the second floor to meet the next two follow cars. With the sound of gunshots echoing in the garage, they'll be together. When I take them out, I'll move toward the exit ramp on the second floor. Wait for me there, Sifu. I want to help you, cowboy, Colleen said. You will. Stay with Sifu. When he stops on the second floor to wait for me, I want you to cover my retreat if they send in a fourth car, which will be the case if Hall's using an eight-vehicle surveillance team instead of six. All right. I'm turning into the garage now, Sifu said. ------- I heard squealing tires as the vehicle Sifu was driving wound its way up toward the third floor where I was waiting. The vehicle was one of Jasper's rentals. I'd driven his other rental. I also heard the squealing tires of the Mercury Sable following close behind Sifu and Colleen. When I saw Sifu and Colleen as they sped past me, I stepped out, leveled my weapon and shot the passenger in the Mercury through the windshield, tapping the trigger twice. I twisted my waist, aligned my shooting arm and fired two rounds at the driver. He slumped over the steering wheel. As I moved down the right side of the ramp, the Sable crashed into a vehicle parked on my left. The Mercury Sable is out of play, I said to Sifu and Colleen. The white Taurus turned to move up the ramp, giving me a good line of sight at the driver. I shot him twice. When he fell toward the passenger, I put a bullet in the passenger's head as he tried to bring his weapon in line to shoot at me. The third surveillance vehicle, the Caprice, had stopped directly behind the Taurus. I ignored the driver because the shooter had exited the vehicle and was swinging his weapon over the top of the car. I aimed at his head. I didn't miss. I looked for the driver, but couldn't see him and reasoned that he'd ducked down in the seat. I fired the two remaining bullets in my XD-9 into the driver's-side door, released the empty magazine and slammed in a full one. Three quick steps let me see the hiding driver. I shot him the moment I saw him. The Taurus and Caprice are out of play, I announced. Would there be a fourth vehicle? Apparently not. I turned and ran toward the exit ramp on the second floor. Three vehicles with three shooters awaited us at street level, but we couldn't remain in the garage. The police could arrive at any moment. I saw Sifu and Colleen. Sifu sat behind the wheel of the idling vehicle, and Colleen was aiming her weapon over the hood with the engine and right-front tire between her and any assailant. We'd discussed shooting from beside a vehicle, how to use the vehicle as body armor, but that had been months ago. She made me proud. Then her weapon exploded, not once but twice. I spun to my rear and saw the white Honda bearing down on me. The driver was hit. Blood streamed down the side of his head, whether from flying glass shards or one of Colleen's bullets I didn't know. He was desperately trying to control the vehicle. The shooter had his arm out a lowered window. I heard the "wheat" sound as a bullet whizzed by my head. I fired two quick rounds at the shooter and dove to my left. The Honda rushed by me and slammed into the wall of the garage. I rolled to my feet, looked down the garage toward the entrance ramps and saw no other cars, so I hurried to our idling vehicle. Colleen jumped into the passenger seat as I opened the rear driver's-side door and slid into the back seat. "Drive!" I said to Sifu. He stomped on the accelerator and the vehicle shot forward, roaring down the ramp. He didn't brake for the barrier arm, and our vehicle struck it. Wood splinters flew in every direction as we raced past the exit booth and the startled cashier. Sifu spun the wheel and took the vehicle up onto two tires when he turned right. I looked back and saw the Dodge Stratus pull away from the curb. Where was the Camry? Sifu turned left. Tires screamed, but the vehicle remained on all four wheels. He turned right at the next corner. The Stratus followed us, but was losing ground. Where was the Camry? And did we have two other vehicles to contend with? Red light, Sifu said. Run it if you can, I said. If you can't because of oncoming traffic, stop, and I'll take out the Dodge. As our vehicle came to a stop, I threw my torso through the open driver's-side rear window and emptied my weapon at the Stratus and its occupants. It veered to our right, jumped the curb and smashed into a light pole. The pole fell, crashing on top of the Stratus, part of it settling in the street. The Camry is in front of us, Sifu said as a bullet turned the windshield into a spider web on the passenger side. "Are you hit?" I asked Colleen. "No." As soon as Sifu saw the Camry, he slammed the transmission in reverse, and the car roared down the street backwards for half a block before Sifu executed a perfect reverse 180. He corrected the skid and stomped on the accelerator, and our vehicle sped away in the direction we'd just come from. He turned right, and then left, and raced up the ramp onto the 101 Freeway, heading north. Is the Camry behind us? Sifu asked. No. Take the Scottsdale Road exit and drive north, but make some quick turns to make sure we're not followed. If we're clear, drive to the Carefree house. As Sifu drove us toward my house, I grew more and more uneasy. Something was wrong. I'd missed something. We'd escaped the serious threat too easily. Hall had to be better than his drivers and shooters had just demonstrated. Four vehicles had entered the garage, not three. A vehicle should have been waiting, idling at the curb, at both ends of the garage, and another two vehicles waiting on side streets ready to be deployed. But only the Stratus was parked at the curb. Why? And how did the driver of the Camry know our location so he could take a position in front of us? We'd made two quick turns, and the turns had been random. Then it hit me! Colleen first noticed the surveillance team at the Scottsdale Culinary Institute. She'd been inside the building. Her car had been parked, left unattended, in the adjacent lot. Do not drive to the house in Carefree, Sifu. It's my guess that Hall's thugs placed a homing device on this car. He'll be tracking us. Take the Carefree Highway east toward I-17, I said. Colleen gasped. "I didn't do a visual check..." Hush, I said silently. Use mind-talk. Besides a homing device, they might have placed listening devices in the car. Not likely, but possible. Colleen said, I didn't check for explosives, either. Could... ? No. They know I'm in this vehicle. If they placed a bomb in the car, we'd be in little pieces already. Sifu stopped at a red light. Don't drive away, Sifu. I need to make a quick call, I said and stepped out of the vehicle, leaving the car door open behind me. I called Jasper, and he agreed to meet us at I-17 and the Carefree Highway with my Hummer, drive his rental away and take care of the homing device later. I also told him to pick up his other rental in the parking garage where I'd just left it. "The police will be all over that garage," I added as the light turned green. "No problem," Jasper said. "The light just turned green. Gotta go." ------- We sat at the bar in my house in Carefree. Colleen set a scotch and water in front of me, moved from behind the bar and returned with a cup of hot tea for Sifu. Before he picked up the cup, she placed a hand on each side of his rugged face and kissed him, which shocked me because the kiss wasn't a quick peck of appreciation. When she leaned back, Sifu knew he'd been kissed - thoroughly. "Sifu, you are a stellar driver," she said. "Thank you. You saved my life." I thought the kiss would shock Sifu, too. Hah! He grinned and said, "You are most welcome, grasshopper." She giggled - happy sounds - wrapped her arms around me and kissed me just as enthusiastically as she'd kissed Sifu. "And you, baby, are simply, utterly amazing," she said. "You took out five of the six vehicles following me." "You helped with one of them." "I did, didn't I?" Her grin slipped away. "But I made a mistake. I didn't do a visual check for explosives or homing devices after leaving my car in the parking lot while I withdrew from my classes at the Institute." "If you had performed a visual check, they might have taken you then, sweet thing. From their actions, I believe their primary goal was to follow you to me. If it appeared that goal couldn't be achieved - like seeing you find their homing device, for instance - they would have taken you as leverage to get to me. Although, I believe they placed the homing device at the Institute, the question I have is when and where did they spot you to initiate their surveillance? Setting up a six- or eight-vehicle surveillance team can't be accomplished with only a minute's notice." "I've been wondering the same thing," Colleen said. "How could they even know what I look like, let alone know where I'd be?" "Tell us your activities after our meeting this morning," Sifu said. "I met Ellie for lunch at the Denny's on Scottsdale Road just below Shea, and afterwards we did some shooting at Kevin's range. Then I drove to the Institute to formally withdraw from my classes there." "How long were you at the gun club?" I asked. "An hour, maybe a little longer." "Did you do a visual check of your vehicle after you finished lunch at Denny's or after shooting?" I asked. She blushed. "No." "That's three places, not one, where they could have spotted you and planted the homing device. Spotting you at Denny's would've been a fluke, though, and because of the time needed to set up the surveillance team, I'd say they picked you up at the gun club, planted the homing device there, arranged for the surveillance team and started surveillance at the Institute," I said. "Makes sense," Colleen said. "But how could they know to watch for me at the gun club? And that doesn't explain how they know what I look like." "Marna Crispin," I said. "Colleen, you visited Marna in her office the morning of the day she was murdered. That's when Hall became aware of you, at least by name. I'd assumed Marna had given me up - as Morgan, not as Luke Upton - when Hall tortured her before killing her. Sanchez could have followed you to the Boulders, and... no, that doesn't fly. Sanchez was an assassin. Hall hired him to kill me, and Sanchez knew where I was, knew about the meeting and that the hotel would cater our lunch. Did you discuss the meeting and upcoming luncheon with Marna when you met with her?" "Yes, and the spa session afterwards." "Was our room number at the Boulders mentioned?" "Yes! Marna asked for the specific room. She didn't want to ask at the desk, she said." I sighed. "Sometime after I first met with Marna, Hall determined her connection with me. It's my guess that he planted listening devices in her office, probably the night before you met with her, Colleen. Did you happen to mention the gun club to her, or the Institute?" "Yes, both places." She looked at Sifu. "The kwoon, too." "And I assume that Marna referred to you by name. That's when Hall discovered your name, at least your first name. He also probably spotted you leaving her office, so that's how he knows what you look like." I bit my lower lip with my upper teeth. "This is important, Colleen. Did either of you refer to me as Luke Upton?" Colleen scrunched up her pretty face with concentration. "I don't think we did. You were wearing your Morgan hat, so I referred to you as Morgan." She grinned. "Or cowboy. And because Marna was meeting you as Morgan at noon, she referred to you as Morgan, too. The name, Luke Upton, never came up." "Blind luck," I muttered. "Sometimes," Sifu said, "it's better to be lucky than good." ------- I'd turned off my old cell phone, and Ruben and Robyn didn't know about the Communication Center, so neither of them could reach me. I called Ruben. "Tell me about your situation," he said, instead of saying hello. I outlined what happened with the surveillance team we'd thwarted. "Which means Sifu and Colleen are in the thick of it whether they wanted in, or not. They'll be flying to Vegas with me tomorrow. Sifu will be our driver, and, Ruben, I haven't seen a better driver. His reverse 180 was picture perfect. Now, tell me about Karsh's stronghold. Can we breach it?" "The grounds are protected with infrared and motion detectors and video surveillance cameras, not to mention fences and wire defining a no-man's land where vicious dogs are let out at night. Two armed guards man the gatehouse twenty-four/seven. You tell me." "How about taking him when he's out and about?" "That won't be easy, but unlike breaching his stronghold, it's possible." "Good, then that's what we'll do." I gave him my new cell phone number, the names and numbers for my support staff, and the number for the new Communication Center. "Call Horace Reed. Let's tap Karsh's phones at the stronghold, and it would be helpful if we had his cell phone number, or for that matter, the cell phone number of anyone around him, like his driver. We'll turn them into broadcast mode." "Broadcast mode? Explain." "If a cell phone is turned on and in standby mode, it can be turned into a microphone and transmitter, which means someone can listen to conversations in the vicinity of the phone; in other words, if Robyn were with you right now, and her cell phone was turned on, and my enemy knew her phone number, he could be listening to your side of this conversation as we speak." "You're kidding," Ruben said. "Not at all. It's simple if you know what you're doing. I understand all the technician needs to do is transmit a maintenance command on the control channel to the cell phone. This command places the cell phone in what's called diagnostic mode. When the phone is in that mode, conversations in the immediate area of the phone can be monitored over the voice channel." "What happens if the person being monitored tries to make a call?" Ruben asked. "That's how a cell phone user can discover he's being monitored. The user won't know the telephone is in diagnostic mode and transmitting all nearby sounds until he tries to place a call, and even then, he might not twig to the fact that his phone is being used as a transmitter. It will appear as if there's something wrong with the phone because it has to be cycled off and then back on again before a call can be made. Horace or his counterpart in Las Vegas will know how to transmit the maintenance command, but we'll need to give them the cell phone numbers." "I interviewed one of Karsh's party girls. Karsh likes rough sex. She doesn't, so even through a cracked and swollen lip, she was happy to talk. I'll call her and ask if she knows any cell phone numbers." "So, he uses pros and is into rough sex. What other weakness have you uncovered?" "The same source told me that he snorts cocaine like it was oxygen and pops pills all day long - uppers, downers, depending on his mood and chemical needs." "Have you identified his supplier?" "Not yet." He huffed derisively. "There's a supplier behind every bush in this crazy town." "Anything else?" "Weakness-wise, no." "Give Robyn my new cell phone number and the number for the Communication Center. I'll bring a bag of extra cell phones with paid-up minutes tomorrow. It's time for the two of you to change phones, too. When Karsh is out and about is he protected?" "Big time, and his bodyguards are armed and know what they're doing." "I was afraid of that. Listen, I'd be happier if we had a few more shooters on our side up there. Depending on timing, Heather might join us, but..." I heard his audible groan and stifled a laugh. "What's wrong?" I asked innocently. "Robyn and I... ah, we're an item, Morgan." "An item? What does that mean?" "We're lovers." "As opposed to fuck buddies?" "Yeah." "Well, hell, Ruben, where's the problem? Just tell Heather how it is between you and Robyn. Heather went along with how it is between Colleen and me." I chuckled. "Of course, I also strongly suggest that you tell Robyn how it was between you and Heather." "Yeah," he admitted after another groan. "About another shooter? Any suggestions?" "Yes. Cornelius. Believe it or not, that's his work name, although everyone, including him, shortens the name to Corny, mostly because he can't resist telling bad jokes or puns. He's the recovery specialist who trained me. If he's not on a job, he'll come running if I ask." "Ask then, and let me know." "Will do." "Also, make a list of the weapons, accessories, and other items that you think we might need for the takedown. If I have the items in my armory, I'll bring them with me. If not, I'll call my armorer and have him arrange to have them delivered to us in Vegas. I spoke with Jasper. He'll provide our rolling stock. Sifu will be one of our drivers, but I suspect we'll need another, so call Jasper. He'll put you on to a driver there. You can turn in your rental when the vehicles are delivered. Eileen is checking out residential rentals for a safe house. I don't want to rent hotel rooms there. My face is too well known." I paused. "What about Robyn? I don't remember how well she shoots or how she handles herself in a shooting situation." He groaned again. I laughed. "Ask her, Ruben," I said. "No harm, no foul, if she bows out. Okay?" "Hah! When I tell her about Heather, we won't be able to move her out of here with an overhead crane." "In that case, ask before you tell her about Heather. One other thing, when speaking with Robyn earlier, she said something that piqued my curiosity. She said not to take it wrong, but that Karsh reminded her of me. Sanchez worked for Karsh, and he was an assassin. Joel Hall could also be labeled an assassin. What kind of bee's nest are we messing with up there?" Ruben laughed. "Killer bees, I'd say. From all indications, Karsh is an agent for a group of international hit men." ------- A group of international hit men. The phrase wandered through my mind frequently that evening. Assassin - from the Arabic word hashshashin, given to assassins because, in ancient times, they supposedly ingested hashish before making a kill. But Karsh wasn't into hashish. He ingested cocaine and popped pills. I figured the results were probably similar. "What are you thinking about, cowboy?" Colleen asked as she walked naked into the bedroom from the bathroom. She was running a brush through her thick hair. Beautiful, I thought without sharing the thought with Colleen. I said, "Assassins." "I've gotta admit that the word has a breathy quality to it. It sorta flows off the tongue with no unpleasant guttural sounds, and the profession has been aggrandized by the movie industry. Did you see Léon?" When I shook my head, she said, "Léon was a loveable, professional assassin, geeky looking, but he moved without sound, killed without emotion, disappeared without a trace. He reluctantly takes care of a little, neighbor girl named Mathilda, whose parents were killed, and Léon teaches her his trade. Weird. Deep down Léon was a scumbag, but I cheered for him." "What about Sanchez?" "I didn't cheer for him. I cut his cock." She moved onto the bed and cuddled next to me, taking my cock in her dainty hand. I didn't flinch. Brave, huh? I said, "Ruben thinks Karsh is an agent for a group of international assassins. If we win, we might lose." "How so?" she asked. "Loyal assassins working for him might vow revenge." Her fondling hand was giving me a hard-on. "Naw. They'll just find another agent. I enjoy movies about loveable assassins, but real assassins are bungholes with few, if any, redeeming qualities. Your nemesis hired Karsh to kill you. By now, with failure stacked on failure, your nemesis can't be too happy with Karsh. The master assassin is standing on thin ice, cowboy. Toss him a few bowling balls and watch him sink." I chuckled. "Lordy, I sure do love you, sweet thing. You have a way about you that helps me look at problems through clear lens." "Thanks," she said and released my cock. With a graceful move, she straddled my face. "I'm squeaky clean. Eat me, please." I'd eat you if you were sweaty and ripe, I said silently because my mouth was busy. Hmm, I'll have to test the veracity of that statement one of these days. "Good! That feels so good, baby." What's with the kiss you gave Sifu this afternoon? She chuckled. I was testing a theory. "Yeah, right there." She moaned with pleasure. "Perfect." What theory? "Heather said, and I quote, 'A kiss don't mean nothin'.' My theory says a kiss means a whole bunch." Her hips waved, dragging her clit over my tongue. Elaborate, please. "I kissed Sifu, and the kiss meant a lot to him, just like Heather's kiss meant a lot to you. Her passionate kiss pleased you and disturbed me. But after thinking about it, I stopped being disturbed. It didn't bother me when she kissed you again at the shooting range, not even when I noticed her kiss gave you a hard-on." She moaned when I sucked her throbbing clitoris into my mouth and rolled my tongue slowly back and forth over the bundle of nerves. "So," she said when I released her clit and jabbed my tongue inside her, "I figure she was both right and wrong. She was right because you kissing her or me kissing Sifu, to use her words, 'don't mean nothin'.' We're monogamous. We trust each other. Where's the harm?" A finger replaced my tongue. "Yeah, baby. Like that." How was she wrong? I asked and nibbled on an inner lip. "When I kissed Sifu, really kissed him. It wasn't a stingy, little peck on the cheek. The kiss meant something to both of us. It pleased me to give him pleasure and make him feel appreciated and loved, and it proved to me that a kiss can mean a whole bunch. What's more, I gotta tell ya, baby, Sifu isn't the last man I'll kiss like that. I figure a kiss should mean something, so I say again. Where's the harm?" She climaxed when I wrapped my lips around her nubbin again, and then lashed it with my tongue. At the same time, another finger joined the one already plunging into her pulsating pussy. No harm, no foul, I said as she slipped down my chest, reached blindly behind her and guided my shaft into her wet heat. ------- "Morgan, my work name is Cornelius. Ruben talked to me last night. I understand you're looking for a shooter." "That's correct. Thanks for calling, Cornelius. Are you on an assignment right now?" "I go by Corny, Morgan, and no, I'm not on assignment. I'm getting a little long in the tooth, so I don't take as many assignments as... no, that'd be a lie. I'll be frank with you, Morgan. My agent sucks. He's the one that's long in the tooth, not me. The last few jobs he's given me didn't fit what I do." "What do you do?" I asked. "I'm a recovery operative and specialize in kidnappings, but I'll work any hostage situation. Most protection gigs bore me to tears." "How much downtime do you take each year?" "I've worked six months out of the last twelve, but I'd be happier with a couple more months on the job - if the jobs fit what I do." "Did Ruben tell you about the organization I'm forming?" "Yes, and to be honest, I'm interested." "What's your cut for a job?" "Two thousand a day." "I pay recovery specialists twenty-five hundred a day." "That's what Ruben told me." "When can you be in Vegas?" "I can fly in today." "Did Ruben tell you what we're up against?" "Yes." "Okay, you're hired for the Vegas job. Hang by your phone for a while. You'll be hearing from my travel agent, armorer, and paymaster. Are you licensed for conceal-carry for the State of Nevada?" "Yes." "If we like what we see in each other, Corny, we'll do some business. Otherwise, no harm, no foul." "Fair enough. Why a travel agent, armorer and paymaster now?" "Eileen, my travel agent, will arrange and pay for your flight. We'll be staying at a safe house, but someone will meet you at the airport. Woodhouse, my armorer, will ask you about your weapon of choice. You'll be flying commercial, so bringing a weapon with you is too much hassle. We'll have the weapon and accessories you specify waiting for you in Vegas when you arrive. My paymaster will ask about banking information so he can wire transfer your retainer. At your pay scale, he'll transfer $10,000 to start with." He chuckled. "I like what I'm hearing so far." ------- "Morgan, I'm Dan Green. Mark Richardson called me. He says good things about your organization." "Are you interested?" "Yes." "What does your agent charge for your services?" "Fifteen-hundred per day plus expenses." "What's your cut?" "Fifty percent." "I charge two thousand a day and split that with my protection operatives." "That's what Mark told me." "Are you on an assignment right now?" "No." "Want a job for a few days?" "Sure." ------- "Morgan, my work name is Maria. Heather called me last night." Ten minutes later, she agreed to join my team in Vegas. En route to the airport, Heather called me. "The runaway is in rehab," she said. "Great! Call Eileen. She'll arrange your flight to Vegas. Someone will meet you at the airport. Will an XD-9 be okay?" "Sure." "Good. We'll have one for you when you land. We'll be staying in a safe house, so you won't need lodging. Do you have a conceal-carry permit for Nevada?" "No." She chuckled. "I still don't have the one Blount put in motion for Missouri." "Call Blount. He'll get the paperwork started for Nevada." "Okay." "And call my get-it-done gal. Close out the gig in St. Louis and log into the assignment in Vegas." I told her Maria had called and that she'd be joining us in Vegas, which pleased Heather. After I hung up, Colleen said, "Vegas should be interesting. Ruben and Robyn Berdan are already there. You, Sifu and I will arrive next, and Corny, Green and Maria are on the way. Heather will be joining us tonight. That's eight shooters and a driver. That ought to do it." "Robyn, Green and Maria aren't shooters. Robyn will be providing intel. That's what she does best. Green and Maria are protection specialists. I'll use them for surveillance and to make sure the safe house remains safe. I haven't told you, but Jasper, Dean Woodhouse and Horace Reed are flying to Vegas on a separate charter. Woodhouse and Reed will be staying in hotels, though, not at the safe house. Jasper volunteered to be our other driver, and he will stay at the safe house, which reminds me, I need to make a call." I dialed my cell phone. "Maggie, make that ten at the safe house. Heather will be joining us." "All right. I'll call that nice Mr. Jones and let him know. It's a good thing Eileen located a furnished mansion that includes servants or the logistics for this confab could have been a nightmare." "That's for sure. I also told Heather to call you and close out the assignment in St. Louis and log into the Vegas job. This is part of the Assignments Coordinator job we discussed, Maggie." I went on to outline what I wanted from a lead operative when an assignment ended. She chuckled. "Yep, you'll need an Assignments Coordinator." "Write down what I just told you as future policy, Maggie. We'll add other policies and procedures as needed." "You've got it, bubba." ------- Except for security, the Tudor mansion fit our needs perfectly. The main house contained eight bedrooms and plenty of bathrooms. The dining room was set up for twelve but was expandable to twenty. We'd use the humongous great room for conferences. Outside, the property offered a shimmering swimming pool, a hot tub, bathhouse, and a lighted tennis court. A high, brick fence surrounded the property with wrought-iron gates for vehicular access, and a person-sized door next to the gatehouse admitted someone on foot. The Jones family owned and operated the mansion. Cal Jones acted as the butler, his wife Edna was the cook. Edna's sister, Mariah, was the maid and helped Edna in the kitchen, and vice versa. Mariah was married to Cal's brother, Tom. Tom took care of the grounds. Between them, Cal and Tom handled most maintenance problems. The four of them were standing by the front entrance of the mansion to greet us when we arrived. I connected with them telepathically and decided they were good people. They were serious about their jobs, and although they gossiped about their charges with each other, they understood gossiping with others could hurt them. They lived in the carriage house over the six-car garage. It took me a while, but I finally figured out that they weren't fussy about who slept in whose bed, and all of them frequently tumbled onto the same bed. Both men and both women were bisexual, and their incestuous connections had started during their childhoods and endured into their adult years. They were in their early forties and looked fit. They probably availed themselves of the fitness center attached to the bathhouse. The women were attractive and happy. After Colleen and I settled into the master suite, Sifu in the bedroom next to ours, and Ruben and Robyn in the guest suite, the five of us met in the great room for a cold drink and some talk. We were on the job. No booze would be served until the job was finished. The maid, Mariah, served iced tea and was happy to take an order for hot tea from Sifu. "Security is weak," Ruben said. "I agree. I'll ask Horace to jerry rig what he can for our stay," I said. "Plus, two protection specialists are joining our team today. Mark recommended an operative named Dan Green, and Heather a woman named Maria. She's a linguist, speaks Spanish, Italian and Portuguese, which might come in handy if any of the international assassins we'll be up against speak any of those languages. I'll use Green and Maria as protectors for anyone occupying the safe house at any given time. Robyn, I'll want you to do what you do best: provide detailed intel available from the public sector when needed and as quickly as possible. Sifu and Jasper are our drivers, and Jasper has arranged for two local drivers should we need them. Ruben, that leaves you, your man, Corny, Heather, Colleen, and me as shooters, and Colleen will be working second chair to me on this job. Jasper, Horace and Woodhouse will arrive on a separate charter, and they've arranged local backup for their support functions. Blount gave me the name of a defense attorney, and Doc Winters referred me to a local sawbones who won't report a gunshot wound and has access to a private hospital. I haven't spoken to either referral source, but I'll remedy that omission after we finish this discussion. Jasper has arranged for two armored sedans, a limo, and a van." I glanced at my wristwatch. "The second charter will land in about an hour, and the rolling stock I just mentioned is staged at the airport. Ruben, please take Sifu with you and meet the charter. Turn in your rental and drive one of the vehicles here. Sifu, please drive another one. Jasper will drive the third, and ask Horace to drive the fourth. A rental is waiting for Woodhouse. He'll follow you here in the rental, Ruben. After Horace reviews the security at this facility, Woodhouse will drive Horace to their hotel. They're staying at the Bellagio. Oh, I almost forgot. Corny will arrive shortly after the charter, so pick him up and drive him here with you." I gave him the airline, flight number, and the time of Corny's arrival. "Any questions?" I have one, Colleen said silently when no one else responded. Any guesses about whom Heather will select for a fuck buddy for this assignment? None, but Green, Corny and Jasper are candidates, I replied with a grin. Maria, too, she said. I sense our loveable slut doesn't limit herself to the male gender. Colleen snickered when my eyes widened. "Let's put on our swimming suits, cowboy. You can make your calls from the hot tub." Ruben chuckled. "Rank has its privileges." "Robyn, will you join us?" Colleen said. "Sure." ------- Corny was no spring chicken, but he looked extremely fit. I guessed his age at fifty, give or take a year or two. He was an average man, five-nine, and he wore his brown hair short, styled in a flattop. His expression, the mirth in his bright blue eyes, made me think he was about to play a trick on me. "Gotta question for you, Morgan," he said. "Mahatma Gandhi walked barefoot most of the time, which built up some mighty impressive calluses on his feet. He also ate like a bird, which made him somewhat delicate, and with his weird diet, he suffered from bad breath. What do these physical and character traits make him?" I grinned. "Don't know, but I'm sure you'll tell me." "A super-callused, fragile mystic hexed by halitosis." He struck his knee with his palm and laughed boisterously. I groaned. I'd touched his mind with mine the moment I saw him. He had his doubts about my organization but trusted Ruben. Although Ruben told him about my abilities with a pistol and kung fu, Corny still thought I was too young to run an organization of protectors and recovery operatives. Skill with a gun or in hand-to-hand combat doesn't a leader make, was the way he put it. I liked him immediately, and his experience and clear, uncluttered thinking made me feel comfortable with his ability to reason and react quickly and effectively to any threat he faced. I'd be pleased if he hired Protect & Serve as his agent when this assignment ended. Dan Green was a large man, six-three or -four. Like Corny he was in good shape, and he related to everything and everyone around him in terms of protection, which made him seem aloof. He didn't covet becoming a recovery or missing-person expert. He was a protector. He'd found his niche and was happy with it. "What are doing about security for this place?" he asked. "That's being worked on as we speak," I said and told him about my electronic-surveillance specialist and spy-gadget guy. "Good. Some muscle at the gatehouse would help." "Good idea. Dan, how about I put the security for the safe house in your capable hands?" He nodded. "That means if you want muscle for the gate, hire and manage them. I don't have the time. Check with Ruben to find out how to hire someone. I did hire another protection specialist. She's en route from the airport now. She came to me as highly recommended as you. Her work name is Maria. Sit down with her when she arrives and plan how the two of you will work together. Keep in mind that I might need one or both of you for surveillance from time to time, as well. Let me know if there's a problem." Maria was an energetic ball of fire, quick-minded as well as quick on her feet. She had gorgeous black eyes, full, very kissable lips, and a cute little body. I introduced her to Dan Green, left them alone, and then listened to their thoughts and conversation telepathically. Morgan put me in charge of protection for the safe house, Green said. Fine by me, Maria replied. Does that mean you're my boss? I haven't taken second chair on a protection gig for a lot of years, she thought. Did I read Morgan wrong? No, Green said. That's one of quite a few things we need to work out. Morgan told me to sit down with you and plan how we should work together. He also mentioned that he'd use one or both of us for some surveillance work. What do you think about the security here? I sensed her laugh. What security? My sentiments precisely. Any suggestions? Security cameras that cover the grounds and the street in front of the property. A security office in the house with monitors for the cameras. Plus warm bodies, twenty-four hours a day at the gatehouse would be a good start. Green thought, My kind of gal. I mentioned muscle for the gatehouse, Green said. Morgan told me to hire them. Danny boy, if he told you to hire some muscle, hire them. How about hiring some warm bodies to monitor the cameras, too? That would free us up to take twelve-hour shifts to manage the warm bodies or do some surveillance. I'll be in charge when I'm on duty, and you can be in charge during your shift. I'm a night owl. I wouldn't mind taking the midnight to noon shift. Maria, you and I are going to get along just fine. He doesn't have any problems that getting well and truly laid wouldn't fix. I sensed Maria's inward laugh. Heather could and probably will turn him everywhere but loose. Hell, I might give her a hand. That's a lot of man sitting in front of me - especially the bulge in his pants. He's gotta be hung like a horse. Maybe I'll ask Heather to give me a hand, instead of the other way around. And I'm going to get along just fine with my two protection specialists, I thought. ------- Well crap! It looks like I'm going to need a new fuck buddy, Heather thought when I introduced Robyn to her. Ruben stood by Robyn's side, trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably with the attempt. Watching Heather, Ruben and Robyn interact, Colleen tried valiantly not to laugh, but unlike Ruben, Colleen was succeeding. At her request, I was letting her experience Heather's thoughts. Not a person who minced words, Heather said, "Robyn, did Ruben tell you that he and I were fuck buddies?" Robyn's jaw gaped, but she quickly slammed it shut and offered Heather a cynical smile. "Yes." "From your chilly reaction and the look of love in Ruben's eyes, I figure Ruben and I can't be fuck buddies anymore." "Your figuring is accurate," Robyn said. "Well then I'll just have to give my old fuck buddy a goodbye kiss." With that she moved against Ruben, ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him hard. When she leaned back from the embrace, she said, "That's a fuck-buddy goodbye kiss, Ruben." She kissed him again, but the embrace carried only a fraction of the heat the previous kiss generated. "And that's a friendly kiss, good buddy." She turned to Robyn. "He's all yours now, Robyn. From this moment forward, Ruben and I are good buddies. I'll leave the fuckin' part to you." Robyn burst out laughing. "Heather, you're something else again." She linked her arm with Heather's. "Come on, you and I need to talk." "Girl talk?" Heather said as they strolled away. "Yep." "Goody. Next to fuckin', I just adore dishing dirt with another girl." Fuck, I'm in trouble, Ruben thought. ------- "We're free this evening," I said to Colleen. "Would you like to visit your mother?" As usual, I'd been monitoring her thoughts and knew she'd been having a silent debate with herself about whether to contact her mother or leave well enough alone. She sagged onto a chair, and tears welled in her eyes, but she squared her shoulders and looked up at me. "I guess I should." I told Ruben where we were going and left him in charge in my absence. "She'll ask for money," Colleen said as we drove through the gates at the mansion in one of Jasper's sedans. "Give her some if you want. I'll back your play, sweet thing." The house where Colleen once lived with her mother was dark. "She's out peddling her tail," Colleen said. "I know some places to look. Do you mind?" We found her in a coffee shop a few streets off the strip. She was sitting with a woman, another hooker from the way she was dressed. "Charlotte!" the woman squealed when she saw her daughter walking toward her. She slid out of the booth. Mother and daughter embraced, and both of them became weepy - happy tears. She's wearing a gun. Why is she wearing a gun? Charlotte's mother thought as she hugged her daughter, but she kept the thought to herself. Charlotte introduced us, using my Ken LaPlant alias and omitting the doctor title. I don't want her to know your work name or real name, Charlotte told me with a thought. And don't refer to me as Colleen, either. I don't want to give her any information that would allow her to find us. Gotcha, I said. Her mother's name was April. From what Charlotte had told me, I figured April was in her late-thirties, but she looked ten years older. "Let's go someplace where we can talk, Mom," Charlotte said. April nodded, said goodbye to her friend, and gathered up her things. Charlotte directed me to a nearby hotel, and we took a booth in the hotel bar. April ordered a Manhattan. Charlotte and I ordered cokes. "Charlotte, you look so... grown up, so pretty!" Rich, too, she added as a thought. Maybe I can tap her for a loan I won't pay back. "Thanks, Mom. Dad died. Did you know?" She looked sad and nodded. "Mrs. Granger called me." Mrs. Granger is a neighbor lady in Kingman. She and Mom have kept in touch, Charlotte told me silently. "Your dad had a little insurance policy, sweetie, enough to bury him." With a little left over for me. He left it to her, but she was nowhere to be found, and I needed the money. It's gone now. She'll never know. Leave well enough alone. "It was a nice funeral. I wish you could have been there." Charlotte looked weepy again, but swallowed her grief and squared her shoulders. "Dad was gone when I got to Kingman, Mom. I couldn't hang around, and it was time for me to be my own person, so that's what I did, with Ken's help." "Where are you living now, sweetie?" "California." "I'm in security, April," I said. "Charlotte works for me." "Security? Like bodyguards?" "Yes." That's why she's wearing a gun, April thought. And from the bulge in his jacket, he's wearing one, too. "How about you, Mom? What are you doing now?" "Same-oh, same-oh," she said and looked at me. "I'm not an educated woman, Ken. I do what I have to do." Would you like her to stop doing what she does, Charlotte? I asked silently. Yes! Okay, follow my lead. "April," I said, "that's a lie." She looked shocked, then angry. "You're a whore. Granted prostitution can be an honest profession, but from the look of you, you're not very good at it, either that or you don't hard work enough to make a decent living." She tried to slap me, but I caught her wrist and forced her hand to the tabletop. "I don't have to take this shit," she muttered and started to slide out of the booth. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll apologize," I said. Tears welled in her eyes and overflowed. "I'm not young anymore, not pretty." Her chin quivered and her shoulders shook. She slumped back into the booth. "Then it's time to change what you do, April. I'll help." "How?" she said between sniffs. "You're just a fucking bodyguard." She dug a Kleenex out of her purse, carefully wiped the tears from her eyes, and blew her nose. Wants to help me, huh? I'll let him, take him for everything I can. What is she good at? I asked Charlotte. She's a good cook, not fancy, but good. "I sent Charlotte to a highbrow cooking school," I said. "They called it a culinary institute." "Then why are you working as a fucking bodyguard?" April said to her daughter. The bodyguard must to all right, though. That outfit she's wearing wasn't cheap. "Because Ken also signed me up to learn how to shoot, and I'm learning kung fu. I'm a better shot with a pistol than a cook in a kitchen. Let us help you, Mom?" Are you sure you want to help her? Charlotte asked. You heard her thoughts. She's already pegged you as a mark. She'll try to bleed you for every dollar she can. I nodded and said, "Here's my deal, April. Take it or leave it. I'll send you to school, any school, but Charlotte tells me you're a fine cook. Maybe you should go to a culinary institute and learn how to cook fancy. I know good chefs make a lot of money. That's number one. Training for a new job. Number two, you need to live while you're training. I'll pay you $3,000 per month as long as you stay in school and get good grades, and we'll also set up a bonus system for superior grades. Number three, after you finish your schooling, I'll help you find work in your field. You won't start at the top of your new trade. That's not how the world works, so your new job might not pay you $3,000 per month. Number four, I'll make up the difference until you get promoted a time or two. That's my deal, with one exception. If you sell your tail just once, starting right now, I'll stop everything. No school, no $3,000 a month, no making up the difference. It's all or nothing, April. Waddaya say?" "I have something to say," Charlotte said. "Look at me, Mom. Take a good look because this might be the last time you'll ever see me. If you turn down Ken's generous offer, I'll pretend you're dead and never see or speak to you again. I'll grieve for you now because if you don't stop being a whore, a violent john will kill you, or you'll get a disease like AIDS. Whores don't die of old age, Mom. What's more, don't think you can pretend to go to school, take Ken's money, and then go brag to your whore friends about how clever you are and how stupid Ken is. With a simple phone call, Ken can check on you, and you won't even know you're being checked out." Little bitch! She's turned into a little, rich bitch. Charlotte reeled from her mother's viciousness as if the woman had struck her. "Let's go, Ken. She doesn't love me, and she hates herself." Charlotte started to slide from the booth. "Wait!" April screeched. She turned to me. "I'll take your deal." "All right. Do you have a checking account?" "Yes." "Let me see one of your checks." She'll misuse you, cowboy. Maybe. We'll soon know, and in the total scheme of things what I'm offering isn't very much. God, I love you. April handed me her checkbook. I took it and called Gordy. I gave him April's name, address, and bank information. "Tomorrow morning, wire transfer $3,000 to that account, and set up an automatic monthly payment in the same amount. Treat the funds as contract labor and report the payments to the government. She'll have to pay taxes on the income. I'll also be paying tuition and related costs to send her to a trade school. I'll let you know which school and the expenses involved when I know." "Got it," Gordy said. "Is this woman Colleen's mother?" "Yes." "This is good, Luke. Talk to you later." I ended the call and looked April in the eye. "We have a deal. You have one week to decide which school you want to attend. April, if you fuck up and sell you aging ass again, I won't be very pleasant, and Charlotte told you the truth. I will be checking on you. Do we understand each other?" She nodded. What has Charlotte gotten herself into? This guy is cold... and dangerous. "Mom," Charlotte said and took my hand in hers. "I love this wonderful man, and he loves me. When I found Dad lying dead in Kingman, I asked Ken to help me, to give me a future, and he did, but he gave me so much more. He gave me his tender, sweet love. You're bitter now, Mom, and if I were you, I'd be bitter, too. Life hasn't been kind to you. But you're still young. You can start anew and make a good life for yourself. Ken's just giving you a leg up, though. You'll have to do most of the heavy lifting yourself. Make me proud, Mom. I know you can do this. Okay?" "Okay, sweetie. I'll try." Her thoughts weren't as positive. ------- I held Charlotte while she cried. She's forgotten how to trust, cowboy. And she's lost the ability to love. Can we save her? "I don't know, but we'll try." She'll fuck up. "Yes, she will, but I'll pretend I don't know and let you tear into her to bring her back in line. If you save her a few times, maybe she'll start to appreciate you." "Hah! Resent me even more is more likely." "Maybe. If that tactic doesn't work, we'll try a different one. You need to teach her how to love again, sweet thing. Show her how to love by example. Love her. Love her no matter what she does, but don't let her backslide an inch. Alternate between tender love and tough love, but love her, and in the end, she'll find a way to trust again, to love again." Charlotte threw her arms around me and hugged me fiercely. "Oh, I love you so much! Sometimes my love for you becomes too big for me to hold in and it just explodes like fireworks on the Fourth of July. This is one of those times, baby." I brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead. "We're lucky. Fate let us find each other. Maybe fate will be kinder to your mother in the future. When she learns how to love again, sweet thing, love will find her, too." We made love then, and afterwards as I held her in my arms, she whispered, "I was thirteen the first time it happened. He left Mom's bed and came to mine. I fought him, Luke. I screamed bloody murder, bit him, scratched him, kicked him, but he was too big, too strong. Mom tried to stop him, too, which only intensified his rage. He smashed her face with his fist, dazing her, and then he hit me. He ripped my skinny legs apart and fell on me, knocking the wind out of me, and then... "It wasn't sex, Luke. It wasn't fucking. It was an assault, a violation. He forced himself inside me. I was small and dry, but he... he jabbed and rammed and... and then the blood helped. Mom tried to stop him again, but he backhanded her. Her head hit something when she fell, and she couldn't help me anymore, and I couldn't help myself. She was still unconscious after the man left. "After that time, she stopped bringing men home with her for a while, but she soon reverted to old habits. It was just before my fifteenth birthday the next time it happened. That time I didn't scream or kick or scratch. I lay unmoving, unresponsive and let him rape me. He didn't hit me, but there was no blood to ease the way, and I was dry, so he hurt me anyway. When he finished, he dropped money on my bed and left. "It was new money, Luke. New money is hard to tear. I tried to rip the bills to shreds, but I couldn't, so I cut them up with scissors, cut them into so many pieces they looked like confetti. That's when Mom came to me, while I was cutting up the money. "'What are you doing?' she screamed. "'I'm not a whore, ' I told her. 'He raped me. I didn't sell myself. He raped me, and then tossed money at me. I'm not a whore. I'm not like you, and if you ever bring a john here again, I'll run away. I'll go live with Dad. I'd rather live with a drunk in a shack than live with a whore who brings johns home so they can rape me.'" Charlotte hugged me fiercely. "She never brought another john home, not while I lived with her. She's a crappy mother, but she is my mother, and sometimes she tries to be a mother. The problem, Luke, is the sad fact that whores just don't make very good mothers." ------- Chapter 10 "Has everyone met everyone?" I asked to open the orientation session. My crew sat scattered around the great room in the mansion. I heard a chorus of yeses. "Good. My role in this assignment has to be confusing for some of you. I'm the principal. I'm also the agent for the operatives hired for this assignment, but that's not all. I'm the lead operative, as well. Do any of you want to address this issue?" Green said, "If you're the principal, we can't protect you if you won't listen to our advice. That's the first and foremost principle in the protection profession." "I agree, Dan. That's why I assigned the task of securing this property to you and Maria as opposed to protecting me. Everyone, this assignment doesn't fall comfortably into any niche in our business. You're not here to protect a principal. You're not here to release a captive or find a missing person. You're here because someone wants me dead. I don't know who wants me dead, and I don't know why. You've been brought into this assignment to help me answer those two questions. What I do know is this person or group who wants me dead hired Joseph Karsh, a master assassin, to kill me. This means Karsh knows the identity of my enemy. In three or four days, we will abduct Karsh. I will interrogate him, and Karsh will tell me everything he knows about my enemy. That's it. That's what this assignment is about." I took a deep breath and looked around the room, searching for negative thoughts about what I'd just said. I continued, "A successful conclusion to this mission does not eliminate the threat to my life. Karsh assigned my assassination to one of his most bloodthirsty, ruthless hit men, a man named Joel Hall. Hall resides in Las Vegas, possibly in Karsh's stronghold. We know very little about Hall, but through various means, we have located Karsh. We know where Karsh lives and works, what he looks like, and some of his habits. Joel Hall is another matter and doesn't matter except he continues to be a threat, and I believe we'll also face Hall in a bloody confrontation during this mission. "Over the last few days, I've had two people here on the ground gathering intel. Robyn Berdan is a Protect & Serve staff member. She is a skip-tracer and private investigator. Robyn, please take the floor and tell us what you know about Karsh." She rose to her feet and gave the assemblage a bright smile. "A picture is worth a thousand words," she said and clicked a remote. A photograph filled a screen that had been erected in front of the fireplace. With a laser pointer, Robyn put a red dot on a man in the photograph. He was about fifty years old, looked very fit physically with a rugged, handsome face - distinguished came to mind. "This is Joseph Karsh," she said. "Karsh is an alias, by the way, or at least I found no record of this man using the name Joseph Karsh in the public sector records I'm able to access." She grinned. "And I can access most of them." She clicked the remote. "More photographs of our target out and about in Las Vegas." Six separate photographs filled the screen. "He employs six bodyguards," she said, pointing out six men on the six photographs with the red dot. "And a driver." "I know the driver," Jasper said. "I used him on a job here in Vegas about ten years ago. I can't remember his name, but I remember the circumstances. He's a superior driver but a poor excuse for a human being." He shook his tangled mop of red hair. "His name will come to me. I'll let you know when it does, Robyn." "Which means, he'll recognize you," I said. "Not true. He's never seen me. I hired him sight unseen from what I believed at the time was a reliable referral source. That's what causing my memory problem. I saw the driver one time. He was demonstrating his driving skills. That's why I know he's a superior driver. Because he was concentrating on the course he was driving, he didn't notice me. After that job, I didn't use the driver or referral source again." "Do you remember the referral source's name?" I asked. "Yes." I said, "After this meeting, give his name to Robyn, and she'll do a quick-and-dirty dossier on the man. We might have a little talk with him. Go ahead Robyn." "I've identified one of the bodyguards." She laid the red dot on one of the men in the photographs. "His name is Ward Lucas. Unlike Joseph Karsh, Lucas does exist in public sector records. He's not a nice man. Three arrests for assault, one conviction. He's currently wanted by the police. He broke parole." She held up some papers. "This is his dossier. I'll leave it here on the table if anyone wants to read it." "It's obvious, even in that photograph, that he's carrying a weapon," Corny said. "Does the State of Nevada issue conceal-carry permits to felons?" "No," Robyn said. "I checked." "How did you identify him, Robyn?" Heather asked. Robyn grinned. "From a can of beer he left on a bar. I lifted a print, and a friend of mine in the LVPD ran the print for me." "Good work, good buddy," Heather said, holding up her thumb. Corny stood up and walked to the screen. He pointed at one of the bodyguards. "I've seen this man before, but for the life of me I can't remember where or when." He grinned. "In other words, the name Pavlov doesn't ring a bell." A collective groan echoed in the room. Corny ignored the groans and said, "Seriously, Robyn, if I remember his name or the circumstances in which I met him, I'll tell you." "Thanks, Corny. I'll also leave these photos on the table so you and the rest of the crew can look at them at your leisure. Next comes the stronghold." She clicked the remote and an aerial photograph flashed onto the screen. "This is Karsh's compound." Using the laser pointer, she said, "The property is surrounded by an eight-foot high, concrete-block wall. Vehicular access is through wrought-iron gates here, and walking-traffic access, here. The gates at the back of the property, here, aren't used. They're chained and padlocked. This is the gatehouse. Armed men occupy the gatehouse, twenty-four/seven in shifts, two men per shift. The garages are here. He garages an armored limousine, an armored sedan, and a standard SUV on the property. Karsh doesn't drive - ever. I'll let Ruben tell you about the security systems protecting the compound." She hit the remote. "This is the floor plan of the main building." She clicked the remote again. "And this is the second floor. Karsh entertains lavishly, using the outdoor pool area or the great room to hold his parties. When he entertains, he uses valet parking. No vehicles, except his, are allowed through the gates, and that includes deliveries." "Thanks, Robyn," I said. "Ruben, tell us what you know about Karsh." "All right. Robyn, put up the site plan, please, the one I marked up. Thanks." She handed him the laser pointer. "The red exes are video cameras. As you can see, the grounds, the gates, and the street in front of the property are covered with no dead areas. The blue exes are infrared or motion sensors. I'm sure I missed some of these sensors. This area inside the wall going around most of the perimeter," he waved the pointer, "is a no man's land at night when vicious dogs are let out to play. Morgan and I talked. The only way into the compound is by way of a frontal assault, so we eliminated that approach to take Karsh. We'll take him when he's out and about in Las Vegas." He sipped from his coffee cup. "Robyn, please put the photos back up that show Karsh outside his stronghold. Thanks. Notice that when he leaves the compound he uses the limo and takes two bodyguards with him, as well as his driver. The bodyguards vary. The driver doesn't. All four are armed, including Karsh. Four armed men aren't our problem, though. Our problem is the fact that Karsh doesn't venture off the compound very often, and we've noticed no pattern in his destinations or any consistent reason why he goes out. More surveillance and intel are needed. Put up the party girl, Robyn." A woman's face graced the screen. "This is Sandy Davis, a party girl. Notice that her lip is split and swollen. Karsh is into rough sex; Sandy isn't, so she was willing to talk with me. According to Sandy, Karsh uses cocaine and pops pills." Ruben grinned. "She also gave me the driver's cell phone number." "That's good news, very good news," I said. "Horace, turn that sucker into a transmitter." Horace smiled. "Will do." Dean asked what we meant by turning a cell phone into a transmitter. Horace explained. "Thanks, Ruben," I said. "Folks, Ruben is second chair for this operation only to me. In my absence, he's in charge. Horace, tell us about what you've been doing. For those of you who don't know, Horace Reed is Protect & Serve's electronic-surveillance specialist and spy-gadget guy." "We tapped Greenfield's phone," Horace said. "Some folks in this room don't know about Greenfield," I said. Horace described Greenfield and Modern Security and how the man and his firm fit the mission. "So far, we haven't gleaned much from the phone tap. Joel Hall did call Greenfield once." He hit a button on a tape recorder, and we listened to part of a telephone conversation. "I played that tape to let you hear the sound of Joel Hall's voice. That's it from the Greenfield tap. Oh, Greenfield badmouths Morgan to his idiot cronies, that sort of thing, but as an intel source, Greenfield is worthless. Still, we'll maintain the tap for a few more days. I've ordered a phone tap on the landline in Karsh's compound. Notice that I said landline - singular. He has only one hardwired telephone number for the entire complex. That tap should be completed by early afternoon, and it cost you a bundle, Morgan. Sorry. The tap will be made at the main switching banks for the local telephone company. As you suggested moments ago, I'll turn the driver's cell phone into a microphone this afternoon. That's it so far. Oh, I've also been working with Green to secure this location as best we can given the circumstances." "Thanks, Horace," I said. "Robyn, is there a location outside Karsh's compound that gives us a line of sight close enough for a parabolic dish?" She scrunched up her face as she concentrated. "Maybe. What's the range of your dish, Horace?" "I can get my hands on one that will pick up conversations 300 yards away." "Get with me later," Robyn said. "I'll show you a potential listening post." Green deferred to Maria to outline the security they were setting up for the mansion. After she finished, Green said, "Morgan, I figure Karsh and Hall know what you look like, and Colleen, Hall has seen you. I suggest strongly that if either of you leave this compound that someone checks your back door before you return. Jasper and Sifu have agreed to perform this check, and if neither is available, Maria or I will do the checking." I said, "That's good thinking, Dan. We'll cooperate, of course." What does "check your back door" mean? Colleen asked silently. It means someone will check behind us to make sure we're not being followed before we return here so we don't disclose our safe haven to the enemy. Oh. That is a good idea. "I have a question, Maria," Corny said. "What firm did you contact to employ the gate guards and the personnel who will monitor the video feeds?" Maria grinned. "One Horace recommended - Ajax Security. We also asked Robyn to check out the individuals Ajax is sending us. They're clean. No priors." Corny nodded and smiled. Good, they're being careful, he thought. I watched Corny's eyes move around the room. As a whole, this is the most professional bunch I've ever dealt with. Yep, no doubt about it. I like what I'm seeing. I just might change agents when this assignment ends. Jasper took the floor next and described our rolling stock. "Besides the vehicles I just mentioned, others are available. For example, when appropriate an ambulance van will be staged near the takedown site. I've also lined up other drivers should we need them." Dean told everyone about the armory he'd set up in the library. "I was planning to use the office, but Dan and Horace beat me out of that location when they set up the security room there. You'll find handguns, knives, shotguns, and a couple of sniper rifles, but nothing illegal like automatic weapons. Sorry, the boss's orders. I've also included body armor, camouflage and communication gear, flash-bangs and tear and smoke grenades, weapon accessories like holsters and extra magazines, and ammo, of course. If you need something and don't see it, let me know. Anticipating the request, I arranged some private time at a local range for nine o'clock tonight to sight your weapons or just plink away at some targets." "Will you be shooting tonight, Morgan?" Heather asked. "No." "Shucks. Maria, if you get a chance to see Morgan shoot, don't miss it. I'd put him in the top five shooters in the world." Fuck me, Corny thought. I'd heard he was good, but... Maria grinned. "I heard he whipped you." She turned to Ruben. "Did you collect on that bet?" "Partially," Ruben said. "Enough," he added when Robyn dug her elbow into his side. Colleen hooted. "What's so funny?" Corny asked. I laughed, too, and then said, "This meeting is adjourned. I'll get with each of you individually or in small groups for more planning and task assignments." Heather linked her arm through Corny's. "Come with me, big guy, and I'll tell you about the bet." Ah, she picked Corny for her new fuck buddy, Colleen thought. One of them, I said. There's more? Always. ------- Sifu drove through the gates at the mansion. Colleen and I occupied the rear seat and wore disguises because I planned to get up close and personal with the gate guards at Karsh's stronghold. "Sifu, I can't make an initial mental connection unless I'm within 100 feet of the person I want my mind to touch, and that distance is reduced to 30 feet if an obstruction, like a wall, is between that person and me," I said so he would understand the distance requirements for my telepathic ability. "Once I've made an initial connection with a person, I can reconnect at any distance. For example, I can experience Jim Gill's thoughts right now if I make the effort to touch my mind to his in Washington, D.C." "That is magic," Sifu said. "It is, isn't it?" Colleen said brightly. "So, besides the gate guards, if someone drives out of the stronghold and offers an opportunity for you to put me within thirty feet of the vehicle, take it. I'll tell you when I've made the connection, and you can turn away. I need proximity - that's all." "I understand," Sifu said. "That being said, I would appreciate your comments and advice on Protect & Serve's staff members and operatives that you've met. Yours, too, Colleen. Let's start with the operatives. Ruben?" "A good man," Sifu said. "Solid, talented, loyal and honest." "Ditto," Colleen said. "Heather?" "I like her," Sifu said, "but she could cause dissension." "True, Sifu, but she would also smooth any ruffled feathers before the dissension got out of control," Colleen said. "What she is is a likeable slut." Sifu chuckled. "Yes, she is that, but also effective in her job." "Corny?" "Very experienced, very professional," Sifu said. "I sense he has doubts about joining the organization," Colleen said. "At first," Sifu said. "No longer, and once he commits, he will be very loyal." "Dan Green?" "Very experienced, very professional," Sifu said. "Stuffy, though. Too, serious. Still, his experience and professionalism will enhance the organization." "I believe he has more doubts about the organization than Corny," Colleen said. "You could be right, Colleen," I said. "That we plan to abduct someone goes against his morals. He alone presented negative thoughts when I described the mission." "Ah," Sifu said. "Morality is the source of his... stuffiness. He is a person who sees pure blacks and whites, no grays. Correct me if I'm wrong, Morgan, but I don't believe this is necessarily a bad trait for a protector. It would be a bad trait for a recovery specialist, though." "You're not wrong. Maria?" "She's great," Colleen said. "Smart, tough, not too full of herself." "Ditto," Sifu said. "And, she's sold on the organization." "Let's turn to the support staff. Robyn?" Colleen giggled. "She's atwitter." Sifu laughed. "Also very good at what she does. A keeper." "I agree," Colleen said. "She reminds me of Maggie in that regard." "Jasper?" "Solid, loyal, knowledgeable. I like him," Sifu said. "He's been there for you whenever you needed him and at a moment's notice. I can't imagine anyone else in his job," Colleen said. "Horace Reed?" "Good at what he does, but he has a problem," Sifu said. "What problem?" Colleen asked. "He believes a woman's place is in the home, barefoot and pregnant. I watched him. He related to Dan Green and ignored Maria. She noticed the slight, too." "Argh. He was reluctant to work with Heather in St. Louis, and I wondered then if he had a problem working with women," I said. "Is the problem fixable?" "Ingrained prejudice is difficult to reverse," Sifu said. "Did he work with Heather?" "Yes, his involvement brought a successful conclusion to that contract. He'll be working with Robyn today to set up that listening post. I'll query her about his behavior. Dean Woodhouse?" "Professional, loyal, knowledgeable," Sifu said. "I like Dean," Colleen said. "No, it's more. I consider Dean a friend." "A keeper," Sifu said. "When I turn right, we'll pass the gates to Karsh's compound." "Lower the passenger window, Sifu," I said and lowered the right-rear window. Don't slow down. Drive normally. Karsh's estate appeared about twice the size of the mansion and its grounds. Very impressive. The chain link fence topped with barbed wire that followed the perimeter wall about ten or twelve feet inside the wall was ugly, though, and the grounds needed some TLC. Did you make a connection? Sifu asked. Yes. Drive down the street about a mile. Turn around and park where we won't be conspicuous. I'll monitor the guards, and... I heard Hall is returning, guard one said. Fuck! He's such a hard ass, guard two said. When? I might call in sick that day. Tomorrow, I think. Sifu said, "You were saying?" "Hall's scheduled back in Vegas sometime tomorrow. The gate guards don't like him." Yes, sir, guard one said. I wasn't privy to whatever or whoever caused the guard's response. I suspected that the gatehouse was connected to the main house via an intercom. Open the gates, guard one said. "Someone is arriving or leaving, Sifu. A guard is opening the gates." Sifu turned the sedan around and drove down the street at a normal speed toward the gates. His timing was perfect. A car drove out of the stronghold just after we passed the gates and turned in directly behind us. Slow down just a little, I said. There that does it. Move ahead and turn right at the next corner. I connected with the driver, the only occupant of the car. Sifu, you once told me that sometimes it's better to be lucky than good. We just got lucky. The driver is one of Karsh's assassins. Let's get out of here before we're noticed. Not lucky. Magic, he said. ------- "Robyn, it's Morgan. Where are you?" From listening to her thoughts, I knew she had a problem I might be able to solve for her, so I'd called her on the phone. "I'm with Horace. The listening post I thought might work doesn't. It's not quite high enough for a good line of sight." "Is there a telephone pole nearby?" She laughed. "Now, why didn't I think of that? Yes, there is, but hanging onto that pole and manipulating the parabolic disk could be troublesome. Hang on a sec." Horace, can you mount the disk to that pole and manipulate it from the ground? Robyn said. Probably, Horace replied. Pushy broad. Yep, Horace had a problem working with women. Let's do it then, Robyn said. By let's, do you mean me? Jeez, he's contrary. A thought. If you'll have it mounted, I'll talk to Morgan about assigning someone to tend it. Conversation. No need. I'll pull a tech from the surveillance firm I'm using here in Vegas. Great, gotta run. "Morgan, problem solved. Thanks for the tip. Horace is assigning the task to a local tech. I'm leaving now to return to the mansion." "I'm on the way there, too. We'll talk after we both arrive." I ended that call and called Green. "Dan, it's Morgan. Sifu, Colleen and I are returning to the mansion," I said. "All right. I'll send Jasper out to check your back door. Where are you?" ------- When Robyn arrived, I was removing my disguise. I asked her to gather Ruben, Corny and Heather and told her my sidekick and I would join them momentarily. "What's up?" Ruben asked when I sat on a sofa in the great room. "Questions and answers," I said. "Besides Karsh, who lives in his stronghold?" "The driver," Ruben said. "The bodyguards and gate guards come and go in shifts." "Three shifts?" I asked. "Yes, seven in the morning, three in the afternoon, and eleven o'clock at night." "How do they arrive? I mean, Robyn, didn't you say that no vehicles except the limo, the sedan and the SUV are allowed on the property?" She frowned. "That's not precisely correct. The incoming bodyguards and gate guards arrive in a sedan. The gate opens, the arriving gate guards step out of the vehicle, and then the sedan drives farther inside. Shortly, the departing bodyguards stop at the gate in the same sedan, the departing gate guards get in the car, and they drive away. By accident, we were driving by during a shift change, and deduced the other times, checked and discovered we'd guessed right." "So, vehicles other than Karsh's are allowed on the property." I knew that for a fact. I'd observed a rental car driven by one of Karsh's assassins drive through the gates. "I suppose," she said, "but I've also watched deliveries stopped at the gate. The gate guards accept the delivery, and the delivery truck drives away. Also, party girls arrive in cabs, and a cab picks them up at the gate when they leave. These cabs don't enter the compound." I said, "You stated Karsh entertained lavishly. How does he handle his guests' arrivals and departures?" "According to the party girl I interviewed," Ruben said, "he hires valet parkers, and uses the limo to ferry the guests from the gatehouse to the main house. The valet parkers use the land each side of the walled compound to park the cars." "Karsh owns that land, too," Robyn said. "Also the land behind the compound to Arroyo Road in the rear." I said, "How many hours total have you watched the comings and goings at his compound? It can't be many, or you would have been noticed, either by the gate guards or by whoever is monitoring the video feeds, and neither you nor Ruben mentioned security personnel other than bodyguards and gate guards. Someone has to monitor those feeds and other security devices installed at the compound." She blushed. "Two hours, three tops, for me, and at that I had to change vehicles three times." "I've spent more time monitoring the compound than Robyn," Ruben said. "But most of it was at night with light-gathering equipment and in places dead to the cameras and infrared sensors." "Don't take this personally, Robyn. You, either Ruben, but you've seen so little of what's happening at that compound that I don't think you can make blanket statements. I drove by the gates an hour ago and watched a car leave - one occupant, the driver. What about servants? You haven't mentioned any? That's a big place. Karsh would need servants to keep it up." "I didn't see any servants come and go," Robyn said. "What about VIPs of any sort, such as clients, assassins, and the like?" "A few," Ruben said. "But they arrived and left in cabs, which as you just pointed out, means nothing." "To enhance our surveillance, we're getting ears," I said. "The parabolic dish, the driver's cell phone, and the landline tap. What we need are eyes." I slapped my forehead with the palm of my head. "Dummy!" I dialed Horace's cell phone. "It's Ruben. Have you mounted the parabolic dish on that pole yet?" "It's in the works. Why?" "Mount a camera with a long lens, as well. I want to know who comes and goes there." "Will do." I hung up and grinned. "Eyes and ears, as if we were there. Ruben, is there a place that isn't covered by video cameras on the street in front of the stronghold where we could place a camera with a long lens and aim it at the gates?" He thought about my question. "Maybe." "When we're finished here, get with Horace. Check it out, and tell him to install a camera if it's possible, which means we'll need a van nearby to monitor the camera feeds." "All right." "Corny, Heather, I'd like you to team up and follow the sedan that ferries the guards at the three o'clock shift change." "Will do," Corny said, "but why?" Because I want to know where the bodyguards live so I can connect with them where they live and experience their thoughts while they're in the compound, I thought, but I said, "Plan B." Corny laughed. "We don't have a Plan A yet." "Sure we do. When Karsh ventures out in a day or two, we'll converge on him, take out the bodyguards and the driver, and hussle Karsh to a safe house Eileen is arranging for our use as we speak." "Fair enough," Corny said. "What's Plan B?" "Not fully worked out yet." ------- I grabbed Sifu and Colleen, and we took a walk around the grounds. I needed advice. "You called it, Sifu. Horace has trouble working with women. He thinks Robyn is a 'pushy broad, ' and instead of the can-do attitude he exhibits with me, he resents orders from a female, even if expressed as a request. Whether he's a full-fledged misogynist or merely a chauvinist is still open to question. So far, he's begrudgingly responded to Heather and Robyn's requests. I don't know if Maria asked him to do something or let Green do the asking." "She asked," Sifu said. "He confirmed the request with Green, and then responded to Green, ignoring her. She frowned and shook her head." "What should I do about this problem?" I asked. "I see a number of options. I can do nothing, period. I can do nothing until this mission is finished, and then deal with it. I can speak with the women in my crew, tell them I'm aware of the problem and ask for their forbearance. I can talk with Horace now, instead of the women, and there are other options. Waddaya think. Colleen, you first." "Watch and listen until this mission is finished, and then talk with Horace. From what you said, he begrudgingly responds, and the women are putting up with his attitude. If the problem worsens, talk to one or more of the women and ask for their forbearance. At this point, the mission must come first." "Thank you, sweet thing. Sifu?" "If you confront him now, he'll believe one of the women complained, which will amplify his resentment. I suggest you quietly speak to each woman separately and ask for her forbearance. Colleen is correct. The mission must come first." "Don't talk with Heather now," Colleen said. "He performed for her by subletting the work. Her interaction with him has been minimal. Don't talk with Robyn now. Robyn's already on board. If the problem becomes unbearable for her, she'll come to you. But, Sifu is right about Maria. Have a quiet conversation with her." "Colleen's advice is sound," Sifu said. "Thanks, advisors. Next problem. I now know the assignment Karsh gave the assassin I connected with this morning. I've been experiencing to his thoughts and his side of his telephone conversations. His target is a woman, the mother of three teenaged boys. Her husband hired Karsh to kill her. The husband and wife are separated and are in the middle of a bitterly contested divorce. Karsh instructed the assassin to make the woman's death look like a suicide, which should work because she has attempted suicide before. The assassin's flight to Chicago leaves at six o'clock. Question. What, if anything, should I do about this messy situation?" "Do nothing," Sifu said. "Stop him," Colleen said. I chuckled. "You two aren't much help. I knew about those options. Please explain your position. Colleen?" "Stop him because you can, and it's the right thing to do." "Sifu?" "Your magic will alert you to evil on a daily basis. You can't right all the wrongs your magic will uncover. You don't wear tights with a big red 'S' on your chest." Colleen laughed. "How about a pink 'T' for telepath on his cute, little fanny?" Sifu joined her laughter. I didn't. He said, "What's your decision?" "Stop him," I said. "Why?" "Because I can, and it's the right thing to do. Plus, the master assassin has visited his evil on me and mine. His men, under his orders, murdered a woman who loved me and another woman I've known and cherished from boyhood. What's more, stopping his assassin fits my evolving Plan B." "Which is?" Sifu asked. "Still evolving." "Revenge is a destructive motive," Sifu said. "Revenge played only a small part in my decision. Remove revenge for Candice and Marna's deaths, and my decision would not change." "Then I believe you should stop him," Sifu said. ------- Wearing a disguise, I watched a bellhop exit the elevator. He rapped on the assassin's hotel room door. "Yes?" the assassin said through the door. "I'm here for your luggage, sir." "Just a minute," I heard the assassin say. I moved quickly, pressing on the bellhop's neck while pushing him gently to the floor. When the door opened, I jammed four stiff fingers into the assassin's diaphragm, pushing the air from his lungs, and then rendered him unconscious with a chop from the side of my hand. I finished putting the bellhop asleep and dragged him into the room, pushing the assassin away from the door so I could close it. I'm inside his room. He's unconscious, and the bellhop is asleep, I told Sifu and Colleen. They were waiting in the car in a loading zone in front of the hotel. The assassin's eyes snapped open when I threw water on his face. He didn't speak. He lunged at me. I stopped him. "Besides the servants and his driver, who lives with Karsh in his stronghold?" Linda. Hall. Martin. He didn't speak. "What is Linda to Karsh?" Assassin. Lover. He didn't speak. "What's Linda's last name?" Carson, but I'd never tell you, you fuck! "Tell me about Martin." "Fuck you." "What is Martin to Karsh?" Assassin. Lover. "Fuck you." "What's Martin's last name? That is his last name, you dumb shit. "Is Hall a lover, too?" Yes. He didn't speak. "Who hired Karsh to kill Morgan?" His eyes widened. "You're Morgan?" "Answer my question, and I might let you live." "I don't know who hired him, but you're a dead man walking. Karsh has never failed to complete a contract." "Does that mean he will send out another assassin to kill Mrs. Meece?" He looked confused, and then he got it. He lunged at me again. I could think of no reason to delay the inevitable, and the bellhop could awaken at anytime. I snapped the assassin's neck, picked up the plastic cup I'd touched to throw water on his face, wiped down the faucet in the bathroom as well as the doorknob, and joined Sifu and Colleen waiting outside the hotel. "One of the bodyguards lives nearby," I said. Before we left the mansion, I'd asked for and was given the address of the two bodyguards Corny and Heather had followed to their homes. "Let's see if we can get me close enough to connect with him." "Is the assassin dead?" Colleen asked. "Yes." She nodded. Good. ------- The sun fell behind the horizon. Clouds dotted the darkening sky. I'd expected a stunning sunset, but the colors were weak and short-lived, and then I remembered that Arizona sunsets made those in other areas pale in comparison. The French door opened, and Cal Jones stepped out onto the patio. "You wanted to speak with me, sir," he said. "Yes, Mr. Jones. Sit down, please." I was sitting at a patio table. When he was settled, I said, "I wanted to thank you for the exemplary service you and your family have extended my organization, and I have a question." "If I can, I will answer your question, Mr. Morgan." He sat with a rigid back - perfect posture, the epitome of a butler. "We have dotted your property with surveillance cameras, turned your library into an armory, and brought in gate guards and personnel to monitor the video feeds. You've watched all this, but said nothing. No complaints. No questions. I find that astonishing. May I ask why you've accepted all this so cavalierly?" He smiled. "But, sir, we were informed before we agreed to accept your occupancy that you would do most if not all these things and more. Your travel agent was most clear on these matters. After a short discussion, we agreed on a risk premium that was added to our normal rental charges." "Oh. I didn't know." He chuckled. "Mr. Morgan, compared to some other groups who have rented the mansion - a rock band comes to mind - your occupancy has been pleasant. What we weren't told was the fact that you and your... ah, people would not consume alcoholic beverages during your stay. Had I been informed of your abstinence ahead of time, I would have added an amount that would have compensated for that lost income." I laughed. "Mr. Jones, we're on the job now. We don't drink on the job. When we complete the mission we're here to perform, the booze will flow - guaranteed." He smiled broadly. "That's good to hear. Is that all, sir?" After Mr. Jones left me alone, I thought about what he'd told me. Eileen deserved a thank you, which I'd give her in the form of a bonus. More convinced than ever that Plan B would be needed, I called Eileen. Yesterday, I'd altered my instructions regarding the safe house where we'd take Karsh after we captured him. I wondered if she'd had any success with the assigned task. She had and described the facility she'd located through a Las Vegas real estate agent. Except for its size, the facility sounded ideal. I sighed. Too large was better than too small. "What are they quoting as a rental?" I asked. She told me. "That's per month, darlin'. I tried to talk the owner into a month-to-month lease, but he wouldn't budge." "What term is he demanding?" "One year minimum." "Argh." Within days, I'd either need the facility desperately, or I wouldn't need it at all. Fuck it, I thought. It's only money. "Okay, I'll take it for the year. Tell the real estate agent to deliver the lease and the keys this afternoon. I'll sign the lease and take possession today." "All right." She giggled. "What?" "Just a thought," she said. "What?" "Protect & Serve's Gitmo. That place reminds me of what I hear about Gitmo, that facility in Cuba the military uses for terrorists." I called Maggie, told her about the facility, asked her to make sure the utilities were on and in Protect & Serve's name, and then called Gordy to arrange for Eileen's bonus. The French door opened as I ended my call with Gordy. "There you are," Colleen said, walked up to me and gave me a quick kiss. "Robyn is looking for you, and Maria has roused from her nap. She's on the midnight to noon shift, she told me, but got up early to go shooting." Is the assassin's death bothering you? she asked silently. No, but his death probably served little purpose. Karsh will send another assassin to fulfill the contract he accepted from the target's husband. Sifu was correct. I can't right all the wrongs I uncover with my magic. Can you alert the authorities in Chicago about the contract? I called Mrs. Meece, the target, and advised her to hire protection. Colleen snickered. It would be fun if a referral source in Chicago called Sherry to refer the job to Protect & Serve. I wouldn't take the job. Mrs. Meece has heard my voice. Besides, the odds of that happening are astronomical. "There you are," Robyn said as she walked outside. She slumped into a chair next to Colleen. "Whew! What a day, and it isn't over yet. Morgan, the referral source that recommended Karsh's driver to Jasper years ago is dead - murdered - but Jasper remembered the driver's name. It's Lyle Gilbert. Like Ward Lucas, the bodyguard I identified, Lyle Gilbert is an ex-con, but unlike Lucas, Gilbert isn't a wanted man." She handed me a couple of sheets of paper. "That's Gilbert's quick-and-dirty dossier." "Thanks. Has Corny remembered the name of the bodyguard he recognized?" "Yes. Cory James, another ex-con who has broken parole. Here's his dossier." I took the file from her. "Robyn, I've gotta say that you've impressed me with the effort you've given the job as well as the results your efforts have produced, but what really impresses me is your cheerful, can-do attitude. I'm more than pleased you're on my team, and I hope you feel the same way." "Oh! Oh, my goodness!" She blushed deeply. "I mean, thank you, Morgan. What you just said... well... let me put it this way. You and Protect & Serve mean the world to me. You, Protect & Serve, and Ruben. I can't leave out Ruben." She laughed nervously. "I thought you were unhappy with me because I made that erroneous blanket statement about vehicles coming and going from Karsh's stronghold, so..." "Unhappy with you? Not at all. Oh, you made a mistake, but it was a little mistake." I snorted self-consciously. "I made some big mistakes not long ago, life or death mistakes. Fortunately, we got lucky, and my crew saved the day. Ruben was one of them." I grinned. "We can't leave out Ruben, can we?" She laughed. "Nope. I love him. Criminy, can you believe it? Love at first sight. Both of us!" I wondered how she'd handle Ruben away from her doing his job ten months out of every twelve. ------- Corny - voice: Hot damn! That is so fucking sexy! Heather - thought: Yeah it is. Maria - voice: Lick it, lick it, lick it. Heather - voice: Corny, you fucking voyeur, do you see my ass waving back and forth? Corny - voice: Sure, and a gorgeous ass it is, too. Heather - voice: That wave is an invitation. Fuck me while I lick it, lick it, lick it. Got it? Corny - voice: Got it. Heather - thought: Fuck, he's so long. Skinny but long. Maria - voice: Heather, put your mouth back on my cunt, dammit! Corny - thought: Her cunt's like hot butter with muscles. Maria - thought: Dan, you stuffed shirt, you could be fucking Heather now instead of... oh, fuck, she's good! Lick it, lick it, lick it. Heather - thought: He's long, but long or short, he isn't giving my clit the action it needs. I can fix that. Corny - thought: Christ! She's diddling herself, too. Oh, God, I can feel her fingers on my cock. Fuck, that feels good. Heather - thought: That's better, and he doesn't seem to mind. Some men take it as a personal affront. Fuck that kind. Assholes. Hot! I'm so fucking hot! Maria - thought: Hot! I'm so fucking hot! Corny - thought: Oh, fuck, I'm goin' to come! Maria - voice: I'm coming! Coming! Corny - voice: Me, too! I sensed his grunt and Maria's screech. Heather - thought: Oh, fuck, he's coming in my cunt. She's coming in my mouth. And... I'm... just... plain... coming! Colleen said, "Jeez, cowboy, you're boy-cock hard. What got your motor running? Never mind. I know what to do with that kind of hard-on." Colleen groaned. I groaned. Heather or Robyn? she asked. Heather. Who's fucking her? Corny. That's pretty tame stuff to get you this hard. What else. Maria. Ooh, now I understand. Heather - voice: Come on guys and gals. Up and at 'em. It's time to go shooting. Corny - voice: I just finished shooting. I need time to reload. I sensed Heather's groan. And Maria's laugh. Corny - voice: What can I say. I have a PBS mind in an MTV world. Watsamatter, cowboy? You're not boy-cock hard anymore. Corny's bad jokes. Well, cut him off. Was that a pun? She giggled, moved off my cock and straddled my face. You started this, she said. Finish it, buster. ------- "Did you connect with my mother today?" Colleen asked. "Yes." "And?" "This morning, she decided the money wouldn't show up in her account, that I was full of crap, a con artist, and that you'd fallen for my line of shit. I checked on her again a few hours later, and the money was in her account. She was having a debate with herself about whether to comply with our deal or blow it off and take the $3,000 as a one-time contribution. Later, I listened briefly to her side of a conversation she was having with another whore. Surprisingly, I think her friend advised her to honor the deal. Your mother is a moving target, sweet thing." "She's fighting with herself." "Yep." Colleen grinned. "Maybe you should become her conscience." I laughed. "No way. I think becoming someone's conscience drives that person insane. Witness Sanchez. But I have been thinking some professional help for your mother might be in order. Would she stand still for some kind of therapy?" "A shrink?" "Yes, but I was thinking more in terms of group therapy - whores trying not to be whores anymore, a support group, if you will." Colleen giggled. "Prostitutes Anonymous." "Actually, there is such an organization. According to Maggie - I assigned her the task of investigating support groups available for your mother - the organization started out as Prostitutes Anonymous and later changed the name to Sex Workers Anonymous. It's a twelve-step program like Alcoholics Anonymous. If I had known about the organization when I made my deal with April, I would have made her joining and attending the meetings a condition to the deal." "Cowboy, she would accept private therapy before she'd subject herself to a group or an organization like Sex Workers Anonymous." "Really? That surprises me. Why?" "Dad joined A.A. She watched him fail miserably anyway." "Ah, that makes sense. Call her. Ask if the money arrived. Chat with her about your experience with a culinary institute. Tell her you know she's smart enough to do it, and during the conversation, tell her you don't know if you can pull it off but that you'll ask me if I'll pay for some private counseling." "Good idea. I'll do it right now." ------- Sifu, are you awake? I sensed his chuckle. You know I am. Saber or cudgel? I didn't bring my broadsword or spear. What are you? A mind reader? Hah! That's your gig, not mine. It's a saber morning. Where? On the grass in front of the main house. "Where are you going?" Colleen asked as I rolled from the bed. "To spar with Sifu. It's early, I know, but this way we won't attract a crowd. You warned me once about showing off, and you were right. That's one of the reasons I didn't join the crew to do some shooting last night." She moved gracefully from the bed and into my arms. "What were your other reasons?" She kissed me. Her warm, just-awake flesh pressed mine, and she nuzzled her face in my chest. "Good morning, by the way." "Good morning to you. Regarding why I didn't shoot last night, I shouldn't be seen out and about. Oh, I could've worn a disguise like every other time I've ventured out of the mansion, but disguised or not, when I shoot, I'm Morgan and recognizable." "You're also hard." Her dainty hand clasped my erection. "Unhand me, bawdy broad. I have commitments to keep." She didn't let go. Instead, she stroked my erection, made me even harder. "Hush. I owe you one, not that I'm keeping count, but this won't take long." She pushed me until I sat on the bed, gave me a kiss and moved to her knees. Her sinuous tongue rolled around the crown of my cock, and then she opened wide and took my length into her hot, wet mouth. She was right. It didn't take long. When I started to dress, she did, too. "Robyn and Ruben start the day with tai chi. I'm joining them." She glanced at her wristwatch. "And I'm a little late." I grabbed my saber. She asked, "Where will you be sparring?" "On the grass in front of the mansion." "Great minds, etcetera. You will have a small audience. That's where I'm meeting Ruben and Robyn." The audience was larger than Colleen had anticipated. She found out later, and then told me, that while at the shooting range, Ruben had mentioned the planned morning tai chi session, which sounded good to Corny, who mentioned it to Heather. Heather told Maria, and Maria told Dan Green. So, when Colleen and I stepped outside, my entire crew was "dancing in slow motion," as Colleen had called tai chi so many months ago. Sifu and Jasper were also among the group. I hadn't known Jasper was into the martial arts. Upon reflection, I shouldn't have been surprised. Jasper was a superlative driver, but he was in a dangerous business. He'd be capable of taking care of himself. I leaned my saber against the house and joined their dance, moving through two sets before Sifu and I broke off and walked to the center of the expansive lawn with sabers in hand. You're in for a treat, Ruben told Robyn. Sifu and I bowed, and then he struck without warning. I parried his striking sword and spun away from him. Christ Almighty! Gordy said. They're sparring with sabers without sparring pads. Are they nuts? Watch and learn, Heather said to Corny and linked her arm in his. I cut all connections and attacked with speed and agility. Sifu countered my every move and counterattacked with lightening speed. We ranged over the grass with swords clanking, and I soon fell into the zone of concentration I needed to extend the workout by fighting two imaginary assailants as well as Sifu. He knew what I was doing and approved. We'd sparred in this manner before. When I noticed the older gentleman tiring, I stopped, dropped the tip of my saber and eliminated all assailants except Sifu so I could face his last, all-out attack. I countered, ducked or leapt over each slashing of his blade, and then spun away from him to put some distance between us. With a silent roar, I rushed him, my blade flashing in the morning sun. He fought back gallantly, but in the end I halted my slashing saber at his neck to end the sparring session. We bowed toward each other to the applause of our audience. Holy crap! Corny thought. That was the most amazing demonstration of the martial arts I've ever seen. Damn fools, Dan Green thought. If they keep doing that without full body padding, one of them will get hurt. If Morgan hadn't stopped the sword at the last split-second, he would have taken that man's head. Waddaya think, Maria? Heather asked. Is your cunt wet? Maria whispered to Heather. Sopping. Mine, too, she said to Heather. I can't have Morgan, Maria thought. He's taken. But Sifu isn't, You should see him drive, Jasper said to Heather. Really? Heather said. Let's go get a cup of coffee, and you can tell me all about it. Our room now! Robyn said to Ruben. He chuckled. Colleen handed me a towel. Show off. ------- Eyes and ears and telepathy. We listened and watched and learned. Joel Hall arrived mid-morning. The parabolic dish recorded the gate guard addressing him by name. The camera with the long lens on the same pole with the dish captured his profile. He was tall and blond and fit. Was he gay or bisexual? I'd connected with a bodyguard after dispatching Karsh's assassin the day before, which let me listened to the bodyguard's thoughts and his side of a conversation that he had with Hall. According to that same bodyguard, Martin's first name was Nick, probably short for Nicholas. The bodyguard liked Nick. He detested Hall. The cameras - the one on the pole and the one at street level - picked up Linda Carson leaving the compound. The gate guard called her Ms. Carson, and after she drove away the guards referred to her as Linda while they discussed her anatomy, principally her ass and tits. Our view of Ms. Carson didn't reveal much of her anatomy. She was sitting in a vehicle. What we did see of her told us she was blonde and beautiful. I guessed her age in the late twenties or early thirties. Staged to pick up departing vehicles, Corny and Heather followed her to a nearby beauty salon. She paid cash for their services, and Heather photographed her as she was leaving. She was tall and slim, and we now understood why the gate guards had fixated on her ass and tits. They were magnificent. Robyn researched her name immediately upon learning it, but ran into the same wall she'd crashed against when she tried to research Karsh and Hall. Linda Carson was a pseudonym. I sent Maria into the salon shortly after Linda Carson left. While getting her hair styled, Maria, using oblique queries, determined that Linda had a standing weekly appointment at the salon for the full treatment, and sporadically came in on some Fridays, as well. Party nights, I guessed. A camera caught a groundskeeper, which corroborated our belief that servants lived in the stronghold. The zoom lens on the camera displayed some prison tattoos. "The AB has been disguised," Ruben said when he saw the tattoos. "And there's the 666 and shamrock. The gardener is a member of the Aryan Brotherhood, a prison gang that started in San Quentin in the late sixties." "Another ex-con," Colleen said. "Methinks a pattern is developing," Robyn said. "The AB aligns itself with the Dirty White Boys, Nazi Low Riders and Mexican Mafia, and their enemies include the Black Gangster Disciples and Black Guerilla Family. The AB is first and foremost a criminal gang associated with the methamphetamine trade," Ruben added. Neither Nick Martin nor Joseph Karsh showed their ugly mugs that morning. The landline in the compound didn't ring nor was it used. Lyle Gilbert had turned his cell phone off the previous night. "I'd guess he was charging it," Horace said. He grinned. "It's back on again, and we're monitoring it." ------- I caught Maria as she was coming off duty. "Let's take a walk before lunch," I suggested. That sounds ominous, she thought. "I wanted to tell you that I think you're doing a good job, Maria." "Thanks. The gate guards and the security techs minding the cameras are good men, so it's a simple job. By the way, that was an astonishing demonstration Sifu and you gave us this morning." I chuckled self-consciously. "It wasn't meant to be a demonstration. Sifu and I spar most mornings." "Have you known him a long time?" "No. Colleen joined his kwoon a few months ago. That's when I met him. He's an interesting man." Yeah, he is, she thought. "That's surprising, I mean that you haven't known him very long. It looked to me like you've been sparring together for years and years. Do you spar with other wushu weapons?" "Yes." "I started with the cudgel a couple of years ago. I'd ask you to spar with me to give me some pointers, but I wouldn't consider sparring without pads." "I'm not a good teacher, Maria. Do some cudgel work for Sifu, and he'll give you much better advice than I." "I'll do that." And then maybe I can give him a lesson in fun sex. I stifled a snicker. I suspected Sifu would give her lessons in fun sex, if any lessons were given. "What do you think about my budding organization?" I asked. "I like what I see, Morgan. A lot." "You know I hired you for this job not only because I wanted help securing our safe house but also to give us a chance to get to know each other to see if we fit well enough to make our association more permanent." "As far as I'm concerned we fit. I do have some questions." "Ask away." "Heather told me that she told you I was a missing-person-specialist wanna-be. Correct?" "Yes." "She was right. I've been a protector for five years, second chair for one year, back and forth from second chair to lead operative for another year, and the lead on jobs since. A while back, Heather needed help on a job, and her agent didn't have anyone he could assign to help her, so he called my agent, and I worked second chair on a missing-child case with her. If I joined your organization, would you give me the opportunity to work second chair on missing-person assignments?" "Yes. Have you worked second chair on any recovery gigs?" "No." "Was the missing-person job you worked with Heather an abduction?" "No. A runaway, but I know where you're headed. A missing-person assignment where an abduction is involved becomes a recovery job." "Would you be willing to work second chair on recovery assignments?" "Yes." "Recoveries are often wet." "I know." "Have you been in a firefight?" "Yes, two of them. Protection assignments can turn ugly, too." I smiled. "Yep. Did you shoot to kill?" She swallowed and nodded. "Will you take protection assignments if no second-chair recovery or missing-person jobs are on hand?" "Yes, of course." "Will you train second-chair personnel assigned to your protection jobs?" "Yes." I grinned. "If you're willing, I'm willing." She squealed happily, wrapped her arms around my neck, jumped to put her at lip height and kissed me. Laughing, she said, "Heather bet me I wouldn't kiss you when you hired me." "What was the wager?" She blushed. "Never mind." I laughed. "I'd guess a cunt licking." "You knew!" "No, but I know Heather." We turned and started back. "Now that you're onboard, I'd like your assessment of my support staff." "They're amazing. I've never worked with such excellent support, and Heather tells me the support is available on every job and only a phone call away." "I have one problem." She raised an eyebrow. "Horace," I said. She nodded. "I think Horace is old-fashioned when it comes to women in the work force." "I wanted you to know I'm aware of the problem, and after this mission, I'll fix it. Until then, I'd appreciate it if you don't take his chauvinistic attitude and behavior personally. I wasn't aware of the problem until very recently, and I don't want to change support staff in the middle of this mission." "Morgan, as far as I'm concerned, I don't think you should make a change after the mission. Horace knows his stuff. I can put up with his superior attitude if in the end he does his job. I've dealt with bigger, nastier chauvinists. It comes with the territory in our business." Yep, Maria was a keeper. "Will you hire Dan?" she asked. "I don't know. Unlike you, I'm not certain Dan and I fit." She frowned. "I see your point, but..." "Spit it out," I said when she hesitated. "He's a protector, a good one. Are you a good protector?" "Yes." "Have any of your protection assignments turned wet?" "Some, very few." "Did you look back on the wet ones to see where you went wrong?" "Yes, every one of them." "That's Dan's mindset, and for a protector that's the correct mindset. He can't understand or appreciate the mindset of an operative whose end goal is to face the guns of some hostage takers or kidnappers and kill them without mercy. To Dan, this kind of operative is a cowboy, an operative to be scorned and avoided. But his peers hold this kind of operative in high regard, a higher regard than a competent, professional protector, and this confuses and dismays men like Dan. And you, Morgan, sit at the very top of the cowboy heap. The high regard you receive approaches adulation. You have it from Heather - my heroine in this business. You have it from Ruben, according to Heather one of the top five recovery specialists in the country. Before this mission ends, Corny will be standing in the adulation line, which says a lot because Corny was Ruben's mentor. I'm already in the line, and your support staff, including Horace - especially Horace - feels the same way. So you, Morgan, will confuse men and women like Dan Green, but you need them. You need them as much or more than you need men like Ruben and Corny, and specialists like Heather." She sighed. "Make the fit, Morgan. Right now, Dan can't see a fit, but he wants to fit. Take a walk with him and make him understand how he fits. Make him understand that solid, professional men like him are important, that you hold them in high regard, and that they are the foundation of your organization." She paused and looked up at me. "Unless you don't believe men like Dan are important. Unless you don't hold them in high regard. Unless they aren't the foundation of your organization." I stopped her, turned her toward me, and hugged her earnestly. "Thank you, Maria. Dan and I will take that walk. I'll make sure he understands how he fits." Looking over Maria's head as I hugged her, I saw Ruben walk outside. He waved, motioning me forward. "Morgan, we've got problems," he said. ------- Chapter 11 "What kind of problems?" I asked Ruben as I stepped up to him. "Karsh and Hall know you're in Vegas. You drove by Karsh's stronghold yesterday. Right?" "Yes, once. Then we turned around and drove by again as we left. That's all. What's more, Colleen and I were disguised." "And you weren't recognized, not until Hall returned, and then recognition was by way of deduction when Hall reviewed the video feeds from the cameras covering the street in front of the property. He recognized Sifu, Morgan, not you or Colleen, and then studied the videos and put two and two together to come up with four." I frowned. I'd made another mistake. I'd assumed Hall wasn't in one of the surveillance vehicles following Colleen in Phoenix, that he'd directed the operation from a remote location, perhaps from a seventh vehicle that contained the tracking hardware. I knew the surveillance personnel had seen Sifu and could recognize him, but didn't believe Hall had occupied one of the vehicles. He must have been in the Camry, the one vehicle we didn't take out. "The entire situation is a fluke," Ruben said. "From what Horace has pieced together from conversations captured by the parabolic dish and the broadcast from the driver's cell phone, Hall became suspicious when he found out one of their assassins was killed yesterday. He thinks you killed the man, Morgan." "I did." Ruben's eyes widened with shock. Maria gasped. He really is a cowboy, she thought. I said, "As we were leaving and passed by the gates of the stronghold the second time, a vehicle pulled out and fell in behind us. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. We tailed the vehicle to a downtown hotel. I returned to the hotel later and interrogated the man in his room." I outlined what I'd discovered about the assassin's assignment. "At one point in the interrogation, he thought he saw an opportunity and jumped me. He was wrong about the opportunity. I killed him. Knowing Karsh would replace the dead assassin with another, I called the target and warned her, anonymously of course. I didn't tell you or anyone about the assassin because he told me nothing that could help us with our mission. Frankly, I didn't see what happened with the assassin related to our primary effort and announcing what happened could have confused that effort. I saw the assassin as a side issue. In hindsight, that was a mistake. Does Sifu know he's been compromised?" "No. Horace called me. I just informed you. That's it." "What, if anything, have Karsh and Hall decided to do about my presence in Vegas?" He shrugged. I called Horace and asked him the same question. "Besides screaming, cursing and breaking things, Karsh hasn't made any decisions, Morgan. I'll call you the second we hear anything. I will say this. It's not positive because we only have snippets of conversation, but Hall might have also isolated Robyn and Ruben from the videotapes he reviewed from the last week. Not by name, of course, but their faces showed up quite a few times. He figures they work for you." "Keep me posted." "Will do." I told Ruben that he and Robyn had been compromised as well. "Fuck," he breathed. "Where is Robyn right now?" I asked. "LVPD. She's trying to put a name to the groundskeeper's face." "Is she alone?" "Sifu drove her." Sifu, I said silently. Where are you? The headquarters building for the Las Vegas Police Department. Don't leave the building until Corny and Heather join you. All right. Why? Hold that thought. "Ruben, send Corny and Heather out to cover Robyn and Sifu when they leave," I said. "Karsh does business in this town. His bodyguards are ex-cons, and they're armed, which means Karsh has purchased the cooperation of some corrupt police officials." A look of fear and dread crossed Ruben's face. If they mess with Robyn, I'll rip them apart, he thought. "I'm sure Robyn and Sifu are fine, Ruben. Karsh hasn't had time to distribute their photographs to his tame cops. Sending Corny and Heather to cover Robyn and Sifu is merely a precaution." He nodded, turned and left. Quickly and silently, I brought Sifu up to date. An hour later, as Robyn and Sifu arrived at the mansion safe and sound, Horace called with Karsh's plans. "They're forting up, Morgan. Against Hall's advice, Karsh prefers to outwait you, either that or to entice you into attacking his stronghold. He believes he can repel a frontal assault," Horace said. "From what I've heard, Karsh fears you, Morgan. Hall doesn't. In any case, the driver will soon leave the compound to pick up the four bodyguards not currently on duty. When the driver finishes that task, he'll go back out and pick up the four off-duty gate guards. After that, it's no one in and no one out except some assassins not currently on assignment. Karsh is also calling and ordering them to the stronghold." "Plan A just went down the crapper," I grumbled. Corny chuckled and said, "You mentioned a Plan B earlier." "Yeah, Plan B was my backup plan in case Karsh didn't venture out of his stronghold," I said. "And Plan B is... ?" Corny said. "Not completely worked out but involves the use of harassing tactics to force Karsh out of his stronghold. By going to ground, Karsh gave us freedom of movement - an advantage we should exploit." How? Asking myself the question prompted an answer. "And exploit it we shall, and right now. Ruben, Jasper is your driver. Take Corny with you. Sifu, you're my driver. I'll take Colleen with me. We'll initiate Plan B by taking out Karsh's four bodyguards and driver. Grab your weapons, ammo, body armor, communication gear - whatever. We leave in ten minutes." "What about me?" Heather asked. "We know the addresses for two of the gate guards that aren't on duty right now. Take Maria with you and pick them up. Use the van. One of you will need to drive. We can't bring in another driver soon enough. Take them alive if possible." "Where will we hold them?" Heather asked. I gave her an address. "That's a warehouse in Henderson. Eileen calls it Protect & Serve's Gitmo. Everyone, hold your questions until we're underway. We'll work out the details en route." ------- Do this right this time, I told myself. No more mistakes. "Listen up, folks," I said into the wireless microphone. "Let's keep this simple. We know the bodyguards' addresses. We'll stake out one of them. Any guesses which guard will be picked up last?" "I'd guess the guard on Eden Drive," Corny said. "He lives the closest to the stronghold. The driver will pick him up last to minimize the time spent with the vehicle crowded with four large guards and the driver." "All right," I said. "If the driver has already picked him up, we'll skip the next two and drive to the guard who lives the farthest away. Corny, the closest guard, does he live in a house or an apartment? What's the setting?" "An apartment project. He'll probably be waiting at the curb for his ride." "Is there pedestrian traffic?" I asked. "Some. A firefight could produce collateral damage, if that's what you're thinking." "Not the way we'll do it," I said and outlined my plan. "Any suggestions?" "Sounds good to me," Corny said. "Speak up folks. I want your input," I said. "That close to the armored car, Corny could be as incapacitated as the bodyguards and driver," Ruben said. "Not could be," Corny said. "Will be. Count on it. But the effects are temporary and non-lethal. I'm willing." After a drive-by of the pick up point, we refined the plan, and for once the plan worked picture perfect. Wearing eyeglasses with clear lens and a fake mustache, Corny sat on a bus stop bench in front of the apartment project. When the bodyguard moved to enter the armored car for his ride to Karsh's stronghold, Corny rose to his feet, took two quick steps, and tossed a M84 Stun Grenade - more commonly known as a flash-bang - into the vehicle before the bodyguard closed the door, and then Corny made sure the door closed. An M84 Stun Grenade is a non-fragmentation, non-lethal weapon that provides a reliable, effective means of neutralizing and disorienting bad guys. The blinding flash exceeds one million candelas, and the deafening blast ranges from 170 to 180 decibels. Corny wore earplugs and had his back to the vehicle with his eyes closed. Still, he couldn't see or hear for a few seconds and was nearly as disoriented as the occupants of the armored car. Wearing ski masks, the rest of us converged on the vehicle immediately following the blast. We used flex cuffs to bind them and tossed a pair of them in each trunk of our sedans. I shoved the driver on the floor in the back seat of the sedan Sifu was driving, rendered him unconscious, and we drove away. The assault lasted no more than thirty seconds from beginning to end. As Sifu drove up the ramp onto the freeway that would take us to Henderson, a suburb of Las Vegas, Heather reported that they had taken the second gate guard. Fifteen minutes later, Sifu left the freeway, and I guided him to the warehouse where we'd hold our captives. Using a key I'd been given the day before, I unlocked the warehouse and opened an overhead door. Sifu and Jasper drove the sedans inside, and I closed the door. "Bring the gate guards inside," I said to Heather when she drove up in the van. "There's not enough room on the warehouse floor for three vehicles." Ruben and I checked out the warehouse. It fit our needs perfectly. I'd instructed Eileen that I'd need a place to hold Karsh, and possibly Hall, for a few days, but as Plan B started to gel in my mind, I'd expanded that requirement. I'd gotten lucky. Sometime in the past, the immigration folks used the building to detain and interrogate illegal immigrants. Along with four holding cells, the facility offered interrogation rooms and sleeping, eating and lounging areas for guards. Each cell contained two bunk beds, a toilet and a sink. The guard areas were air-conditioned. A swamp cooler served the holding-cell area. "How in the hell did you find this place?" Ruben asked. "I didn't; Eileen found it. There's a downside. I had to lease the place for a year. The owner was unbendable on that issue. I caved in to his demand yesterday, signed the lease and got the keys. Let's get those brutes unloaded. We'll take them out of the vehicles one at a time, strip them, and put them in the holding cells. Start with the gate guards Heather brought in. We'll let the thugs stew for a few hours and interrogate them later." ------- We held the debriefing for the operation two hours later at the mansion. My entire crew sat in on the debriefing except Sifu and Maria. They'd volunteered for the first shift as guards at P&S's Gitmo. I wondered if Maria would try to trip him, and if she did, would Sifu fall willingly between her legs. I clanked keys on a Pepsi can to get everyone's attention. "This morning, when Karsh discovered Protect & Serve was in Vegas and had his compound under surveillance he elected to fort up. He ordered all bodyguards and gate guards into the stronghold and made calls to assassins not on assignments, ordering them to join him in the compound, as well. This reaction nullified Plan A, so we shifted to Plan B. I admit it. At that time, Plan B wasn't fully developed, but when Karsh left us free to move around at will, I elected to take out four of his bodyguards, his driver, and two of his gate guards, and we mounted an operation to that end and succeeded." I asked Ruben to describe what happened with the armored car takedown, and Heather outlined how she and Maria captured the two gate guards. "Those seven men are being held in a warehouse in Henderson," I said. "But before we talk about that facility and some new personnel requirements, I want to personally commend Corny. He went above and beyond and deserves our thanks. Let's give him a hand. The applause must be loud, though, because he isn't hearing very well." Amidst laughter, I started the applause and everyone joined me. Some hooting, hollering and whistling got mixed in with the clapping. I decided to tell Corny about the bonus he'd find in his bank account during a private moment later. I described the holding and interrogation facility in detail. "Two protection operatives can easily guard the place, but that still means we need six new protectors, and we need them pronto, but before we talk about sources for the new personnel, I want to say a few words about protectors versus recovery and missing-person specialists. Protectors are and will always be the backbone of Protect & Serve, and sometimes the aggressive antics of recovery specialists, not to mention the difference in the pay, make protectors think that they are second-class citizens. Nothing could be further from the truth. When I worked alone, I took as many protection jobs as recovery assignments, and I did that purposefully, because I was trained from a boy to protect and serve. I don't consider protectors second-class citizens to those of us who face the guns of abductors. I hold protectors in very high regard. They have a different mindset that says if a protection job gets wet, it's often because the protector didn't do his job properly. So when I say I need six new protectors, I mean I need professionals, professionals like you, Dan, professionals like Mark Richardson and Maria, professionals like me when I take a protection assignment. That being said, I'm asking each of you to put on your thinking caps. Think of some names, the names of professional protectors. Call them. Tell them about Protect & Serve; ask them if they'll give us a hand. I'll hire six of them sight unseen on your recommendations alone." I'll be dipped. He does understand and appreciate the difference, Dan Green thought. "Now, let's talk about Plan B. Horace, we need the itineraries of the assassins flying into Las Vegas to backup their master assassin. We'll take them as they arrive and incarcerate them in Protect & Serve's Gitmo. Karsh has given us freedom of movement, so set up more listening posts, more eyes and ears. I don't care if he sees them. I want him to see them. Be creative, Horace. I want to hear and see everything that goes on in that compound. Ruben, work out an embargo plan. Let's stop or harass any deliveries to Karsh's stronghold. Nothing in, nothing out, Karsh stated. Let's help him achieve his goal. Your embargo plan should also include taking anyone who drives off the property. Jasper, we need more vehicles and more drivers. Dean, at the right time, we'll want to lob some teargas grenades into Karsh's stronghold, and although I doubt if we'd use one, let's have a rocket launcher on hand. Corny, you're in charge of harassing the stronghold. Cut his electrical power. I don't care how you do it, but I don't want to see any lights in Karsh's compound tonight unless a generator on his property powers them. Locate the valve for his main water supply and turn it off. If the water company comes out and turns it on, turn it off again after they leave. Heather, work with Ruben on the embargo. Robyn, fingerprint the men already in captivity and those we'll take later. Work with trusted sources and determine their real identities. If the law wants any of them, we'll turn them over to the law later." I took a deep breath. "Plan B has two components. Number one. Isolate and harass. Number two. Reduce Karsh's manpower. Regardless, let's avoid any wet work, if possible. Any questions?" "I have a question," Corny said. "What's the end goal for Plan B?" "The same as Plan A. The name of the person who wants me dead. Karsh knows his identity. Plan B wears Karsh down, reduces his manpower, and destroys his business. Plan B forces Karsh to send Hall and the other assassins living in his stronghold out of the compound to take me. They'll come at me one at a time or in force. Regardless, we'll take them. That will leave him with four gate guards and two bodyguards, an almost manageable adversary for a bloodless frontal assault." "Suggestion," Heather said. "I'm listening." "We can take the gate guards at the stronghold," she said. I grinned. "Good thinking, Heather. Work up a plan and execute it." Corny said, "I noticed a silenced sniper rifle in the armory. If Karsh has a generator, it'll be outside. Those suckers are noisy inside. I'll punch some holes in the generator with the rifle, but nothing harasses better than flying glass when you least expect it. I'll shoot out every window in the compound over the next couple of days." I laughed. "Do it." "What's security like at the warehouse?" Green asked. "There isn't any, Dan. Work with Horace. Video cameras, intrusion alarms, a security room. You know the drill. And Dean, we'll need your help at the warehouse, too. Restraints, tasers." I chuckled. "Maybe a cattle prod. Review the situation and give me recommendations." "Will do." "What about food for the captives?" Colleen asked. "Call our get-it-done gal, Colleen. Cater the food. Trays, plastic utensils and cups. Good food, though. Our protectors will eat the same food. The place has a kitchen. It'll need to be stocked. The bedrooms and bathrooms, too. And we'll need furniture, nothing fancy, utilitarian. Maria is there. Call her and ask what's needed. Jasper, use a truck to pick up and deliver the furniture and supplies. I want the warehouse stocked and fully operational as soon as possible." I waited. No one spoke. "Okay, let's do it. I'm heading to the warehouse to start the interrogations. Dan, Horace, Dean, ride with me." ------- P&S's Gitmo contained two interrogation rooms with a narrow room between them for viewing interrogations through two-way mirrors. The interrogations were delayed, though, while I waited for a table and some chairs that Cal Jones lent us until we could buy our own. Jasper delivered the Jones furniture in the van. While waiting, I made my deal with Dan Green. Maria had him pegged. He wanted to join the organization, but first he had to feel wanted and appreciated. He told me he knew two protectors who would be interested in Protect & Serve and would call them as soon as he finished working with Horace to plan security at the warehouse. After Jasper arrived, and we set up the table and chairs in one of the interrogation rooms, Maria brought a gate guard to me. He was naked, and she'd restrained his wrists behind his back with flex cuffs, which made sitting awkward. I didn't care. Maria sat next to me. "Tell me your name," I said to the gate guard. Charlie, he thought but didn't speak. "How long have you worked for Karsh?" Six months. "Do you want to die?" Fear filled his eyes. He shook his head. "Speak, don't gesture. Do you want to die?" "No." "I'm not a cop. I'm not shackled by the rules cops must follow. I figure that you're afraid to talk because you believe Karsh or Hall will kill you. Correct?" He nodded. "Speak!" "Yes." "Maria, do you have a knife?" "Yes, in my purse. Are you suggesting what I hope you're suggesting?" I'd coached Maria before the interrogation started. I nodded toward the guard. "He fears Karsh and Hall more than he fears us. That has to change. If it doesn't, he's of no use to us." I gave the guard a hard look. "Are you aware that, for the most part, women are more ruthless than men, much more bloodthirsty?" He gulped. "No." "It's true. Throughout history, when captives stopped being useful, they were turned over to the women of the tribe or group, and the women did things to the captives that men couldn't even imagine, let alone do. Maria is such a woman. If you don't talk, I'll ask her to go get her knife and cut off your cock. This would please her. She'll reach between your legs, grab it, pull it out away from your body and slice that fucker right off. What would you do then, Maria?" She smiled maliciously. "I'd stand and watch his blood spurt, but before he bled to death, I'd stuff his puny cock into his mouth and make him swallow it." "Believe her," I said. "I've watched her do this before. So which is it? Will you talk, or shall I tell her to go get her knife?" He talked. The other gate guard was just as accommodating. Robyn arrived to fingerprint our captives to, hopefully, verify their identities, so when the gate guards gave me the names of the bodyguards, I asked Robyn to do a quick dossier on them before I brought them into the interrogation room. The law wanted all four men. They'd broken parole, and from their prison tattoos, I figured they were all members of the Aryan Brotherhood. Maria had to knick the first guard's cock before he talked, and we let him tell the other bodyguards what had happened to him and what they could expect before we interrogated the other three. Except for one of them, they didn't hesitate and answered my questions with honest answers. One tried to lie, but his thoughts gave me the truth, and before I finished interrogating him, he was falling all over himself giving me information I didn't even asked for. The driver gave us more information than the other captives, including the real or work names and functions of everyone in Karsh's compound, as well as their cell phone numbers. I gave the phone numbers to Horace to monitor or turn into microphones. Besides the groundskeeper, Karsh employed a cook and a housekeeper. According to Robyn, all three were ex-cons, and all three had broken parole. The bodyguards took turns monitoring the video feeds, so the additional security personnel I'd anticipated didn't exist. As soon as the gate guards gave me the names and addresses of the two off-duty gate guards we hadn't picked up, I sent Corny and Heather out to take them. Heather brought them into P&S Gitmo before I finished interrogating the seven men we'd already captured. I turned their interrogation over to Dan and Heather, and Sifu drove Maria and me back to the mansion. ------- I stood disguised as a nerd just outside the secured area of a concourse at McCarran International Airport waiting for the arrival of the first assassin Karsh had ordered to Vegas. We knew his work name but not his appearance, so I scanned the thoughts of the arriving passengers as they streamed by me. I'd arrived at the airport with Sifu and Colleen. With anyone else, I would have been forced to explain how I found someone I didn't know, and as it was, I might be asked later how I did it. The only plausible explanation I'd thought of so far was to say that I'd had the assassin paged, and the fool had responded to the page. I hoped no one would ask. The assassin wasn't difficult to locate. He wasn't happy, and Karsh was the source of his ire. The last place he wanted to be was in Vegas forted up with Karsh waiting for a frontal assault that he had to help repel. I'd expected a fit young man with cold, clear eyes. What I saw was a rumpled, middle-aged man with cold, dead eyes. He was altogether unremarkable, the type no one notices - probably a good way to look in his racket, I thought upon reflection. I found him, I announced silently to Sifu and Colleen, and then described him. We'll call him Uncle Harry. I followed him to baggage claim, and kept Sifu posted. He drove the sedan into position while the assassin and I waited for his luggage. I'm in position, Sifu said. Passengers clamored around the baggage carousel as luggage started to spit out of its bowels on a conveyor belt. I pretended to be jostled by someone and whacked the assassin's temple with my elbow. As he went down, I made sure he was unconscious by pressing my fingers to his neck. "Uncle Harry!" I exclaimed just after I dumped a small amount of whiskey on his neck and upper chest from a flask. I pocketed the flask and pulled him to his feet, putting one of his arms over my shoulder and my arm around his waist to make it appear that I was helping him walk. "My uncle," I said to a skycap and some other passengers. "He's had a little too much to drink." I repeated the explanation to an airport security worker as I carried him outside. Colleen spotted us and hopped from the sedan. "Oh, Uncle Harry!" she said, looking disgusted as she helped me with the unconscious man. "Drunk again, huh?" At P&S Gitmo, we stripped Uncle Harry and sat him in a restraint chair Dean had dug up for us. The chair was on rollers and restrained a prisoner's feet, wrists, abdomen and shoulders. We rolled the assassin to an interrogation room and set the brakes. "He doesn't look big or strong enough to assassinate anyone," Dan said. "Few naked, middle-aged men do," Colleen said as if she had a lot of experience with naked middle-aged men. I figured I'd tease her about her comment later. "He's coming around, cowboy." "Leave us," I said. I'd instructed Colleen and Sifu to stop anyone from entering the viewing room. I figured telepathy would be required to crack the assassin, and I didn't want any witnesses. He opened his cold, dead eyes and looked around, not with fear but with curiosity. "I'm Morgan," I said. "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," he said, his voice calm and modulated but on the high end of the scale for a man. "I'm Ferguson." "That's your work name. Tell me your real name." Give him a name, any name. "Shane. Thomas Shane." "That's a lie. Give me your real name." Give him another name. "Sorry. It's Jedediah Smith. With a name like Jedediah, you can understand why I don't admit to it very often." "You're still lying. How old are you?" Forty-eight. Forty-nine in May. "Fifty. I'll be fifty-one next April." I smiled. "Ferguson, you are an adept liar." He returned my smile. "Thank you." "Neither Thomas nor Jedediah is your first name. What is it?" Richard. "My mother, bless her heart, was a saint. She knew I disliked my full name and called me Jed." "All right, Jed. Smith as a last name is so silly that it's almost believable, but it isn't your last name. What is your last name?" Twilley, now that's silly. "Believe it, Morgan. It's Smith." I stood up and left the room. "Is Robyn still here?" "No, she's back at the mansion, I think," Dan said. I called her. "The assassin's real name is Richard Twilley. He's forty-eight and was born in May. I don't' know the day. His work name is Ferguson. No first name." "I'll get right on it." I found a cold can of Pepsi in the refrigerator in the kitchen - Colleen looking out for me when she stocked the kitchen, I figured. I popped the tab, took a drink and returned to the interrogation room. "On the job, eh?" the assassin said when he saw the soft drink. "Yep. Karsh is in deep shit, you know. He went to ground instead of facing me. Big mistake!" Richard Twilley laughed gaily. "Accepting a contract to kill you was the big mistake." "You wouldn't happen to know the principal's name, would you?" "No, more's the pity. I suspect I could trade that name for my life." Sifu, Colleen, he believes I'll kill him, and he isn't afraid at all, I said silently. Perhaps he wants to die, Sifu said. Why? I asked. Ask him, Colleen said. "You're not afraid of death," I said. "Why?" He shrugged, as much as the shoulder restraints allowed, that is. "Life isn't all it's cracked up to be. Although I'm not an avid believer in an afterlife, I am curious. What about you, Morgan? Do you believe in a compassionate God? A Heaven and a Hell?" I laughed. "You're a real piece of work, Richard Twilley." He gasped. "How... ? No one... !" I stood up and left the room. Robyn answered my call on the first ring. "What?" "Give me what you've got on him." "Oh, Morgan, sorry. I thought... never mind. Richard Preston Twilley. Born 23 May 1957 in Cedar City, Utah. Your assassin, believe it or not, Morgan, was raised as a Mormon. Father's name, Aaron. Mother's, Edna. Both deceased. Six siblings. Mormons tend to large families. Five sisters, all older. Karen, Jennifer, Gina, Susan, and Barbara - from oldest to youngest. Then Richard came along followed by Steven, the youngest. Steven died at twelve. Leukemia. All five sisters are still alive, all married in a Mormon temple. Your boy has twenty-one nieces and nephews. At eighteen, he graduated from high school in Cedar City, and then joined the Army. Honorable discharge three years later. Came out an E-4." "What was his job in the Army?" "Ordnance supply. That's all I've dug up so far." "Is he an ex-con or wanted by the law?" "Nope, clean as a whistle." "Thanks, I'll get back to you." I returned to the interrogation room, sat down and gave Twilley a hard look. "Do Karen, Jennifer, Gina, Susan and Barbara know that you are an assassin, Richard?" "Oh, fuck," he breathed. Finally. Finally, I could see fear in his eyes. I made a deal with him. If he told me everything I wanted to know, I wouldn't inform his sisters about his nefarious occupation. He agreed, and we talked for another hour. Richard knew early on that he was a homosexual, but he stayed in the closet, was still in the closet as far as his family was concerned. The God of his parents considered Richard's sexual preference an abomination, so Richard rejected Him. But his sexual preference wasn't his only deviation from the norm. Richard was without conscience. He said, "I get no kick out of killing, Morgan, nor do I feel guilt. Killing doesn't affect me one way or the other. It's just a way to make money." "What turns you on then?" I asked. "Getting fucked in the ass by a big cock while being face fucked at the same time." He grinned. "Now, that's a kick!" "Have you fucked Karsh or Hall or Nick?" "I'm not pretty enough for Karsh or Hall, but Nick is a sweetie." "I figure at some point during the siege that Karsh will order one or more of his assassins to leave the stronghold, track me down, and kill me. Which assassin at his beck and call do you consider the most dangerous?" His answer surprised me. "That's easy. Linda." "Why?" "Anything she can touch can become a weapon of death. If you capture her, keep her naked and isolated, and don't get within striking distance of her. She's death with a pretty face and a flirtatious smile on her lips. She's Daddy's little girl, too. Karsh's favorite, which pisses Joel off. I think that's why he's so angry most of the time." Is he saying what I think he's saying? I asked myself. "Being the youngest, Nick wasn't as affected by the way Joe dotes on his daughter. Besides, Nick is like me. He's not interested in his big sister that way. Hall is. He swings both ways and prefers women, especially his little sister. She taunts him. I've seen her do it. She fucks her daddy in front of him. Oh, she fucks Joel, too. I've seen them go at it. They're like two crazed, wild animals in heat." Incest most foul! "Do you know their real names?" "No." "What happened to the mother?" He looked momentarily confused and then smiled. "Three mothers, you mean. Joel, Linda and Nick were orphans. Karsh adopted them when they were young, fucked them and conditioned them to kill." Like me, I thought, but Mr. Bart didn't fuck me. ------- My cell phone rang as Sifu, Colleen and I stopped in front of the gates at the mansion. "Morgan, It's Ruben. A rental car just drove into Karsh's stronghold. One occupant, a woman." "Argh, I was afraid that would happen. When Karsh started calling his assassins, our surveillance was spotty at best." "I just spoke with Horace. Even with the cell phones and landline covered, he says it can happen again. We can't monitor their e-mail." Dammit! Another mistake. I didn't even think of e-mail when I laid out the embargo. I sighed with resignation and said, "With only one landline, Karsh doesn't have a dial-up connection. Call Dan. He's at Gitmo. Tell him to ask the prisoners what kind of Internet connection Karsh uses and if he has backup." "Will do." "If his connection is high-speed cable, we can cut the cable." "We thought of that. It's been cut, but Horace says Karsh might have backup like a dish or satellite connection. Maybe a T1. Morgan, I don't have the manpower to set up and operate an absolute embargo. I can probably pick up, follow and take anyone who leaves the stronghold, but I can't stop someone from driving in. Too many vehicles drive by those gates. I'd have to put up roadblocks, which would attract the gendarmes, the last thing we want. I have moved some construction barricades from elsewhere to create choke points. That's the best I can do." "I understand. Those choke points were good thinking, though. Your idea?" "Yeah, thanks. By the way, hire Corny. I think he's feeling left out." I chuckled. "Will do. Where is he?" "The mansion. He's grabbing a couple hours shuteye before his reign of terror tonight, as he put it. One other thing while I have you on the phone, as you requested, I talked to a protector I know. His work name is Leo Nelson. Eileen put him on a redeye flight. He'll arrive at three in the morning. Jasper said he'd pick him up and drive him to Gitmo." "Great! Thanks, Ruben." We hung up, and then I remembered something I wanted to tell Ruben and called him back. "It's Morgan again. Take great care if Linda Carson leaves the stronghold. The hit man I just interrogated considers her the most dangerous assassin of the lot. She can kill with everyday objects." "Okay. Thanks for the warning." "Pass the warning along for me. I've got to shower and change clothes and head back out to meet the next assassin flying in." Corny wasn't asleep. He was in the great room talking with Jasper and drinking a cup of coffee. "What? Couldn't sleep?" I asked Corny as I sat in a comfortable chair - too comfortable. I was tempted to stay there and relax for a while but knew I couldn't. "No. Too keyed up." "Ruben told me to hire you. If you're willing; I'm more than willing." Corny laughed. " I like your style, Morgan. I'm willing. Stop me if you've heard it. A frog went to get a loan at a bank. The loan officer's name was Patty Stack. When the frog told Ms. Stack that he wanted a loan, she asked if he had collateral. He showed her a little ceramic lamb and said, 'This is what I have for collateral.' She took it to the bank president and said, 'There's a frog out there who wants a loan, and this is what he has for collateral.' She showed him the ceramic lamb. 'What is this?' she asked, referring to the lamb, 'and, should I give him the loan?' The bank president said, 'Why that's a knickknack, Patty Stack. Give the frog a loan.'" Jasper hooted; I groaned, and Corny grinned like a fool. "Speaking of banks," I said. "Check your account, Corny. You earned a bonus today." "Thanks. I just got off the phone with Gary Hoyt. That's the work name of a very good protector. He's willing, too." "Check with Eileen. She'll book his flight." "Eileen is... ?" "That's right. You don't know about some of my other support. Look, call my temporary Assignment Coordinator." I gave him Maggie's phone number. "She'll tell you how everything works." "Okay." ------- En route to the airport, Colleen said, "I talked with my mom this afternoon, cowboy. She's still thinking about therapy, or rather still fighting herself about therapy. It's a trust issue, I think. She did look into cooking schools and ran into another problem. Mom didn't finish high school. She'll need a GED Certificate before she can be admitted." "Then that's her first training step. Tell her I'll pay for a tutor to help pass the tests." "I figured and said so. She's scared, cowboy." "That's not surprising. What did you do about this problem?" She chuckled. "Yep, you know me well. Mom's scheduled to take the tests next Monday. I told her that she should expect to fail, that taking the tests would tell her where she needed help, and that you'd arrange for a tutor so she could pass the tests the second time around." "Good. What cooking school did she pick?" "Le Cordon Beau College of Culinary Arts here in Las Vegas." I laughed. "Talk about high-brow!" "It's a fifteen-month program. Twelve months on campus followed by a three-month externship. It's an excellent program. She'll earn an Associate of Occupational Science Degree. Until she discovered she didn't qualify for admission because she didn't finish high school, she was actually excited about attending. The GED stumbling block really depressed her." "Keep pressing her, sweet thing. Don't let her backslide." ------- The nerd getup worked before, so my pants were belted high, the top button on my shirt was buttoned, and my fake eyeglasses were taped. Once again I waited for an assassin to step out of the secured area of the airport so I could touch his mind with mine and figure out a way to capture him without causing too much fuss. While checking out the thoughts of one or more deplaning passengers, I must have missed the incoming assassin's thoughts, either that, or his thoughts at the time didn't give me a clue to his identity. When the group from his flight dwindled to nothing, I walked to baggage claim to find him. As I wandered through the crowd in the baggage-claim area I heard some thoughts in foreign languages, and it dawned on me that the assassin could be thinking in a language other than English, and that's why I hadn't identified him. I called Maria and asked her to give me the Spanish, Italian and Portuguese words for assassin. Of course, if the assassin were French, for instance, I'd be out of luck. My luck held. One man thought, asesino, the Spanish word for assassin. When the same man thought the name, Karsh, I knew I had the right man. Using the theory that proclaims if something isn't broke don't fix it, I whacked him along side his head, rendered him unconscious, dumped a little whiskey on him, and carried him outside. My method was broken, but I didn't know it. I'd used it one too many times. Anticipating that I'd try to take the assassin, Karsh had setup an ambush. Two shooters were waiting for me as I stepped from baggage claim to the outside passenger pick up area. Shooters! I managed to announce to Sifu and Colleen just before the two assailants opened fire with machine pistols. My telepathic sense had given me a split-second warning, enough for me to pull the unconscious assassin in front of me to use as a shield. Bullets slammed into his body, one of them passing through and striking me. Fuck! That hurt! Glass shattered each side and behind me. Passengers screamed. Chaos ensued. Holding the assassin's dead body with my left hand, I pulled my pistol from its holster with my right hand and shot one of the assailants - a body-mass shot, which knocked him down but didn't kill him. He was wearing a vest. I swung toward the other assailant and watched a bullet exploding a pink mist from the front of his face. Colleen had shot him. I swung back, aimed and fired at the remaining assailant, killing him with a headshot. I dropped the dead assassin and limped hurriedly toward Colleen, who was holding open the rear-passenger door of the sedan for me. She slid in behind me, and tires squealed as the sedan moved swiftly away from the curb into a slot in the circling traffic. "You've been shot!" Colleen exclaimed. "I don't think it's serious. The bullet went through the assassin before it hit me." I gritted my teeth and checked the wound. The bullet had struck my right thigh. "Hurts like the devil, though." A police cruiser with lights flashing and siren throbbing approached us from the front. Fortunately, it passed us moving toward the curb adjacent to baggage claim. "What's the doctor's name and phone number?" Colleen asked. I gave her the name and number, and she dialed her cell phone and handed it to me. "It's Morgan," I said when someone answered the call. "How bad?" a male voice asked. "Flesh wound, upper thigh. It's bleeding, but I don't think a major artery was cut." He started to tell me where to go. "Tell my driver," I said, handed the phone to Sifu and promptly passed out. I came to briefly a while later. We were still in the car. "Where's your pants, sweet thing?" I asked. "Wrapped around your wound." "Love your legs," I said, and my world turned black again. According to Doc Wilkins, the bullet struck between two muscles, the vastus lateralis and the rectus femoris, coming to a stop a little less than two inches inside the epidermis - that's skin, by the way. The bullet didn't hit the femur - that's the bone in the thigh - but it sliced up some superficial veins and arteries. I'd bled more than I'd realized, the reason I'd lost consciousness, that and massive adrenalin dump. The doctor removed the bullet, sewed me up, pumped me full of blood, shot me with a chemical cocktail full of vitamins and antibiotics, among other ingredients, and told me to stay off my feet for a week. "No can do, Doc. Gotta crutch?" He grimaced. "Winters told me about you. Do you have a paramedic in your crew?" "Nope. Not a bad idea, though. Do you know one?" He laughed. "Yep." Carlos Gonzalez rode away from Doc Wilkins' clinic with Sifu, Colleen and me. Carlos liked the snazzy ambulance van Jasper had arranged for our use. With the embargo only partially successful and other assassins en route, some of which we didn't know about, I considered a paramedic and the ambulance prudent. ------- I make a piss-poor invalid. My aggressive personality, energy level, and the job at hand didn't allow me to convalesce calmly. My thigh ached, and I had my foot propped up on a pillow. Corny was ready to start his night of terror. Heather's plan to take the two gate guards at the stronghold was ready to execute, and in two hours, another assassin was due to arrive at the airport. I wanted to watch Corny in action and give him a hand, if needed. I wanted to be in on the assault at the gates. I wanted to snub my nose at Karsh and take the assassin arriving at the airport. With a throbbing bullet wound, I could do none of these things, and that pissed me off. Colleen chuckled. "What?" I growled. You're sending your thoughts my way, cowboy. I'm hearing them, as well, Sifu said. Colleen took my hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. It's time to let others in your group do their jobs. They're good men and women, cowboy. You've been hogging the spotlight. It's time for you to let others shine in its glow. They need to show you what they're made of. They need to do this for you and for themselves. Listen to your advisor, Sifu said. Do you trust Corny to turn off Karsh's lights and water? Colleen asked. Do you trust him to shoot out the gas generator when it kicks on, and then shoot out half the glass windows in Karsh's compound? Yes, but... Then let him have his fun. Do you trust Heather to enter the stronghold and take those amateur gate guards? Yes. Then let her have her fun. Let her bask in success. I chuckled. Okay, I get it. What about the assassin arriving at the airport in two hours? You told everyone Ruben was in charge in your absence. You're walking wounded. You aren't in charge now. Let Ruben handle all the chores you would have handled tonight. Give him the responsibility, the authority to go with the responsibility, and let him sink or swim. He'll swim. He's a good man. Listen to your advisor, Sifu said. What did I do? I took my advisors' advice. I called Ruben and said, "I'm walking wounded. As of this moment, you're in charge. Coordinate Corny's reign of terror with Heather's assault on the gates and pick up the assassin arriving at the airport. Use our personnel and support team as you see fit. I'll talk to you in the morning." I hung up and said to Colleen, "Now what?" She giggled. "If you weren't walking wounded I'd say, 'Wanna fuck?'" Suddenly, she looked utterly wicked (in a nice way). "I know; I'll play nurse. Isn't that what you called it when Heather administered to Mark after he was wounded?" She reached into the hole in my boxers, pulled out my limp cock, and slurped it into her mouth. Listen to your advisor, Sifu said. I sensed his giggle. Goodnight, Sifu, I said and retracted my mind from his. Being wounded had its advantages I decided a little later. "How about I play nurse for you now?" I said. "Hmm, now that you've mentioned it, I am feeling a little poorly," Colleen said as her knees landed each side of my face. ------- I wasn't with them physically, but I was connected with their thoughts, and I attended the debriefing sessions. Here's what happened. Heather and Corny coordinated two explosions to make them sound like one. Using C4, Heather blew the people-sized door next to the wrought-iron gates at the stronghold at the same time Corny pressed the detonator that exploded the transformer providing electrical power to the compound. Dressed in black and wearing night-vision equipment, Heather, Ruben and Maria rushed through the gaping opening that was once a door and took the gate guards without firing a shot. Sifu drove the restrained, blindfolded and gagged guards to Gitmo and turned them over to Dan, and Jasper drove Ruben, Heather and Maria to the airport to pick up the arriving assassin. Corny had determined the location of the generator earlier that day. When it kicked in and some of the lights flickered on, Corny punched holes in the generator with armor-piercing ammunition using a non-silenced rifle until the compound turned dark again. Slinging that weapon over his shoulder, Corny picked up the silenced sniper rifle and moved to a different vantage point. His night-vision equipment gave him all the light he needed to start shooting out panes of glass. After five shots in one location, he moved to another shooting stand and fired five more rounds. After circling the compound in this fashion, he raised a manhole cover in the street, scrambled down the metal stairs and turned the valve that shut off the water to the stronghold. After climbing out of the manhole, he replaced the cover, and walked to a sedan he'd parked nearby, where he detonated the explosives he'd previously placed in the manhole. He drove away laughing. Are you having fun yet? he asked himself. Yeah, you are. At the airport, Heather waited as the passengers from the assassin's flight streamed by her. She held up a sign, boldly printed with the assassin's work name. Ruben said the assassin noticed Heather's shapely legs before he noticed the sign, but as soon as he reacted to the sign, Ruben took him. Finesse was used. Ruben, Heather and Maria played the roles of police detectives. While Ruben had the assassin on the floor slapping handcuffs on his wrists, Heather held her pistol to the man's head. Maria stood holding up a fake police badge. "Stay calm, folks," she said. "Police business." Ruben, Heather and Maria hustled the assassin out a side door where Jasper waited in an idling sedan. They used a side door to avoid any ambush Karsh might have waiting for them. No one followed them, so they took the assassin to Gitmo. Ruben and Heather interrogated him, and they made him talk, using the "ruthless woman will cut off your cock" ploy. Jeez! This hooligan is hung! Heather thought when she grabbed his cock to cut it. My crew made me proud. They shined. They basked in the glow of success and my praise. I also had superlative advisors. ------- The next day after all six of Protect & Serve's new operatives had arrived, walking wounded or not, I decided to preside over their orientation. Besides Leo Nelson and Gary Hoyt, recruited by Ruben and Corny respectively, Dan recruited John Bucher and Claire Finder. Roy Holbert had arrived at Maria's request, and Wanda (no last name) had responded to Heather's kind words about our organization. Sifu drove Dan and me to Gitmo, where I grabbed the restraint chair. Why not? It wasn't in use and was comfortable. I opened the orientation by saying, "I've handed you a crappy job. Sorry. I know guarding a bunch of thugs and assassins isn't a normal assignment, but I pay well and have an ulterior motive. Each of you is here at the request of a Protect & Serve operative. You're here because the person who talked with you respects your character and ability, and you accepted the invitation from that person for the same reasons. If after spending some time together, you like what you see in Protect & Serve, and Protect and Serve likes what it sees in you, perhaps we'll turn this temporary assignment into a more permanent relationship." I went on to describe my referral source marketing system and the support staff available not only on the current job but also on any future assignments they accepted from Protect & Serve. "Any questions, so far?" I asked. Gary Hoyt raised his hand. "Morgan, when I take an assignment, it's with the understanding that I work more than eight hours a day. From what Corny told me, I'll be manning an eight-hour shift here, but I'll be called upon for other duties, probably surveillance at another location. Is this correct?" "Yes," I said. "We tried to set up an embargo at Karsh's stronghold. Nothing and no one in, and nothing and no one out. We didn't have enough personnel to achieve that goal, and discovered even with more personnel that a completely effective embargo couldn't be achieved unless we set up roadblocks. Our goal was and still is to isolate and harass that stronghold, as well as reduce the manpower available to defend it. The men in the cages here reflect our partial success with that effort. At this time, only ten men and women occupy the stronghold instead of twenty-three - twenty-six if you count the assassin Karsh sacrificed to take me and the two dead shooters who killed that assassin while trying to kill me." I struck my right knee. "If you're wondering, I'll be up and about tomorrow. The bullet that struck my thigh didn't do much damage. It was partly spent by passing through the body of the assassin I used as a shield." "Morgan, I'm Wanda. Heather called me, and I came running, and like Gary, I work more than eight hours a day on a job. Question. It looks to me that the prisoner capacity at this facility is sixteen. I counted thirteen prisoners already. You mentioned ten men and women in the stronghold. What happens when we exceed capacity?" "We'll make do. The prisoners will have to take turns on the bunks. Wanda, I don't think exceeding capacity will be a big problem. Yes, ten men and women guard the stronghold. Five of the ten are assassins. The two bodyguards are hard-cases, as are the groundskeeper, cook and housekeeper. They're ex-cons and they've all broken parole." I hesitated because my statement reinforced an idea I'd had earlier. The wanted men should be turned over to the authorities - sooner rather than later. I continued, "No one in the stronghold will leave peacefully. I doubt if we'll be able to take more than three of them alive." "Oh... oh, I see," she said. "Morgan, my work name is Leo Nelson. I'm here at Ruben's request. He told me some of what was going on here, but he was... well, busy. Could you fill us in?" I filled them in, and I didn't pull any punches. "As you can see, it's been bloody. Karsh's assassins have murdered two innocents, two unarmed, noncombatant women, and our side has killed thirty-seven armed men, many with automatic weapons. They've wounded two of us, both flesh wounds, fortunately, and we've put three of theirs in the hospital. One of them was critical. He might be dead by now. We currently hold thirteen in the cells here, but we still face ten extremely dangerous individuals. If any of you feel uncomfortable with what's happening, please say so now. No harm, no foul. We'll fly you back to where you came from at our expense." I waited and listened carefully to their thoughts as my eyes moved from one of them to the next. Roy Holbert had doubts, but he didn't express them. I'd expected Dan's recruits to have more doubts than their thoughts demonstrated. Then I realized Dan would have anticipated their concerns and clarified the situation enough ahead of time to squelch any negative reactions to my sad saga. Leo, Gary and Wanda were ready and raring to go. "Here's the current situation," I said. "Karsh has nine individuals hunkered down with him in his stronghold, a stronghold with no electricity or water. We've surrounded them with video cameras; we're listening to what they say with phone taps and cell phone broadcasts, as well as four parabolic dishes, and we've set up a partial embargo. The status quo won't linger. Last night we took the battle to them. By now, Karsh must realize that going to ground was a serious mistake. Tonight under the cover of darkness, I suspect one or more assassin will slip out of the stronghold and come looking for me. We'll take whomever Karsh sends out, but I believe that confrontation will be wet. At that time, I'll call Karsh and demand an unconditional surrender. He'll refuse, and we'll take the battle to him again, and again, as many times as it takes until he surrenders." I'd hate to have him as an enemy, Roy Holbert thought, referring to me, I think. My cell phone rang. "Morgan, it's Ruben. Two police cruisers just entered Karsh's stronghold." ------- I left Dan to organize our new personnel, and Sifu drove me away from Gitmo. Why were the police at Karsh's stronghold? Did some neighbors complain? Were the police there to investigate the gunshots and explosions from the previous night? Or had they arrived at Karsh's request? I called Horace and asked him these questions. "Karsh called them," Horace said. "I just read a transcript from the taped telephone call. He plans to swear out a complaint for your arrest, Morgan." "Are the police at the compound bought and paid for?" "Don't know. He called a Lieutenant Delgado with the LVPD. I'd say Delgado's in his pocket. I don't know about the cops in the cruisers." "Do you have men monitoring any equipment around the compound?" "Yes." "Tell them to dismantle the equipment and take it with them when they leave, and tell them to hurry." "Okay, why?" "The cops will arrest them and confiscate the equipment." Dial tone. I called Ruben and said, "I want everyone back at the mansion right now. Hurry, and have someone check back doors." "All right." I called Colleen. "Who is at the mansion?" "Maria, Corny and Carlos." "Where's Robyn?" "I don't know." "Alert Corny and Maria. They'll need to check back doors. I'm calling everyone back to the mansion." I hung up and called Robyn. "Where are you?" I asked. "I just left my friend at the LVPD." "Okay. Make sure you're not followed and return to the mansion. Call when you get close, and someone will check your back door." I hung up and called Ruben again. "Who's with you?" "Heather, and Jasper is driving." I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd accounted for everyone, but suddenly that changed when the scream of a siren registered in Ruben's mind. I also heard the sounds through the telephone. "Fuck," Ruben breathed. "If the police stop you, you'll be arrested. Tell Jasper to lose them if he can." I heard Ruben give my order to Jasper. "Jesus," Ruben muttered a few seconds later. I guessed what was happening and stifled a laugh. "Don't hang up, Ruben, but tighten your seat belt." I heard squealing tires, a racing engine and some more muttered curses. Jasper was doing his thing. "He's a crazy man," Ruben said. "He just did a forward 180, and we raced by the two cruisers following us going the other way." More squealing tires, and then some more. "Fuck, Jasper can drive!" I held my breath. Could Jasper lose the police pursuit? Duck down. I heard the words as thoughts coming from Jasper's mind. "We're parked in a used car lot," Ruben said. Cowboy, Colleen said silently. Yes. Horace called. The police arrested a tech from the electronics company we've been using. I'll call the attorney Blount recommended in a few minutes. Robyn's on the way in. Tell Corny to check her back door when she calls. Will do. What's happening? Karsh sicced the police on us. You're kidding. Ruben said, "It looks like we're clear, Morgan." "Maria will call you and will check your back door, Ruben," I said. Robyn just called, Colleen said. Corny went out to meet her. "Corny is covering Robyn," I said to Ruben. "She's on her way in, too. I'll hang up now so Maria can call you." Colleen, tell Maria to call Ruben now, I said and breathed another sigh of relief, which lasted all of two seconds. Cowboy, Robyn's on the phone. She's being followed. ------- Chapter 12 Where is she? I asked Colleen, referring to Robyn. And who's following her? The police or otherwise? I connected with Robyn and heard my questions register in Robyn's mind when Colleen asked them. If it's the police, they aren't in a black and white, Robyn said to Colleen. Oh, shit! A roadblock! I connected with Corny. He hadn't seen Robyn yet, so I called him and told him what was happening. Where is she? I asked Colleen again. Colleen! They're taking me! They're... Help's on the way, Robyn, Colleen said. Where are you? I sensed Colleen's groan of dismay. She hung up, cowboy. My mind still touched Robyn's, so she was still alive, alive but unconscious, I decided a few seconds later. "Corny," I said into the telephone, "Robyn's been taken. She ran into a roadblock." "The police?" "Don't know. Frankly, I hope it is the police." She's unconscious, I told Colleen. Either she's wounded, crashed her car, or she's been rendered unconscious. "I see her vehicle," Corny said. "Both front doors are open. The vehicle is empty. It's been abandoned. If the police took her, they'd still be here." "Karsh has her," I breathed. Corny said, "I'll drive around to try to spot her abductors, but..." "I know. Try, and then meet Ruben and me at the mansion." I hung up. I connected Sifu so he could mind-talk with Colleen and me. I need advice. Karsh's thugs have taken Robyn. She's unconscious now, and she might be wounded, but when she revives, I can ask her to help me determine her location so we can retrieve her. Which means, Sifu said, that Robyn will learn about your magic. Precisely. I might convince Robyn not to spread the word, but... She'll tell Ruben, Colleen said. I agree with Colleen, Sifu said. Knowing this, what's your advice? I asked. Won't they take her to Karsh's stronghold? Colleen said. I don't know where they'll take her, but if the police are still at the stronghold and some of them aren't bought and paid for, they'll take her elsewhere. Besides, wherever she's taken, being able to communicate with her will give us an advantage. I felt a mental groan. Robyn's coming around, I said. I need your advice now. Do it, Colleen said. Talk to her. I agree, but try to limit the exposure of your magic to her and Ruben. I called Ruben. "Karsh has taken Robyn," I said. "No!" "She's unconscious right now, but she's starting to wake up." "Where is she? We must get her back!" "We will." He hadn't realized that I had no way of knowing what I'd just told him. "We don't know where she is, Ruben." I was in his mind, so I knew when he started to question how I could know she was unconscious and was starting to wake up. "I'm a telepath, Ruben." Silence. Please say nothing, I said in his mind. Just listen. My mind is touching Robyn's right now, just like it's touching yours. That's how I know she's unconscious and is starting to revive. Do you understand? I must be losing my mind, he thought. "Robyn's awake now," I said into the telephone. "And you're not losing your mind. We can help her, but you must accept the fact that I'm a telepath. Do you understand?" "Yes... no, this is crazy." Sifu calls it magic, I said silently. I can connect your mind with Robyn's so you can speak with her, but you must learn to speak with me first. If you understand, think yes. If you don't, think no. Yes. Good. That I'm a telepath is a secret and must remain a secret, Ruben. Will you promise to keep my secret? Yes. Thank you. I'm hanging up the phone now. We'll mind-talk, and in a minute we'll mind-talk with Robyn. She's very frightened, and when I speak to her this way, she might react badly. It would help if you were calm. I'll ask her to tell us where she is with her thoughts. Okay? Yes. Robyn, I said to her mind. It's Morgan. I'm a telepath. If you understand, think yes. If you don't, think no. Shit! The blow to my head must have shaken some wires loose. Not a bad reaction, I thought without transferring the thought to either Ruben or Robyn. I was also very relieved that she hadn't been wounded. Robyn, I just divulged my telepathic ability to Ruben. He thought he was crazy, too, but he now understands and accepts that I can communicate directly with his mind, just like I'm communicating with yours right now. We can help you if you'll accept this ability of mine and work with us. I'll connect you with Ruben now. Okay? Crazy as a loon, that's what I am, she thought. Ruben, think of something only you could know about Robyn or about the two of you. We need to demonstrate that I'm telling the truth. All right. I... I connected Robyn and Ruben. Tell her not me, Ruben. Think your words; don't speak them. She will experience your words in her mind like you are experiencing mine. Baby, it's Ruben. Morgan's telling the truth. Ruben? she said, and I sensed that she spoke his name out loud. Don't talk, Robyn, I said. Just think and listen. Ruben can prove that what's happening is real. Go ahead Ruben. Crazy, she thought. Ruben said, Without going into any details, your first memory was taking a bath with your brother. I sensed her gasp. You said you'd never told this to anyone but me, Ruben added. Don't speak, Robyn, just think, I said. Is this something only Ruben would know? Yes! Thank God! I'm not crazy! Ruben, I love you. And I love you, baby. Where are you, Robyn? I asked. I'm in the trunk of a car. Who took you? I asked. Nick Martin and three other men. When I sensed Ruben was about to lose it, I said, They want her alive or they would have killed her, Ruben. Sifu drove through the gates to the mansion. Where are you, Ruben? About five minutes from the mansion. Maria says we're clear. All right. I'll leave the two of you connected, so you can mind-talk, and I'll start putting together the assault team to retrieve Robyn. Robyn, we need to know where they're taking you as soon as possible. I understand, she said. Jeez, this is weird. Uh-uh, I said. It's magic. ------- We weren't clueless. Clue #1. When Robyn's abductors removed her from the trunk of a car, she was in a two-car garage, but the garage door was still open, and she saw a lighted number for the house across the street. Unfortunately, she didn't see a street sign. Clue #2. When she lost consciousness, I noted the time. I also noted the time when she told us they were taking her from the trunk. The time lapse between those events gave us a rough approximation of the distance from the abduction site to the house where they were holding her. On a map, we used the abduction site as the center of a circle and traced two concentric circles. The inner circle was our estimate of the minimum distance; the outer circle the maximum. Clue #3. Corny's approach to the abduction site allowed us to discount the segment of the city behind him. Clue #4. The abductors placed her bound and gagged in a closet. While we scurried to narrow down Robyn's location, she heard sounds: the whistle of a train, truck engines starting up, and the whooshing sound of air brakes when a truck stops. This clue allowed us to eliminate neighborhoods that weren't close to railroad tracks or truck docks. From these clues, Ruben, Colleen, Sifu and I, using maps and logic, narrowed Robyn's location down to a neighborhood. Railroad tracks ran across the back of the neighborhood and served nearby warehouses. The most telling clue was the house number Robyn gave us. From this number, we believed we'd pinpointed the house where she was being held. "Let's go," Ruben said. I nodded and we joined Corny, Heather, Maria, Dan and Carlos in the great room. I motioned for them to join me at a table, and when they had gathered around, I said, "We have a neighborhood." I pointed at the map. "Jasper will drive Ruben and Heather. Sifu will drive Corny and me. Carlos, I want you and the ambulance nearby. Colleen will ride with you." When Colleen started to object, I said silently, With Ruben in one vehicle, you in another, and me in the third, we'll have telepathic communication, as well as electronic communication. Oh, okay, she responded. "Carlos, stage the ambulance here." I pointed. "That's the corner of Dusty Road and Overland Trail Avenue. Jasper, stage your vehicle here at the intersection of Garrison Street and Elm." He nodded. "Sifu will stage his vehicle here at Willow Road and 84th Street. We're not certain which house in the neighborhood is being used to hold Robyn, so Ruben and I are recon. Ruben, we'll rendezvous here." I pointed. He nodded. "Once we resolve the target, Ruben and I will determine the best way to enter the house, but if possible, I will make a solo, silent entry. If that isn't possible, we'll do it the hard way with Corny and Heather coming through the front door as Ruben and I enter the back door. Any questions?" Corny snorted. "About a million of them, but we don't have time to deal with them right now." "Let's go," Ruben said. "I'm surprised they haven't started to interrogate her already." Corny gave Ruben a strange look. Ruben, that last statement should have been a thought, I said silently. Sorry. Like Ruben, I was also surprised they hadn't started to question her. Then it hit me. I remembered what Hall did to Marna. They were waiting for Hall's arrival. Hall wanted to interrogate her, wanted to inflict pain, wanted make her suffer. Nothing else made sense. I cursed silently without passing on the curses. Hall would torture her, and when she'd told him everything she knew, he'd kill her. En route to the neighborhood, I called Horace. "We have a tentative location for Robyn. They've taken her cell phone, but I don't believe it's been turned off. Turn it into a microphone, and start the triangulation process to pinpoint her location. We think we can beat you to that goal, but just in case..." "Give me the neighborhood. My people have been standing by. We need to save her, Morgan. Robyn is good people." Well, well, is Horace finally starting to appreciate the female gender in the work force? ------- Ruben and I stood behind the house where we believed Robyn was being held. We wore Kevlar vests, night camouflage gear, and black watch caps. Our faces and hands were painted. My XD-9 was silenced, as was Ruben's weapon, and I carried two zi-wu, or deer-horn knives. Large ones can be used to scale walls. Mine were small. I used them like throwing stars. I preferred them to throwing knives, and they killed silently. Ruben, move around to the front of the house. If possible, verify the lighted house number Robyn told us about, I said silently. A minute later, he said, Yes. It's directly across the street from the house we selected. I can see shadows moving behind the drapery. Slip back here and back me up while I move up against the house. When he was in place, I crept across the back yard, using any cover offered, until I crouched under a bedroom window. No one was in the bedroom, so I moved to the window where I'd seen shadows moving. My mind touched the minds of three hoodlums. I listened to their thoughts and conversation. We have the right house, I told Ruben silently. I've connected with three of Karsh's thugs but haven't connected with Nick Martin yet. He's either at the front of the house or isn't in the house. I returned to the window for the vacant bedroom. It was shut and locked. I found no wires or other devices indicating the window was connected to an intrusion alarm, so using a glasscutter, I removed a circle of glass large enough to reach in and unlock the window. Would it creak when I pushed it open? A little, but the television was on in the other room. I doubted the thugs heard the sound. I'm moving inside the house, I told Ruben. Ruben had asked to remain connected with Robyn, but I'd squelched his request, telling him truthfully that it took too much concentration on my part to maintain a three-way connection. I was connected with Robyn, though, and told her that I'd entered the house. The room was dark but enough light filtered inside through the open window that I could make out the furniture, so I left my night-vision goggles perched on my forehead. I picked out the door to the hall, and to my right I saw a closet door. Hoping Robyn was in the closet, I opened the door. No such luck. I walked to the door to the hall and cast my mind out to search for a new mind - Nick Martin's mind, specifically. My search didn't give me a new connection. I couldn't search for Robyn's mind. She wasn't a new connection, and my telepathic sense didn't provide proximity for imprinted mental signatures. The door creaked slightly when I opened it and stepped into the hall. I wonder what's keeping Nick and Joel? one of the thugs said. That did it. I didn't need to worry about someone else in the house. I moved quickly but silently down the hall and stepped into the family room. The thugs saw me and reacted. As they reached for their weapons, they died. I used six rounds, three body-mass shots and three headshots. "The guards are dead," I said into the microphone on my neck. "Nick Martin is not in the house, but I heard a guard say that Nick and Joel were past due to return to the house. Corny, Heather, guard our front while we release Robyn and take her out the back. Sifu, drive to Point A." We'd refined the plan en route to the neighborhood. I found Robyn in a closet in the bedroom across the hall from the one I'd used to enter the house. They'd used flex cuffs to bind her wrists and ankles. I cut them with a knife, removed the gag, and she sprang into my arms. "Thank you, thank you," she gushed. "Ruben's waiting for you out back," I said. She spun away from me and dashed out of the bedroom, running into Ruben who had entered the house through the unlocked back door. Amateurs, I thought, referring to the guards, not Robyn and Ruben. "Hug and kiss some more later," I said as I walked by them. Before I left the house, I found Robyn's cell phone and retrieved the six shell casings in the family room. I also quickly wiped every surface I'd touched. After joining Robyn and Ruben at the back of the house, I wiped down the window I'd used to enter the house. "We're clear," I said to everyone. "Corny, Heather, back off and rendezvous with Jasper at Point B, and then drive directly to the mansion. Carlos, Colleen, rendezvous with us at Point C. Carlos will drive Robyn and Ruben to Doc Wilkins' clinic. Colleen will join Sifu and me, and we'll return to the mansion. Dan and Maria will check our back doors. Good job, everybody." "Humph," Corny said. "Morgan, you and I need to talk." ------- Back at the mansion, Corny corralled me almost immediately. "Make me understand," he said. "Understand what?" Should I play dumb? I asked Colleen and Sifu. If possible, Colleen said. I agree, but the lies must be plausible, Sifu said. "How you determined Robyn's location," Corny said. I smiled. "I told you - extrapolation." "Hah! Explain." "Robyn helped. For a short time she had her cell phone with her in the closet where they were holding her." "Huh?" "When they removed her from the trunk of a car, she noted a lighted number for the house across the street from the house where they took her. That was clue number one. Robyn was on the phone with Colleen when they abducted her, and Colleen noted the time. Robyn noted the time when they removed her from the trunk of the car at the house. That's clue number two. This clue gave us a rough estimate of the distance they traveled from the abduction site to the house where they held her. You also gave us a clue, Corny." "Huh?" "Your approach to the abduction site allowed us to discount the wedge of the city behind you. And Robyn gave us the last two clues. While in the closet, she heard a train whistle and the sound of large trucks starting up and stopping." I grinned. "We extrapolated, Corny." "What about Ruben saying he was surprised they hadn't started to interrogate Robyn?" I frowned. "That surprised me, too. Instead of questioning her, they put her in a closet, which made no sense to me until I heard a guard say that Nick and Joel were past due to return to the house. Hall interrogated my oldest friend, Corny, a woman in her sixties I'd known from boyhood. Hall questioned her, tortured her, and then killed her. He gets off inflicting pain. After Nick and the thugs took Robyn, I suspect, but don't know, that Hall claimed the right to interrogate, torture and kill Robyn." Doubts remained in Corny's mind, but I'd established some credibility. Silently, I informed Robyn and Ruben and Colleen about the lies I'd told Corny, and they agreed to back my story. I anticipated problems from Robyn and Ruben when they finally realized how invasive my telepathic ability could be, but I'd deal with those problems when they surfaced. "Karsh and his sick children brought it to us today, Corny. The cowards tried to take another woman from us. How did you feel when I told you that they'd taken her? Let me tell you how I felt. For a second in time, I was lying on a metal gurney in an autopsy room, and the pathologist was sawing through my skull. I sensed the vibrations and heard the grinding sounds of steel triumphing over bone, and I smelled the dank odor of my burning skull. What's next? I asked myself. Will the pathologist pull the skin off my face, or will he cut the Y incision, chomp through my sternum with bolt cutters, and peel me open like a pomegranate? That's how I felt, and I didn't like it, not one little bit, so tonight, I'm taking it to them. You've moved around the perimeter of that stronghold. Will you help me plan my assault?" "I'll do more than help you, Morgan. I'll join you." "Uh-uh. Karsh swore out a complaint against me, and the police have issued an arrest warrant in my name. What's more, the police are helping the coward defend his stronghold, so I'll be attacking not only Karsh and his thugs but also the police." I took a deep breath. "I'm taking off the gloves, Corny. I won't be shooting out windows tonight. I'll be shooting at men and women, so I'll take great care choosing my targets and take even greater care trying to wound rather than kill." When Corny started to speak, I stopped him. "Let me finish. Corny, if no innocents occupied that stronghold, I'd want you with me. I've not shot an innocent in my short career, and I don't plan to break that string tonight, but you and I both know that in the confusion of a gun battle collateral damage is always possible, especially if an innocent is returning your fire." "Are you saying that you don't trust me to avoid inflicting collateral damage?" Corny asked. "No. I'm saying the police already have a warrant for my arrest. I don't want your name put on a different warrant." Corny dialed a number on his cell phone. "Ruben, it's Corny. Morgan plans to attack Karsh's stronghold tonight. He's taking off the gloves, but he plans to attack alone." I connected with Ruben to hear his response. In his dreams, partner. Robyn's fine. A mild concussion. The doc is keeping her overnight for observation. I'll ask Carlos to drive me to the mansion. Don't let that crazy fucker leave until I get there. Hogtie him if you have to. Corny hung up, opened the door to the room where we'd met privately and yelled, "Heather, get your gorgeous ass in here!" ------- A drive-by forced us to revise our plan. Three police cruisers protected the stronghold. One cruiser faced west and was parked on the street just east of the gates. Another faced east and was parked across the street from the southwest corner of the perimeter wall. The third cruiser was parked inside the stronghold, backed up against the garages and facing south toward the gates. Telepathy told me that two police officers manned the gatehouse, and two officers occupied each cruiser. We rendezvoused on Arroyo Road, the first street north of Karsh's compound. Karsh owned land to the east, west and north, surrounding the stronghold on three sides. The acreage backed up to Arroyo Road at the rear. Corny and Ruben had moved freely on and around this vacant land. Corny, using an aerial photograph, pointed out the shooting stands he'd used during his night of terror. "Police presence disallows the use of the shooting stands I used at or near the front of the property that night," Corny said, "but these trees in the southwest and southeast sectors of the land around the stronghold should give us a line of sight to the main house and the servants' quarters over the garages." "We can't hang around very long in those trees," Ruben said, "or the police will converge on us." Corny nodded agreement and pointed out two trees near the back of the vacant land, one to the west and the other to the east of the walled compound. "These trees will offer line of sight to the rear of the house and garages. The shooters in those trees will also be able to cover the retreat from the trees near the front of the property." Corny gave me a hard look. "Are you as good a shot with a rifle as I hear you are with a pistol?" "Yes," I said. "All right, you take the tree on the west side. I'll take the tree on the east..." "Uh-uh," Heather said. "I'm a better shot than anyone here except Morgan. I'll take the tree to the east." "She's right, Corny," I said. "I watched her score a 581 out of 600 on a rapid-fire range." "Jesus! And you beat her?" Heather laughed. "He shot a 597." Corny shook his head with disbelief, and then gave Heather the same look he'd given me. "How are you with a rifle?" "I'm better with a rifle than I am with a pistol," she replied, matter-of-factly. "Okay, you'll be the shooter to the east. Ruben, which tree do you want up front?" "I'll take the one on the west and lob teargas into the house." "That leaves the east side for me. I'll shoot a teargas grenade into the servants' quarters." I said, "Corny, Ruben, after you fire the teargas, empty a rifle clip at the front of the property to make everyone think they're being attacked from the front, fire off an additional teargas grenade, and then hightail it out of there to our respective staging points on Arroyo Road. Hopefully, the teargas and your the frontal assault will drive everyone out the back of the house and servants' quarters to give Heather and me target opportunities from our shooting stands. Heather and I will use the silenced sniper rifles. Remember, Heather, shoot to wound, not kill, and for hell sake, don't shoot anyone you don't recognize." "Gotcha, Morgan," she said. "Jasper, park here on Arroyo facing east and use escape route A. Sifu, park here on Arroyo facing west and use escape route B. Carlos, you and Colleen stage the ambulance here on Huckleberry Street. We'll call you if you're needed. Hopefully, you won't hear from us. When we drive away from the area, you do the same." "The police will put up a helicopter," Heather said. "I agree, which means this assault must be swift. Let's figure ten seconds for Ruben and Corny's assault. Ten seconds to cover their retreat. Twenty seconds for our assault, Heather, and then we're out of there. I want us on the road not more than sixty seconds from the time Ruben and Corny lob the teargas grenades. Questions? Comments?" "Let's do it," Ruben said. ------- The night-vision telescope on the sniper rifle lit up the darkness, but would it provide enough light to see faces? I queried Heather for her opinion. "Just a minute, Morgan. I decided to move up a little higher in the tree." I waited. My thigh throbbed. I'd pushed my convalescence too fast. A gust of wind rustled the leaves in the tree around me. Would the wind be a problem? Heather said, "There, I'm set. I think there's enough light, but I won't be certain until someone exits the buildings." "I'm in place," Corny said. "So am I," Ruben said. "Heather and I are set," I said. "Corny, Ruben, fire the teargas grenades at the count of three. One. Two. Three." I heard the sound of only one grenade launcher, so I assumed that Corny and Ruben had fired at the same time, and then realized that Corny was too far from me to hear the cough of a launcher. I heard his rifle fire, though. Ruben's, too. From my vantage point, I could see the flashes from Ruben's rifle, but not Corny's. Five seconds later, a brief moment of silence invaded the night air just before I heard the cough of a grenade launcher when Ruben fired the second teargas grenade. I watched Ruben scramble out of the tree he'd used for his assault. While I covered his retreat, he moved quickly, using any cover offered, as he scurried toward the back of the property. That's when I heard the softer sounds of pistol shots. "Corny is taking fire from the police officers who were in the cruiser parked on the street by the gates," Heather said. "He's out of range, though." She hesitated. "There, he's clear now." I breathed a sigh of relief and focused my attention at the rear of the house. Suddenly a man stumbled outside onto the patio. Karsh! I put the crosshairs on his legs and squeezed off a round. He went down. "Daddy," a female voice screamed, although I was so far away I barely heard her yell, also too far away to make a mental connection, dammit. Linda Carson, I assumed, and then verified my assumption when she ran in a crouch from the house, firing a pistol left and right indiscriminately. Her speed and crouching posture didn't offer a reasonable shot until she started to drag her father back into the house. I aimed and squeezed off another round. She spun and went down. No Nick. No Joel. Were they still out and about? I saw a man run out of the house from a different door, but I didn't recognize him. I did recognize the next man out the same door. I shot the bodyguard, avoiding his body mass and head. Two uniformed police officers exited the house next, along with another man I didn't recognize, a police detective, I guessed. Was he one of Karsh's tame cops? Delgado perhaps? I didn't know, so I didn't shoot him. The two cops in uniform laid down cover fire, and the detective dragged Karsh back toward the house. "Cease fire," I said. "Retreat now, Heather." "Gotcha," she said. Ruben covered my limping retreat. Hopefully, Corny did the same for Heather. We hadn't discussed this part of the assault. Ruben and I clamored into the idling sedan staged facing west on Arroyo, and Sifu drove away. I checked my wristwatch. Fifty-five seconds from the moment Corny and Ruben fired teargas into the main house and the servants' quarters over the garage until Sifu pulled away from the curb. Were we quick enough to escape a helicopter pursuit? Sifu didn't lollygag. The sedan roared as it sped away from Karsh's stronghold. Sifu turned right, and then left, and a mile later entered a busy boulevard, except it wasn't all that busy, not at that time of night. Still, unless a helicopter pursuit isolated us before we reached the boulevard, I figured we would be safe. Five miles later, Sifu guided the sedan off the boulevard, took a couple of quick turns and drove up a ramp onto a freeway. Ten minutes later, he exited the freeway and took surface streets as we approached the mansion. I called Dan. "We're approaching your location, Dan. Check our back door and look to the sky for a helicopter pursuit, as well." "Will do. Hang on. I'll step out of the car to check the sky." I waited. "No helicopter nearby. There's one way over to the southeast. You should be clear. I'll check your back door now." Five minutes later, Dan told me we weren't being followed, and Sifu drove us toward the mansion. I called Corny. "We're clear," I said. "Maria says we're clear, too. See you soon." I made one more call before we drove through the gates at the mansion. "Horace, it's Morgan," I said when he finally answered the phone. "Christ, Morgan. Do you know what time it is?" I laughed. "Yeah, it's time for you to alert your cohorts to listen for the name of the hospital where Karsh and his daughter, Linda, are being taken. I just wounded both of them." ------- I felt out of kilter when I rose from the bed. The late-night hour of our assault on Karsh's stronghold screwed up my sleep cycle. I pulled on a pair of pants and went looking for a cup of coffee before showering and dressing for the day. Corny and Heather sat at a table off the kitchen, and I spied a pot of coffee sitting on a side table next to them. "You look like shit, Morgan," Heather said. I grunted, hoping a cup of coffee would brighten my day. I sat on a chair next to Heather and raked my fingers through my hair as I yawned wide and long. "Where is everybody?" I muttered and swallowed some coffee. Yeah, just what I needed. "Ruben left to pick up Robyn. Jasper drove him. Maria and Sifu are out front practicing with cudgels. Colleen is swimming. Dan is at Gitmo." I nodded and drank more coffee. "Have you listened to the news?" I asked. Corny laughed. "You're public enemy number one." I need to fix that, I thought. Heather grinned. "We did good last night, Morgan. You wounded Karsh, his sick daughter and a bodyguard. I took down the other bodyguard and the groundskeeper. No fatalities so far. The groundskeeper I shot and the bodyguard you shot are still critical, which is bullshit. If they're still alive, they'll be all right unless the surgeons who worked on them fucked up." Corny said, "Horace called. He has the particulars on the hospital where Karsh and the others were taken." "Did he have any idea how long Karsh would be in the hospital?" I asked. "No, but it will be a while. The docs amputated his right leg just above the knee. Linda Carson will be released today, though. Flesh wound. In and out. The bullet didn't hit a bone. That was good shooting, Morgan. You, too, Heather." "Thanks," Heather and I said at the same time. "Did Nick or Hall show up?" "Don't know," Corny said. "Horace might know, though." "Lemmee borrow your phone and I'll call him." Heather stood, filled my cup with coffee and did the same for Corny before filling her cup and returning to her chair. "Horace, it's Morgan." "If I were you, I'd be making dust as I left town." When asked, he gave me details regarding Karsh and the hospital. "Bug his room, Horace. Linda Carson's, too." "Hah! She's been released, left the hospital an hour ago. And by golly, for once, I'm ahead of you. Bugs are being placed in Karsh's room as we speak." "Did Nick Martin or Joel Hall show up at the stronghold or the hospital last night?" "Nope." It looked like I had the daddy under wraps, but his rotten kids had sprung my trap. I handed Corny his phone and stood up. "When Robyn arrives, tell her I need to speak with her. I need the ear of an honest cop." ------- Colleen joined me in the shower, took the plastic soap scrubber thing out of my hand, and told me to turn around so she could do my back. I turned. I didn't want to turn. Turning gave me a view of some ceramic tiles. Before I turned, my view was sweet thing. No contest. The sudsy thingamabob felt good on my back, though. "What's that scrubber thing called?" I asked. "Does it have a name?" She giggled. "Sweet thing." I groaned. "You've been hanging around Corny too much." "It's a body pouf." "Pouf?" "Pouf. What's your schedule today?" "Fuck or make love with my baby, do some research to find some honest cops, visit Karsh at the hospital to deliver some flowers to express my sympathy, see if I can get a line on his rotten kids to express my ire, check with Sherry to see if she has any potential gigs in the hopper, try to calm Robyn and Ruben's shattered nerves when they finally realize they don't have any mental privacy, talk to Maggie about the progress of my new communication center, talk to Gordy about some bonuses some of my people have earned, call Mark and Jim - I've been neglecting them. And then have lunch. "After lunch, I should spend some time with my new protectors. Sometime today, I want to meet with an honest cop, line up some public relations help, and hopefully determine the name of my nemesis. And from your thoughts, I gather we'll be visiting your mother for dinner this evening. " "Turn around. I'll do your front." I turned around. My view improved considerably. "Sweet thing, you become more beautiful every day." "With such a busy morning, we'd better fuck. Making love will take too much time." The body pouf roamed over my chest, and a dainty, soapy hand explored the dangle of my balls and the length of my hardening dick. "I'll make the time if making love is your preference," I said, my voice husky with lust. "No, I wanna fuck." She released my hard-on, turned and took the position against the shower wall. What did I do? I patted her down for weapons, and found some. Her weapons were powerful but non-lethal, ideal weapons for the task at hand. "Now, cowboy. Fuck me now." I bent my knees, lined up my weapon and stabbed her. Wet! Hot! And not from the hot water pelting us from the showerhead. She gave her hips a little wiggle. I pushed again and discovered, given our position, that I was as deep as I could go. "What got your motor running this morning, sweet thing?" The question was appropriate; our foreplay had been minimal. She giggled. Gawd, I loved those sounds. "Besides scrubbing your manly, magnificent body front and back, you mean?" "Yeah." My thrusts were long, smooth, not very powerful. "Imagination," she said. I reached and fondled a heavy, waving breast. The nipple was rock hard. "My imagination," she added. "A fantasy?" "Sort of." My hand at her breast dropped and cupped her pussy. My cock moved between my fingers into her hot glove, and then my fingers found her clitoris. She gasped and pushed her glorious ass back against me, taking my shaft at a different angle. I bottomed out. "I saw Sifu go into Maria's room with her," she said. "Are they fuck buddies?" Her clit throbbed under my assault. "That'd be my guess." "You don't know?" "No." "Check on them. Find out." "No. Sometimes Sifu senses my presence in his mind. Also, they deserve their privacy, sweet thing." "Yeah, they do. You're right. Besides I'd guess my imagination is more exciting than the real thing." She moaned. "And nothing is as exciting as your big cock fucking me. Harder, cowboy. Lift me up on my toes with each thrust... Yes! Like that!" I pounded her, and my fingertips mauled her clit. Orgasmic sensations started to gather deep in my balls, lifting them, preparing them to expel my semen in bursts. Would I win the race, or would Colleen cross the finish line first? She won, but with her win, I won, too. I roared, and with one massive thrust took her completely off her feet as I crossed the finish line in a photo finish but in second place, right where I wanted to be in any race with my sweet thing. We ended up sitting on the shower floor. Neither of us could remain standing. Hot water pelted us as we held each other and talked about our tender, sweet love. ------- "You wanted to see me," Robyn said. Ruben was with her. They didn't look happy. Colleen, please join us. It's time for me to deal with the privacy issue, and I'd like your help. She stepped out of the master bath dressed for the day and looking like a million bucks. She gave Robyn and Ruben a bright smile and sat next to me on a loveseat in the sitting area of our suite. Robyn and Ruben sat on a sofa facing us. Sifu, can you join me in my suite? I asked silently. Regarding Robyn and Ruben and their privacy? he asked. Yes. I will join you. While I waited for Sifu, I decided to deal with my desire to speak with some honest cops before tackling Robyn and Ruben's privacy problem. "Have you noticed that Karsh has managed to make me the bad guy with the police and in the media?" I said. "Yes," Robyn and Ruben said simultaneously. "Robyn, you have a friend with the police. Would he meet me and listen without trying to arrest me?" She frowned. "No. He's an honest cop and believes strongly in the rule of law. An arrest warrant has been issued in your name. He'd feel obligated to arrest you and let the lawyers and courts deal with the complex issues you'd present him. Besides, he's a little fish in a very big pond." I groaned. "That's what I thought you'd say." "I have a friend in the FBI," Ruben said. "He'd listen, but when you finished telling your story, it'd be a toss up whether he'd help you or slap handcuffs around your wrists. Odds are it'd be the cuffs." Sifu walked into the suite and took a chair to my right. "I asked Sifu to join us because, like the two of you and Colleen, he is aware of my telepathic abilities, and although I asked you to meet with me to discuss my problem with the police and media, you're here because you've realized that I've invaded your privacy, the most private place each of us have - our minds, our private thoughts - and this upsets you. Correct?" "Yes," Ruben said. Robyn nodded without speaking. "My mind is not touching yours right now, so feel free to think anything you wish. Surprisingly, I understand and appreciate your concerns. Like you, if I suddenly discovered someone could experience my thoughts without my awareness and permission, I'd be very upset." "I told you he'd understand, Ruben," Robyn said. "I told you we could talk with him about this." Colleen laughed. "Robyn, 'I told you sos' are a no-no in a loving relationship." She blushed. Ruben laughed, which pleased me. Laughter is a soothing balm for a troubled mind, and I suspected that Ruben felt stronger about his mental privacy than Robyn. "Would you believe me," I said, "if I told you that in the future I won't touch your minds with mine without your permission?" "Yes," Robyn said. Ruben shook his head and chuckled. "You and your weird ability saved Robyn's life yesterday. She'll believe anything you say. Not that I don't appreciate what you did for her, mind you, but unlike Robyn, I'm not in denial. Just thinking about you mucking around inside my skull turns my world upside down. So, to answer your question, no, I wouldn't believe you, not even a little bit." I shrugged. "Then the possibility that my mind is touching yours is something you'll just have to live with." "No, Morgan, I don't have to live with it." He was furious. "I'm outta here - today. Right now. I can't live with it. I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry, but..." "Leaving won't solve the problem, Ruben," I said. "Distancing yourself from me won't stop me from invading your mind. If I try, I can connect with Mark in D.C. right now. Proximity is critical for an initial mental connection, but once my mind has imprinted a mental signature, I can reach out and touch that mind anytime I wish, wherever it is." His jaw gaped with shock, and his anger-filled, expressive eyes took on a look of hate. "Love it or hate it, Ruben. I don't care, but you will have to live with it. Now, wouldn't it be better to discuss ways to help you live with it than to go off half-cocked and threaten to leave me and Protect & Serve?" "I live with it, Ruben," Sifu said. Colleen grinned. "I live with it and love it." Robyn took Ruben's hand in hers. "Let's talk it over with them, honey." Robyn's soft voice and her touch calmed him. "Here's my deal," I said. "I will not enter your minds without your permission with two exceptions. During battle or under a threat I won't ask permission. If I feel experiencing your thoughts under those conditions will give our side an advantage, I'll just do it. That's exception number one. Exception number two involves what I call my checking visits. Three or four times each day, I check on the men and women I care about. I touch their minds with mine to make sure all is well with them. Checking visits are brief - one or two seconds for each person - and yes, I occasionally stumble on a thought or an activity that the person I'm checking on wouldn't want anyone to know, but I don't hang around in this person's mind. I'm not a pervert or a voyeur, Ruben, and whether you believe it or not, I don't use what I learn about anyone against them." I gave him a hard look. "Unless that person is an enemy. I'll give you an example. Sometime today, I will take on the persona of a geeky deliveryman, and I'll deliver a bouquet of flowers to Karsh's hospital room. Oh, I won't enter the room. I'm sure a cop will be guarding his door, but that won't matter. I don't need to be that close to make an initial mental connection. Thirty feet does it. After I've imprinted his mental signature in my mind, I can connect with him again at any time. I can also play the part of his conscience, but that's dangerous. I think becoming a person's conscience drives that person mad. You witnessed such an event with that assassin at the Boulders, Ruben. I believe your exact words were, 'This guy is nuts.' Driving Karsh insane doesn't bother me as long as he gives me the name and details about the person or group who hired him to kill me before he wanders into the murky realm of madness." I took a deep breath. "Forgive me. I've wandered off subject. Back to your concerns, Ruben. Question. Do you consider me a basically honest man?" He frowned and then nodded. "We've been in battle together. That requires trust. Correct?" "Yes." "Then please extend that trust to my weird ability, and at the same time, remember that I'm basically an honest man. Besides my previous promises, I can make a few more. I promise further that I will not use what I learn while in your mind against you, nor will I relate what I learn to anyone else, including Colleen and Sifu. In other words, your privacy loss stops with me. What I'd like to do now is leave you with Colleen and Sifu. Please discuss your concerns with them. They live with what I do. Let them tell you how and why they accept my weird ability." With that, I stood up and left the room. ------- The Karsh assignment had moved into the endgame. Today or tomorrow I'd attain my goal. I'd know the name of the person who wanted me dead. When I learned the name, would the memories associated with the name rush forward into the light where I could retrieve them, or would they linger, hide behind some broken synapses where my memory retrieval system could not go? I'd remembered so much, and I'd pieced together most of my past that I still didn't remember, but the half-year before I woke up in the hospital without any memories was still a complete blank. I shrugged. I'd soon know about that year, one way or the other, and speculating now about the immediate future wasn't productive. I had too much to do to be unproductive. I had six potential protectors working eight-hour shifts at a crap job. That had to change. With those six plus Dan and Mark, I'd reached my goal to recruit eight protection specialists for Protect & Serve. I'd also recruited two second-chair operatives: Jim Gill as a protector and Maria for recovery and missing-person contracts. With Ruben, Corny and Heather, I'd recruited three of the eight recovery or missing-person specialists I'd planned for Protect & Serve. Ruben presented problems, though. Would he ultimately accept my telepathic intrusions? With Robyn, Colleen and Sifu working on his attitude in that regard, he'd try, but in the end, only Ruben could decide if he could handle being around me. I'd told him he couldn't be far enough away from me to escape my prying mind, which was true, but in reality, if he left me, I'd never again try to touch his mind with mine, and deep down, I believed Ruben understood this. I called Sherry. "Hell's bells, Morgan, where ya been?" "Busy. What's on the burner?" "Got a protection gig. A corporate bigwig is going to South America for a month. The corporation's payin'." "Good. I've got the perfect man for the job. What's the timing?" "Yesterday, but tomorrow works, too." She gave me the referral source's name and phone number. "What else?" I asked. "A kidnapping. Got the call an hour ago. You'll need to respond quick like to get that job." She reeled off the name and phone number. "Can do." "That's it for now. Keep in touch, ya hear?" "Sherry, I'll take any reasonable protection job offered. Call Maggie if one surfaces." "Will do." Thirty minutes later, Protect & Serve had two new contracts. Corny accepted the kidnapping assignment, but worried I still needed him on the Karsh assignment. After I convinced him I could make do, I turned him over to Maggie, but told him to give me a chance to give her a head's up before he called her. "What's the status of the new Communication Center?" I asked after filling Maggie in on the new contracts. "Offers were made, counters were negotiated. It's set to close in a month." "What about renovation time?" "Three months." "That won't work. Rent a big house in the neighborhood for six months." "You'll pay for equipment installation twice." I said nothing. "Which doesn't matter in the total scheme of things. I hear you, boss." I laughed. "Good thinking, Maggie. Gotta go. If Dan Green accepts the protection assignment, you'll hear from him, not me." Dan took the job. "The contract calls for two protectors. You'll be the lead," I said. "You recruited John Bucher and Claire Finder. Will either of them work second-chair with you?" "Yes, depending on the pay." "No difference in pay, not on this job. Besides, they're fully trained. Correct?" "Yes." "You pick, then." South America, he thought. A man would be best. "I'll go with John. That'll leave you short a guard at Gitmo, though." "A solvable problem. Dan, I'm busy. Call Maggie, my Assignments Coordinator. She'll take care of everything to get you on the job tonight." "All right." "You've worked with the six protectors at Gitmo. Which one should I pull in to replace you here?" "Leo Nelson or Gary Hoyt." "Not Claire Finder?" "She's good, but Leo and Gary are better." "Thanks, Dan, and welcome aboard." We shook hands warmly. With Dan and John Bucher leaving that afternoon, and either Leo Nelson or Gary Hoyt moving to the mansion to replace Dan, I needed to visit my operatives at Gitmo. The day was getting away from me. I needed advice. Sifu, Colleen, have you finished with Ruben and Robyn? I sensed sweet thing's giggle. Only about an hour ago. Is Ruben staying or leaving? Staying. Colleen and Sifu's identical words overlapped a little, creating an echo-like effect in my mind. That made me smile. Telepathy is grand! Let's saddle up. I need advice. You can dispense your wisdom en route to the hospital for a brief stop so I can imprint Karsh's mental signature on my mind, and then we'll drive to Gitmo to meet with my protectors. ------- "Will Ruben accept my magic as completely as the two of you?" I asked to open the advisory board meeting. "Yes," Colleen said. "No," Sifu said. I chuckled. "Those would be my choices. Elaborate, please. Sifu, you first." "My acceptance of your magic came from amazement and curiosity. Ruben is neither amazed nor curious." "Oh, he's amazed, Sifu," Colleen said. "But you are right about his lack of curiosity." "Humph," Sifu muttered. "To continue, Colleen's acceptance came from her love for you. Ruben doesn't love you. Worse, he's jealous of you. He fears Robyn admires you more than him." "Robyn loves him, not me, Sifu," I said. "True, and he knows this. Still... I don't know. There is something else involved, another force guiding his behavior and attitude, but I can't define this illusive force." Colleen frowned. "Sifu is correct. A stimulus extraneous to your telepathy is at play. I can't get a handle on it, either." Interesting. I believed I could define the issue, but before I mentioned my idea, I wanted to hear why Colleen believed Ruben would accept my magic. When prodded, she said, "Because he admires you above all other men." I waited. She didn't elaborate, and Sifu didn't comment. A minute later, he slowed the vehicle and pulled it to the curb in front of a florist. "You said you need flowers," he said. Inside, I purchased a dozen red roses and asked the florist to arrange them in a crystal vase. The yellow roses were beautiful, wide and full of fragrance. I purchased a single yellow rose and gave it to Colleen when I returned to the car. The surprise made her happy, and I got a loving, wet kiss for the gesture. When Sifu pulled the car back onto the street, he said, "In the end, Ruben will accept your magic." That's when I mentioned the mysterious forces that I believed were guiding Ruben's behavior and attitude. "That fits! You're right!" Colleen exclaimed. Sifu chuckled. "Of course. Now that you've defined them, I'm surprised I didn't see them before." At the hospital, I donned my geeky deliveryman getup, delivered the flowers, imprinted Karsh's mental signature on my mind and left. En route to Gitmo, I told my advisors about the new contracts and the men I'd assigned to them, as well as my intent to pull another protector from Gitmo to help us at the mansion. "Won't that make you shorthanded at Gitmo?" Colleen asked. "No. Protectors expect twelve-hour days on the job. Besides, we'll shut down Gitmo in a day or two." "We will?" Colleen sounded shocked. "We're in the endgame with Operation Karsh. Operation Nemesis is next. While that mission develops, I need to repair my image with the police and press. With a little luck, our captives at Gitmo will assist me with that effort. We're holding four men wanted by the law, plus two assassins and Karsh's driver. We have enough information about the crimes committed by the assassins and the driver to cause their arrest. At the right time, we'll release the gate guards under threat of death if they break silence after they're released. Not that we'd kill them, but they don't know that." Sifu chuckled. "Clever." I selected Gary Hoyt to replace Dan at the mansion. Colleen and Sifu concurred with my choice. Like Dan, Hoyt was tall, six-three or -four, looked very fit, and was quick to smile, exposing very white, even teeth. His large ears stuck out from his head, but he wasn't vain about them because he wore his brown hair cut short. The remaining protectors didn't complain about the twelve-hour shifts they'd need to stand, but they wanted to hear about how I became public enemy number one. I filled them in, checking their mental reactions as I spoke. Once again, Roy Holbert had his doubts about Protect & Serve and me, so I made a mental note to have a word with Maria about him. She'd recruited him. I left Leo Nelson in charge of Gitmo. Hoyt grabbed his gear and rode back to the mansion with us. ------- After lunch, I asked Ruben to take a walk with me. When we were alone, I said, "May I touch your mind with mine? I'd like this conversation to be very private." "I'd rather speak normally," he said, obviously reluctant to let me muck around in his skull, as he'd put it. "Very well. A promise is a promise, but consider this. Sifu adjusted to what I do by having silent conversations with me. Also, mind-talking, as the three of us call it, allows you to hear my thoughts while I hear yours. It levels the playing field, so to speak." That wasn't one hundred percent accurate. I could mask a thought so he couldn't experience it, but informing him about that facet of my telepathic abilities would have been counterproductive. "If I ask, will you get out of my head immediately?" he said. "Of course. I'd have to. I'd no longer have your permission for a mental connection." "All right. Let's do some mind-talking." Thank you, I said silently. By the way, I imprinted Karsh's mental signature in my mind this morning. Did he give you the name of the man who hired him to kill you? Not yet. The docs have him doped to the gills. I want him lucid when I start mucking around in his skull. I used those words purposefully. Ruben, I asked you to take this walk with me to reassure you that I won't use my telepathy to your detriment. Maybe, he thought. The thought wasn't conversation, so I didn't respond to it. But then, I believe you know that, I said. Why did you give the kidnapping gig to Corny? he asked. Why didn't you offer it to me first? Operation Karsh is ending. Operation Nemesis will begin soon. I didn't offer you the kidnapping assignment because I'll need your help for Operation Nemesis. For what it's worth, I've also turned down recovery assignments I could have given you. I need you here, Ruben. That's what Robyn said. Was that comment a thought or conversation? I asked. He chuckled. A thought. Robyn's 'I told you sos' are stacking up regarding you. Does that upset you? He gave me a hard look. "Frankly, yes," he said out loud. Sifu had him pegged. I made him jealous. He feared Robyn admired me more than him. "She loves you, Ruben, not me," I said. His shoulders slumped. "I know." She loves me, but I'll be gone... He chopped off the thought and said, "Get out of my mind right now." I cut our mental connection. "There, I'm out of your mind. I'd appreciate it, though, if you'd finish that thought. It's a subject I need to discuss with you." He grumbled incoherently. "May I take a stab at finishing it? I think I know what you were thinking. After all, I was in your position not long ago." "Yeah, finish it." "Robyn loves you, but you'll be gone nine or ten months of each year. That's one issue, but there's a couple more, and these other issues upset you more than the first because they makes you upset with yourself." "I thought you weren't in my head." "I'm not, but I've been in your shoes. You're considering quitting the business, right?" He stopped and turned to me. "Get out of my mind, Morgan." "I'm not in your mind. I understand your situation because I faced the same dilemma when I fell in love with Colleen. The thought of being away from her nine or ten months out of every year tore at my guts. I thought I'd have to give up what I'd been conditioned to be from boyhood, but then I saw a different way to go by turning Protect & Serve into an organization. Ruben, put yourself in my shoes. If you were me, would you be happy being an administrator, a manager of protectors and a business the rest of your life?" He took some time to consider my question. "Yes and no," he said. "Yes, I'd be happy because I could be with the woman I loved. I'd also be unhappy because I'd miss the action." "You've got it! We're adrenalin junkies, Ruben. Heather, too. And Corny. By turning Protect & Serve into an organization, I solved one problem, and frankly it was a pretty good solution. The move allowed me to be with Colleen and still fulfill what I believe is my purpose in life: to protect and serve. But protecting and serving as an administrator, a manager, instead of being a grunt in the trenches isn't the same. Like you, I will miss the action. You have a dilemma, Ruben. I have one, too. Guess what? Our problems are nearly identical." He chuckled. "Yeah they are." "I have a solution for both of us, but your rejection of my invasive mind can nullify that solution." He studied my expression. "You have my permission to muck around in my skull again." Thank you. Tell me your solution. Let's talk about the third issue first, the issue that makes you upset with yourself. His groan was audible and filled with dismay. May I take a stab at it? I asked. Yeah, stab away. Sifu told me that you fear Robyn admires me more than you. Fuck. Although Sifu isn't telepathic, I've found his assessment of situations and personnel amazingly accurate. Not always, though. Was his assessment of this subject accurate? Yes, dammit! Morgan, I know Robyn loves me. Of that I have no doubts, but I also believe she admires and respects you above all other men, including me. And this bothers you? Hell yes! Wouldn't Colleen admiring and respecting another man more than you bother you? Yep, but as long as she loved me I'd live with it. Love counts for more than admiration and respect, Ruben. What's more, I think you're wrong. Admiration and respect are precursors to love, but don't necessarily turn into love. Waddaya mean? I'm not sure. Ruben, we're men. Men don't understand love. We just accept its existence, the reality of it. Love confuses us. He snorted. You've got that right. Intuitively, I think love doesn't truly happen, or at least can't be sustained, without admiration and respect present to start with. That sounds right. So Robyn admires and respects you. Yeah. So we're talking intensity here, degrees. Right? Yeah. Not that I'm conceding that Robyn admires and respects me more than you, but if she does, the intensity, the degrees of difference between her admiration and respect for me as compared to how she feels about you are very narrow indeed, so narrow they shouldn't matter. What's more, she's known me longer. As time goes on, even if I take top billing right now, that will change. Her love for you, the intimacies only lovers can share, will soon place you above me. For chrissake, Ruben, the woman loves you. You, not me! He grinned. Got it. What's your solution for our other dilemmas? Let's take turns being boss and being in the trenches. ------- Chapter 13 Ruben looked stunned. I waited until he composed himself before I spoke. "Taking turns isn't precisely accurate. There will be times when we'll both be managers, but neither of us will take assignments at the same time, and I don't know about you, but I sure don't want to give up my downtimes. Here's how I see the arrangement right now. You'll work assignments approximately six months each year. You'll take two months downtime, and you'll manage my business in my stead for four months. I'll take assignments for approximately two months each year, take two months of downtime, and manage the business for eight months. "This will put you in Phoenix with Robyn four months each year plus two more months with her for your downtime. We'll need to work with Robyn to figure out who should handle her duties for Protect & Serve for those two months, but I don't see that as an unsolvable problem. Ruben, that's six months each and every year with Robyn. Would this work for you?" His eyes shined. "Perfect." "Good. Let's talk money now. No pay for downtime. I won't open that can of worms. You'll earn what you earn on assignments, and, Ruben, I'll expect you to take some protection gigs. They pay less, but they're the backbone of the business. To keep the math simple, let's use 30-day months. Six months of assignments total 180 days. Say 135 days for recovery assignments and 45 days for protection jobs. That equates to $337,500 for recovery work and $45,000 for protection assignments. Add the two and you get $382,500. You'll be managing the business for four months each year. That's 120 days. I'll pay you $3,500 per day for this work, or $420,000. Adding your assignment pay to this number gives you an annual income of approximately $802,500 before bonuses. Waddaya say?" "I say yes, Morgan. Hell yes!" I stuck out my hand. He took it, and then pulled me into a manly hug. ------- I was on the phone with Gordy when Colleen walked into our suite, took the phone from my hand and said to Gordy, "Hold for a moment, please." She set the phone on the coffee table, pulled me to my feet and kissed me silly. "That's for what you did for Ruben and Robyn, cowboy. They're overjoyed. They think you're the greatest thing since sliced bread, and I agree with them. I also love you to pieces." She kissed me again, putting more into the second kiss than the first, stepped back, glanced down, noticed the bulge in my pants, grinned, picked up the phone and said, "Sorry about that. Here's Morgan." She handed me the phone, turned and left the room. "What was that all about?" Gordy said. "Colleen just expressed her appreciation for what I did for Ruben and Robyn." Gordy laughed. "Little does she know." "What does that mean?" I asked. "You can't kid and old kidder. Self motives glare at every turn on that deal." He was right, of course. "You just bought a manager for $120,000 a year so you can go play for two months and feed your adrenalin addiction for two other months every year." He was accurate. I'd pay Ruben $420,000 for the four months he'd manage the business, but the $5,000 per day I'd earn feeding my adrenalin addiction for 60 days came to $300,000. The difference was $120,000. Gordy failed to consider one other expense, though. "That's $120,000 plus bonuses, Gordy, and as far as Ruben is concerned, I won't be stingy with bonuses." "As far as anyone is concerned is more accurate as attested by the bonuses you just told me to pay." "Question, Gordy. I'm looking for an honest cop at the federal level, and I need some help countering the negative press I've been receiving. Can you give me any names?" "Can't help you with a name of an honest cop. That's almost an oxymoron, but you've used a gal named Michelle Hendrix for public relations in the past." "Is she Phoenix based?" The name struck a chord but didn't offer any memories. "Yeah, but she's plugged into the media on a national level - I think. My knowledge of her is sketchy, Morgan. You dealt with her, not me." "Does she know me as Morgan or Luke? "Morgan." He gave me her phone number. "Thanks, Gordy. I'll call her. How's Maggie doing?" "Busier than a one-armed paper hanger and happier than a hog in mud." He lowered his voice. "She appreciates how much you trust her more than anything." "I trust her, Gordy, because she's trustworthy." Besides, I knew if I gave her a task she couldn't handle that she'd go to Gordy for help. I ended the call with Gordy and made another call. When a woman answered, I said, "Ms. Hendrix, please." "This is Ms. Hendrix." I recognized her voice. Memories! Ya gotta love 'em. "Michelle, it's Morgan." "It's about damn time you called me. You're in a world of hurt, buddy boy. You needed me yesterday, not tomorrow. Yesterday, hell! Make that last week." "I can't come to you. Will you come to me?" "Of course." We talked for a half-hour. I told her about my amnesia and touched on the highlights of the major events from my time in the hospital to the present. While I talked, she booked a flight to Vegas online. "I'll have Jasper meet you at the airport," I said. "I know Jasper. Tell him to meet me in baggage claim." I'd used Michelle in two previous situations similar to the one I now faced. The first occurred early in my career over four years ago in Miami, Florida, when the media labeled me a vigilante because I went into a stronghold and released three captives in a hostage situation. The second time I used her services wasn't as cut and dried. The local cops wanted my hide, not some bleeding-heart media talking heads. That event took place two years ago in New Orleans. I was protecting a local businessman who was testifying against the mob. The businessman owned a strip club on Bourbon Street, and that's where the imported shooters hit us using machine pistols. I killed the shooters but took a bullet in the shoulder. Bullets from the machine pistols killed two innocent bystanders, tourists visiting the Big Easy, and worse, a French Quarter beat cop. Because a cop got killed, the local police wanted blood, and I was the only blood donor left standing... well, not standing precisely. I killed the last shooter from the prone position after being knocked down by the slug that hit my shoulder. On that case, Michelle worked with my attorney to turn the negative media reports away from me toward the crime boss who sicced the shooters on my client and me, and then toward corrupt police officials determined to make me a blood donor. After I ended my call with Michelle, I called my Phoenix attorney. "Morgan," Tim Blount said, "has there ever been a time when you haven't been in trouble with the police?" "Don't know, Tim. I still have some lost memories I can't wrap my mind around. I called because I need the ear of an honest federal cop." "Humph. Good luck." "Argh. I'm holding four of Karsh's bodyguards. They're wanted men, ex-cons who have broken parole. Also..." "Whoa! What do you mean by holding them?" I told him about P&S's Gitmo. "You're kidding." "Nope. It's a good facility, a little larger than we needed. It's capacity is sixteen, so with only thirteen prisoners..." "Thirteen! You said four." "Four bodyguards, yes. But we also took two of Karsh's assassins, his driver and his six gate guards." "Took them? Did you abduct these men?" "Shame on you, Tim. We made citizen arrests." He laughed. "You should have been a defense lawyer, Morgan." "Anyway, that's why I need an honest cop. We interrogated these men and uncovered enough evidence against the assassins and the driver to cause their arrests. The gate guards are just guards. We'll release them before we turn the bad guys over to the honest cop I'm looking for. What amazes me is the fact that the LVPD is protecting Karsh. He's a master assassin, Tim, the agent for a group of international assassins, and he employs men and women wanted by the law. Still, somehow he made me the bad guy. There's something wrong with this picture." "Have you called Jerry Moody?" "No. We haven't needed him." Gerald Moody was the defense attorney Tim lined up for me in Vegas. "Call him, dammit, and I'm taking the next flight Vegas." "Do you know Michelle Hendrix?" "Yeah." "She's flying in this evening to help with this problem. Call her. If you can take the same flight, Jasper will pick you up at the airport when he picks up Michelle." "All right. Besides shooting up Karsh's compound, wounding him, his daughter and some other men and abducting thirteen of his employees, what other mayhem have you perpetrated?" "Jeez, Tim, whose side are you on?" I asked the question with a smile. "Yours. What else, dammit?" Using the theory that a defense attorney shouldn't be handed any surprises if a subsequent court trial ensued, I told him everything. ------- The meal wasn't fancy, but it was mighty tasty: pot roast, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn from a can, and a tossed salad with store-bought dressings. I contributed a bottle of red wine for the meal, as well as a bouquet of flowers that April used for the centerpiece on the kitchen table. The house where Charlotte once lived with her mother was like the meal, plain and simple but neat and clean. As a role model and mother, April sucked - no pun intended, Corny - but she wasn't slovenly, and it was obvious that she'd made an effort to impress me. Of course, she had an ulterior motive, and depending on how she presented what she wanted, I was inclined to bend to her request. If she threatened or tried to manipulate me to get what she wanted, I'd become as stubborn as a Missouri mule. Knowing this, I decided to guide her presentation along a line I could accept. I took a sip of wine and said, "April, I'm going to ask you the classic john question, and I'd appreciate an honest answer. How did a nice lady like you, a lady who keeps a clean house, a lady who is a mighty fine cook, become a prostitute?" Her eyes turned to smoke, and she gave me a disgusted look as she considered various lies that she'd used when asked the question in the past, selected one, discarded it, and decided to be honest. "Love and money," she said. "When I was sweet sixteen, I fell in love with a handsome, clever man, not unlike you, Ken. I ran away from home to be with him." Her eyes shined. "Gawd, I loved that man. I wanted to make him happy, so I did anything he wanted me to do." She frowned. "What I didn't know at the time was that he wanted me to make the money we needed to live on my back with my legs spread and wrapped around a variety of male backs, either that or on my knees slurping a variety of dicks. He had no abiding preference regarding the position I took as long as the money rolled in. Oh, he was clever about it. I told you he was clever. When you're sixteen and in love, the sex is... wonderful! I had a youthful, sexy body and a pretty face. I had men tell me I could've been a movie star, and Bob - the man's name was Robert Claridge - liked to show me off. He wanted me to dress sexy, so I dressed sexy, and exposing myself to other men turned him on." She took a ragged breath. "It wasn't long before Bob and I had a threesome with another man, and then, to reciprocate, a threesome with another woman." She glanced at Charlotte, expecting to see a shocked look. Charlotte wasn't shocked, so April continued. "Pretty soon, I guess you could say Bob and I were swingers, and you know what? I liked it. I liked sex - a lot. I liked a lot of sex with a lot of different partners, so one night when Bob told me that a man we'd just met wanted me badly enough that he'd pay $1,000 for the privilege, I said, 'Let's do it.' To be honest, I would've fucked him for nothing. That sounds like I turned myself out, and in a way I did, but unknown to me, Bob had been pimping for me for quite a while. Like I said, he was a clever man." She paused and looked me in the eye. "I became a whore, Ken, because I liked the sex and the money. You offered to pay me $3,000 a month to stop being a whore. In my late teens, I'd sometimes make that much or more in one night, which brings up the subject I asked you here to discuss. I wanna renegotiate our deal." Good. I could accept this approach to changing the deal. I nodded, giving her a silent green light to proceed. "$3,000 a month doesn't cut it. Oh, I can make do with that much." She snorted. "I could make do with less, and have, but if I tried, one of my friends would call and say she had a john on tap who wanted to live every man's dream - that's sex with two women in case you don't know - and this friend would say something like, 'He's willing to pay a grand. We'll split it.' And you know what? I just might do it. An extra five hundred tax-free dollars on a $3,000 a month budget for an hour's work might seem worth the risk." I can't believe it, cowboy, Colleen said silently. I think she's telling the truth. "Besides," April continued, "I played with the numbers, Ken. You said I'd have to pay taxes on what you paid me. Than means social security contributions as a self-employed person, as well as income tax, so I don't have a $3,000 a month budget. It's closer to $2,000, and that doesn't cut it for me." She grinned. "I'll get tempted, Ken. I surely will." I'd pulled the $3,000 a month out of thin air, so I wasn't married to the number, but I figured I could get something for the extra money she wanted. "What about therapy?" I asked. "I'll save you that money and pass on the therapy, Ken." "No, April, that's not what I want. You made a good argument about money versus temptation, and depending on the amount you want, I'm inclined to go along with your request because I want you to succeed. April, you need more than money to pull this off. You also need professional help. You're a street hooker. I can only imagine the horrors and mental anguish you've experienced. What about drugs? At one time or another, I'd guess you got hooked on something. For all I know, you still have a monkey on your back, and from what you just said, I'm pretty sure that you're still a sex addict. Also, don't overlook the violence that has been visited upon you. You've been cut. You handle makeup well, so the scar on your face is hardly noticeable, but it's there, and it's testimony of the violence in your past you need to shake off. But the real psychological issue you've got to overcome to succeed is your self-esteem. April, you're much more valuable in many way than a receptacle for sperm. Don't even try to convince me that you don't have self-esteem issues you need to deal with. Drugs, past or present. Your sex addiction. Violence. Self-esteem. All issues that require professional help. April, as I said, you approached the money issue honestly, which pleased me. I want you to approach the psychological issues just as honestly with an open mind." "I don't do drugs," she said. "I did at first, but not for a long time. No drugs, no booze beyond a drink of two now and then. What booze did to Charlotte's father cured me of booze. I don't even smoke cigarettes." I smiled. "I believe you, but you've still got to deal with the negative residue from the violence you've experienced, as well as your sex addiction. Even more important is your need to feel good about yourself as a person. A therapist can help you minimize these problems. Here's my new deal. My accountant will pay you enough for you to clear $3,000 a month after taxes, but only if you'll see a therapist who can help you with the issues we just discussed. I want you to succeed, April. I will pay the therapist." "I wanna clear $3,500 a month." "Will you work with a therapist, honestly and openly?" She hesitated. I waited. She nodded. I called Gordy and changed the deal to reflect our new arrangement. "What's for dessert?" I asked. April grinned. "Homemade apple pie and vanilla ice cream." ------- Cal Jones had to be happier. Tim Blount, Michelle Hendrix and Gerald Moody ordered cocktails. Sifu sipped hot tea. Colleen and I split a Pepsi. I'd asked my advisors to join me to meet with my Legal Beagles and P.R. Gal. Michelle was middle-aged and classy, a bottle redhead, buxom and a little brazen. I liked her take-no-prisoners attitude. Gerald Moody and Tim Blount looked enough alike to be brothers but weren't. They were big everywhere: tall, barrel-chested, large ham-like hands, potbellies. Their brilliant blue eyes were quick to appreciate humor, but were just as quick to flash hard and unyielding. Moody had brown hair; Blount's was lighter, approaching blond. They wore dark, custom-tailored suits; their shoes were shined, and their white shirts looked crisp. "Evidence," Tim said with his booming voice. "You've told us what you and your crew did. What evidence, other than Karsh's say so, do the police have that ties you to the surveillance and assault on Karsh's stronghold?" "A video of Sifu, Colleen and me driving by the compound," I said. "Colleen and I were disguised, though. Hall recognized Sifu as our driver when Hall followed and tried to abduct Colleen in Phoenix before we arrived in Vegas, and then he put two and two together to get four. I don't know if Colleen and I are actually recognizable in the video, or not." "Facial recognition software can look past the disguises," Moody said. "There's that," Blount said, but then shook his head. "Uh-uh, the police involved are corrupt. They're marching to Karsh's drumbeat; they aren't gathering evidence, and even if they are, a one-time drive-by is not surveillance, and certainly can't be labeled an assault. That is a public street in front of the stronghold. Right now, we can discount that video. What else, Morgan?" "The police arrested a tech minding some surveillance equipment we were using to monitor the stronghold," I said. "The surveillance firm we hired said that such events are part and parcel of the nature of their business. They brought in their own attorney. So far, Protect & Serve hasn't been mentioned." "Can the tech point at you and say, 'He ordered the surveillance?'" Blount asked. "No, I've never met the man." "What else?" Blount said. "That's it." "Hardly," Moody said. "You have thirteen men incarcerated in your own jail. These men can point at you and say, 'He did it.'" "True," Blount said, "But the police don't have access to these men. Right now, the police don't have shit, Jerry." "What about the brouhaha at the airport?" Moody said. "You were shot, Morgan. You bled. The police can tie you to that event with your DNA." "True, if the police have tied that event to the surveillance and assault on the stronghold," I said. "I seriously doubt Karsh's tame cops would connect those events if Karsh didn't tell them about the connection, and even if Karsh told them, they wouldn't include the airport event as part of the justification for issuing my arrest warrant. Remember, Karsh's men used automatic weapons. The collateral damage at the airport came from automatic weapons, not from my weapon. I fired my pistol twice. The first bullet struck an assailant's vest. The second struck the assailant's head." "There were two assailants," Moody said. "I killed the other man," Colleen said. "One shot - a headshot." Moody's eyes widened. Colleen blushed. "He was trying to kill Morgan. I'm his sidekick and mate. I couldn't let that happen." Michelle chuckled. Blount laughed. She'll do, Blount thought. "The bellhop at the hotel when you killed that assassin saw you," Moody said. "I was disguised. He saw me only fleetingly, and the description he gave the police and reported by the media didn't come close to describing me. I left no other evidence at that crime scene," I said. "And before you ask, we wore ski masks when we attacked and took the four bodyguards and driver, and I wasn't present for the assault when we took the two gate guards and one of my men turned out the lights and shut off the water at the stronghold." "So, the long and short of it is the police don't have shit, Jerry," Blount said. Jerry nodded. "I'll confront the prosecutor handling the case tomorrow morning." Michelle said, "Let's talk about the media. What do you have that I can use to turn the negative spotlight away from you onto Karsh and the corrupt cops?" I grinned and handed her five files. "The two wounded bodyguards and the groundskeeper in the hospital are wanted men. They're out of prison on parole, but they broke parole, so warrants were issued for their arrests. The other two files are dossiers on the cook and housekeeper. These women are ex-cons, and arrest warrants were issued in their names for the same reason as the bodyguards and groundskeeper. Why is Karsh hiring wanted men and women, and why are the police protecting them instead of arresting them?" Michelle chortled. "That'll be good for a start." I said, "Right now, we can't divulge other evidence - like a recording of a telephone conversation between Karsh and a Lieutenant Delgado with the LVPD. Delgado is one of Karsh's tame cops. We can't release this tape yet because it proves that we had Karsh's stronghold under surveillance. At the right time, though, we can give you that evidence and more. I believe we've amassed enough evidence to prove that Karsh is an agent for a group of international assassins. Two of those assassins are incarcerated at P&S's Gitmo. This is why I need an honest federal cop who will understand that I've been acting in self-defense, someone with enough authority who will look past my surveillance and assault on Karsh's compound, take possession of the wanted men at Gitmo, investigate the corruption in the LVPD, and arrest Karsh and his tame cops." Moody said, "You don't need to go federal to get that done, Morgan. The right State of Nevada cop would be just as effective as the FBI. No, make that more effective. From my observation, the FBI is a nothing but a humongous bureaucracy designed for one purpose, and that's to protect the FBI." Moody grinned. "What's more, I think I know the perfect state cop for the job." "Well, hell, Jerry, give him a call," Blount said. Moody nodded and said, "Tomorrow, after I deal with the Assistant District Attorney handling Morgan's case." ------- Who hired you to kill Morgan? I said in Karsh's mind, my projected thought purposely flat and unemotional. I was propped up against the headboard of the bed in my suite at the mansion. Colleen held my hand. I let the question linger without follow up. Would Karsh believe he'd asked himself the question? Words in a mind had no tonal quality. Sometimes inflection was present, but as adept as I was at juggling the thoughts of others, with the exception of Colleen and Sifu, I could rarely determine the source of a thought unless I'd purposefully made a connection with a specific person. Dumb question. Glen Brogan, of course, Karsh thought. My heart hammered in my chest. Finally! Finally I knew my enemy! I tried. I tried as hard as I've ever tried to remember anything, but the name, Glen Brogan, prompted no new memories. I groaned with frustration. Colleen squeezed my hand, a gesture of sympathy. I waited. I'd given Karsh's mind a direction. Would his thoughts travel down the path I'd suggested? Morgan. A simple job, Glen said. Hah! Assassinating the President of the United States would have been easier. I waited. With friends like Glen, I don't need any enemies. Ruined! I'm ruined. Seconds later: My boys. Where are my boys? Have they abandoned me? Leg hurts. Leg's gone. Phantom pain. I waited through another pause. Linda. What is she doing here? It's dangerous for you to visit, baby girl, but I'm glad you did... Hurts. Phantom pain. Have you spoken with Nick and Joel?... Glen's ranch, huh... Good. I'm happy they're safe. What is she doing? No! Why!... Not Glen?... How could she? I'm her... My connection faded. I felt Joseph Karsh die. ------- Robyn, it's Morgan. Can you talk? I asked silently. For convenience's sake, I'd altered our agreement so I could connect with Robyn or Ruben to ask if I could connect. That's sounds confusing, I know, and the request for the change confused them at first, but after I'd connected a few times in this way, they understood why I wanted to make the change and went along with the method. Sure. What's up? Robyn said. I heard a silent mumbled curse. What's the problem? My goldurned laptop is acting up. Waddaya need? I have my enemy's name. It's Glen Brogan. I don't have his location, but I think he lives on a ranch. Try the State of Nevada first. If you don't find him in Nevada, move to neighboring states. Will do. It might be a while, though. My computer's got a virus I need to track down and eliminate before I can do any searches. In the meantime, if you uncover any other info on Brogan, get back to me. I've just given you all the information on Glen Brogan I'll get from Karsh. Karsh is dead, Robyn. Dead! Yeah, his adopted daughter, Linda, just murdered him in his hospital bed. After I cut my connection with Robyn, I reviewed what I'd learned while in Karsh's mind. Nick and Joel were with Brogan on his ranch. Linda had spoken with her brothers sometime during the day, and she'd arrived at the hospital to murder her father, and his murder wasn't a crime of passion. It was cold-blooded and premeditated. Why? I remembered her anguished cry when I wounded Karsh. "Daddy!" she'd screamed and, putting herself at risk, had rushed to pull him out of harm's way. That reaction didn't fit the demeanor and psychological makeup of the cold-blooded woman who had just walked into her daddy's hospital room and killed him without a qualm. What changed her attitude from one event to the other? Did my enemy cause the change? Did Brogan order Linda to kill her father? Order? No, that would imply Brogan somehow controlled her, which to my mind wasn't likely. Maybe he hired her. Assassins could be dispassionate when it came to their professional assignments. Hmm, perhaps Brogan was holding Nick and Joel hostage, and Linda killed her father to gain their release. No, that didn't make sense, either. Karsh had said he was happy his sons were safe at Brogan's ranch. I needed more information, and I didn't know where to look. Argh. Memory loss is a trial. Tomorrow, I'd listen to our recording of Linda's fatal visit to her adopted father's hospital room, and when I heard the name, Glen, I'd pretend to remember Glen's last name. Then I'd change Operation Nemesis to Operation Brogan and take the battle to Brogan, wherever he was. Memory loss is a trial, but telepathy often compensates, not completely, but sometimes enough. ------- I woke up early. It was still dark outside, so I eased from the bed so I wouldn't rouse Colleen. While I went through my morning rituals, I cast my mind out and about to check on those I cared for. Gordy and Maggie were asleep. Jenny, too. On the east coast, Mark and Jim were awake and doing their jobs, Dan Green and John Bucher, as well. They'd be flying to South America today, if the schedule hadn't changed. Corny was asleep. Sifu was rousing. Oops. I jumped out of his mind. Maria was going down on him. Gary Hoyt was speaking with the gate guards. I liked Hoyt. He was a good man. Ruben and Robyn were still asleep, as were Jasper and Horace. Dean was still in bed, but he was awake, and he wasn't alone. A woman I couldn't connect with was with him. They were having a grand time. Heather was awake, and her thoughts made me grin. Jasper would soon awaken to Heather's wake-up blow job. Yep. I sensed his groan of pleasure. He was coming around. Jeez, Jasper. You could sleep through an atomic blast, Heather said, and from Jasper's thoughts I figured Heather climbed aboard rather than returning to her oral ministrations. Tim and Michelle were asleep. Wanda... oops. Wanda and Claire Finder were having a grand time, too. Leo Nelson and Roy Holbert were on duty, and they were talking. Something's bothering you, Roy, Leo said. Wanna talk about it? Humph, maybe. Yeah, I do, Roy said. Frankly, Leo, I don't like this assignment. I sensed Leo's cynical laugh. It's not normal, that's for sure. I can't say I enjoy being a prison guard, either. If Morgan asks, will you take on Protect & Serve as your agent? Yes. How about you? No way. I don't fit Protect & Serve's culture. I believe in the rule of law. Morgan doesn't. I don't know how many laws he's broken since my arrival, but it's been a bunch. Ah, I think I understand now, Leo said. Ruben recruited me. I admire and respect him, so when he called, I said yes, but he backed me off and described the job in detail, and then told me about Morgan, so I knew precisely what I'd face here and the kind of man I'd be working for. Who recruited you, Roy? Maria. I sensed a sigh. She wasn't as forthcoming, or I'd have passed. I'm a protector, a good one, and until this assignment, I hadn't stepped over the line from legal to illegal. Holding those men in cages is against the law, and... They're bad dudes, Roy. I know, but... ah, hell, Leo, I'm just not comfortable with what's happening. You're in charge here, so I'll tell you first, and then I'll inform Maria. This is my last shift. I've never quit an assignment, but I'm quitting this one. I'm sorry. I know I'll be leaving you short-handed, but I can't stay on this job and look at myself in the mirror with a clear conscience. Pussy, Leo thought. A holier-than-thou asshole. We're the good guys, Roy. I know that, too. I'm not saying you're wrong for staying. I'm saying I can't. That's all. Okay, I understand. I'll let Morgan know. Protect & Serve's culture. When Roy used those words, he made me think. Every organization exhibits a culture that usually reflects, in great part, the attitudes and belief systems of its founder. I'd started Protect & Serve under trying circumstances. I was in a battle for my life, and the situation was rubbing off on the organization's culture. Was that good or bad? Yes, I broke laws. When someone attacks me, I don't call 911. I defend myself or counterattack, and doing either almost always breaks laws because there are many laws on the books whose only purpose is to force the citizenry to call upon the authorities for protection. If a thief breaks into your home and you shoot him, he'd better be inside your home with your valuables clutched in one dead hand and a gun in the other, or the authorities will arrest you for manslaughter. Even if you're not arrested, the bad guy's family can and will sue for damages in a civil suit and win more often than not. Nowadays it's almost fruitless to use self-defense to justify a reaction to an assault. If I'd called upon the authorities to protect me, I'd be dead by now. I protect myself because I can do a better job of it than the authorities. They are reactive. I'm proactive. They're also shackled with laws designed to protect the innocent, and that is as it should be. I'm subject to those same laws, but I refuse to be shackled by them, and as far as I'm concerned, that is as it should be, too. We're the good guys, Leo told Roy, and that said it all for me. I'd committed my life to protect the good guys from the bad dudes, another Leo label, and in the process I had broken laws in the past and would break some laws in the future. If some good men like Roy weren't comfortable with that, then they didn't fit Protect & Serve's culture. I wouldn't make an effort to change Roy Holbert's mind. Nope. Starting the organization under the current trying circumstances and letting the situation affect the organization's culture wasn't a mistake. It was a good thing. I did, however, make a mental note to discuss the issue with my advisors. ------- Sifu joined me at daybreak, and under a pink sky we sparred with cudgels. Before we finished we drew a crowd. I decided to quit worrying about showing off and just be myself. To cool off, Sifu and I joined the crowd to do some dancing in slow motion. Maria broke away from the group tai chi session to take a call. When she finished, she was visibly upset, so I walked away to speak with her. "Roy's quitting," she said. "I should go to Gitmo and talk to him." I shook my head. "Let him go, Maria. He hasn't been happy here. You were right about Dan. He fit. Roy doesn't." "He's leaving today, this afternoon, Morgan." "Let him go. You or Hoyt can help out at Gitmo at mealtimes. Otherwise, Leo, Claire and Wanda can handle what needs done there." I remembered my discussion about protectors with Maria. She'd been insightful and helpful. "Let's take another walk. I want to talk about Protect & Serve's culture some more." She cocked her head and smiled. "Culture, huh?" "Yeah. Every organization has a culture, even a budding startup like Protect & Serve." She walked away with me, and we talked. I did most of the talking. I told her how I felt about the rule of law and how my belief systems affected the business culture of the company I was creating. Her comments and thoughts told me, for the most part, that she agreed with me. "Before I decided to turn Protect & Serve into an organization, I gathered men and women around me to support my effort to protect and serve," I said. "Other than my personal attitudes and beliefs, the culture started with these men and women. Look at Dean Woodhouse. He's a good man, but he'll break the law if we need weapons beyond the letter of the law. Horace is a chauvinist, but that has little to do with his surveillance business. As you said, he's very good at what he does, and on almost every job I give him, he breaks the law. Jasper isn't any different than Dean or Horace. I have a computer whiz on call, and a documents specialist. I can't remember their names, but when I do, I'm sure I'll discover that they fit the culture I created when I ran my one-man band. I can go on and on, but you get the picture." "Are you saying Protect & Serve's intent is to break the law?" she asked. "Not at all. I'm saying Protect & Serve will protect its principals, will release captives from hostage situations, will locate and retrieve missing children, whatever we're hired to do by the good guys, and in the process, if a law gets in the way, we'll bend it or break it if no other avenue to achieving our goals is available to us. Also, we won't work for the bad guys." "A means to an end?" "Yes, within reason. Maria, there's a lot of laws we will not break. We won't be assassins, for example." She nodded and said, "I understand and appreciate the laws you'll bend and break, and the laws you won't break, Morgan." "Roy doesn't. He's uncomfortable, and there's nothing you can say that would make him feel comfortable. That he's uncomfortable with Protect & Serve's culture doesn't make him wrong, either. He just doesn't fit." "I feel bad because I recruited him." "Don't, but in the future, spell out our culture to prospective recruits." She nodded. "That's for sure. I do need to talk to Roy, though. We're friends. I need to set things right between us. He won't, and if I don't, he'll feel like he let me down, which he hasn't. Hoyt will cover for me here for an hour while I run out to Gitmo. Okay?" "Sure." ------- Before driving to the mansion that morning, Moody spoke with the prosecutor assigned to my case and demanded to see the evidence the police had gathered against me. He reviewed the file, laughed out loud, and told the prosecutor to drop the charges, that there was no evidence against me except the word of a dead man. The prosecutor dropped the charges, but suggested that the issue wasn't dead, that the police were looking at me for Karsh's murder. Shortly after Moody arrived at the mansion, he called the State of Nevada's Criminal Investigation Division in Carson City and talked to Captain Keith Johnson. He outlined Karsh's all out effort to kill me, and without being specific, told him I'd protected myself, and asked if Johnson would be sympathetic to working with me. Moody looked up from the phone and said, "He wants to speak with you, Morgan." I took the phone. "This is Morgan." "Captain Keith Johnson, here. Mr. Moody tells me you have a problem with the LVPD." "That's not completely accurate. I have a deep and abiding appreciation for those who protect and serve. I do have a problem with some LVPD officers who, I can only assume, took bribes to assist a master assassin besmirch my reputation and issue an arrest warrant in my name. By the way, those charges were dropped this morning for lack of evidence." "Can you name names?" "One name, yes. A Lieutenant Delgado. We also suspect the prosecutor handling the case is involved. Captain Johnson, I listened to Mr. Moody's side of the conversation that he just had with you. He was being... well, circumspect. Allow me to be more forthcoming. Joseph Karsh was a master assassin and an agent for a group of international assassins, and someone hired Karsh to kill me. Not long ago, I woke up in a hospital here in Las Vegas. I'd been in a coma following brain surgery, and I woke up with no memories. Shortly after I was released from the hospital, Karsh and his men came at me again, or at least I assume he was responsible for the near-death experience that put me in the hospital in the first place, and he's been dogged in his efforts to kill me since. I went into hiding, and that worked until his men located me again. Fortunately while in hiding, I recovered some of my memories. I own and operate a professional protection agency, so I had the wherewithal to protect myself, but I didn't learn Karsh was the master assassin behind the attempts on my life until very recently." "Do you have proof of these allegations beyond your word, Mr. Morgan?" "Yes, not proof admissible in a court of law, but I have proof. In fact, I've incarcerated two of his assassins." I waited. His response to my last statement was critical. "Incarcerated?" he said. "Yes. Karsh called some of his assassins and ordered them to fly into Vegas to help him kill me. I met them as they arrived and interrogated them. They talked. I believe they gave me enough information for the authorities to open an investigation to fill in the blanks, and then arrest and convict them of some of their crimes. I can't go to the LVPD for the reasons we just discussed. I'd be pleased if you'd take them off my hands." I waited again. "Can they or you give me the names of any of Karsh's other assassins?" "Yes. One of the assassins is a magpie. He's difficult to shut up when he gets on a roll. Are you interested?" "Yes, definitely." "Good. I also have four of Karsh's bodyguards. They're wanted by the law. They're ex-cons who ignored the conditions of their parole. I made a citizen's arrest." He chuckled. "And Karsh's driver. He likes to talk, too." "These men, Mr. Morgan, are they... ah, healthy?" "Yes. They haven't been tortured, and we've fed them well. The guards I hired to watch them ate the same food. I didn't hear any complaints from the guards, and I'm told a few of them are picky eaters. You might want to hose down the bodyguards and assassins before you put them on a prison bus, though." That made him laugh. "All right. I'm tied up this morning, Mr. Morgan, but I can fly to Vegas this afternoon." "Good. My people and I will put together all the evidence we've gathered, the tapes and videos, and any transcripts we've made. We'll turn this evidence over to you at the same time you take those thugs off my hands. Also, we'll give you what we have on Lieutenant Delgado. By the way, two of Karsh's bodyguards and his groundskeeper are in the hospital. They're wanted men, as well, and you should check out his cook and housekeeper, if they're still around. They broke parole, too." Johnson chuckled again. "Mr. Morgan, I'm looking forward to meeting you." "Likewise, Captain Johnson." After hanging up, I called Horace and told him what was happening. "Work with Moody and Michelle to put together what they want to turn over to Captain Johnson. I'm heading out to Gitmo to put the fear of God in the gate guards and release them." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blount shaking his head. "Hold a second, Horace." I turned to Blount. "Don't release the gate guards here in Vegas," Blount said. "Why?" He pushed out a finger from his meaty hand. "One, Karsh's kids." He added a second finger to his first. "Two, Karsh's tame cops." He added a third. "Three, timing. In a few days, wherever they are won't matter. Today and tomorrow, maybe the next, their proximity could matter a lot." I nodded, finished my call with Horace and called my travel agent. "Eileen, I need a chartered aircraft to haul six prisoners to a remote area. I don't want them put in harm's way, but make it difficult for them to return to Vegas for a few days. Three protectors will fly with them as guards and will return here on the aircraft after dropping off the prisoners." "When?" "This afternoon. Early afternoon." "Morgan," Blount said to get my attention. "Drop them off in Nevada. Don't cross state lines, and tell Eileen to stay off any Indian reservations." "Ah," I said. "The FBI?" "You've got it," Blount said. I passed along Blount's instructions. "I'll call you back," Eileen said. "Wanna see Protect & Serve's Gitmo, Tim?" Blount nodded and grinned. ------- En route to Gitmo, my cell phone rang. "I found Brogan," Robyn said. "He owns and lives on the G-Bar-B Ranch near Ely, Nevada." "How near?" "Fifty miles, thereabouts." "Tell me about the ranch." "It's a little over 36,000 acres plus grazing rights from the Bureau of Land Management and the Nevada Department of Wildlife." "Good job, Robyn. We'll need maps, all types, and aerial photographs, whatever you can dig up, and hire someone to fly over the ranch today and take current photos. Details, Robyn. You know the drill." "Gotcha, boss." After I hung up, Blount asked, "What was that about?" "We just located the man who hired Karsh to kill me. Glen Brogan's his name. He owns a ranch near Ely, Nevada." "Ely, huh? Call Eileen and tell her to keep those gate guards away from Ely." "Good idea," I said and called Eileen to pass on Blount's suggestion. "No problem, darlin'. We'll be dumpin' them in Tonapah. That's right smack dab in the middle of nowhere. I chartered a little aircraft that seats ten plus the pilot and copilot, and found a dirt strip about five miles out of Tonapah long enough to land and take off. There is one small problem. Unless those boys have some money, darlin', they could be in harm's way. They'll need a room and food and water for a few days." "How much?" "No need to be generous. A hundred dollars each oughta do it." I laughed. "That's cheaper than feeding them for a few days." We discussed the details and timing for the flight, and then I told her we'd soon be moving from Vegas to Ely. She said, "Ely's not much of a town, more than Tonapah, less than Elko, and Elko is one of the armpits of this world. It'll be difficult to be inconspicuous in Ely." "How about something out of town like a dude or guest ranch? And stay away from G-Bar-B Ranch. That's our target." "Okay. Lemmee check, darlin'. I'll get back with you." ------- Roy Holbert had not yet left Gitmo when we arrived. He gave me a sheepish look and returned to the room he'd shared with John Bucher before I placed Bucher on an assignment with Dan Green. After I informed Leo about the method and the schedule to release the gate guards, I went looking for Roy. He let me into his room and motioned me to take a chair. He sat on the edge of the bed. I said, "Maria tells me your leaving us today, Roy." "Yes. Your outfit, it's... ah, not for me, Morgan." "I understand. Did Maria meet with you this morning?" "Yes." Darn, this is hard, he thought. "Good." I wasn't sure what to say to him. I wouldn't try to justify Protect & Serve's culture, but I didn't want him to leave completely disillusioned with my organization. He said, "I know I'm leaving you short-handed, but..." Ah, an opening, a direction to take. "No problem, Roy," I said interrupting him. "As a matter of fact, we'll be releasing the gate guards this afternoon, and tomorrow or the day after, the State of Nevada Criminal Investigation Division will take the remaining seven prisoners into their custody." He looked shocked. How did he pull that off? I ignored his thought and said, "I knocked on your door to thank you for doing a good job for me on an admittedly crappy assignment and to tell you that I don't have any hard feelings. I hope you feel the same way." He nodded. I stood up and pushed out my hand. He took it. "I wish you the very best in your career, Roy. If you ever get in a jam and need my kind of help, call me. I owe you one." He swallowed and nodded again, and I left the room. "This place is amazing," Blount said when I joined him in the guard's lounge. "You ought to keep it for future use." "Hmm. I've got to admit that keeping it had not crossed my mind. I had to lease it for a year, so it's mine for a year whether I use it or not. We'll see." "Do the prisoners know its location?" Blount asked. "I don't... you know, I don't believe they do. When we brought them here, they were either blindfolded, unconscious or in the trunks of cars." "Keep it that way. You might have use for the facility again before you take down that Brogan fella and Karsh's kids." "Good idea. Leo, Jasper's lining up a prison bus to take the gate guards to the Henderson Airport. Before you put them in the bus, blindfold them, and then put the fear of God in them and add the wrath of Protect & Serve and me personally if they breathe a word of their captivity to anyone." I peeled off six $100 bills from my pocket. "And give each of them one of these. After taking such good care of them the last while, we don't want those boys starving or dying from thirst." Leo grinned. "Will do. I take it this assignment will end tomorrow or the day after." "Yes. When the next protection job comes my way, would you be interested in taking it on, Leo?" "I sure would." Claire and Wanda spoke up at the same time. Claire deferred to Wanda. She said, "Like Leo, Claire and I would like Protect & Serve and you to be our agent, Morgan." "That pleases me. Unfortunately, I don't have any jobs in the hopper right now, but protection assignments come my way frequently." "I'd take second chair on a recovery, Morgan," Leo said. "Check with Ruben. I think you'll find I'm qualified." "I will," I said. "I worked second chair with Heather once," Wanda said. "I'd jump at the chance to work with her again." "Was the job a runaway or an abduction?" I asked. "A runaway." "Okay. Claire, what about you?" I said. "Ah... I wouldn't be comfortable... ah, heck, Morgan, I'm a protector. That's what I do, what I like, all I want. Is that a problem?" I grinned. "Nope. Pure protection is Protect & Serve's backbone." I left Gitmo with three new operatives. I didn't have assignments for them, but I would, and soon. When I was a one-man band, I turned down protection assignments all the time. How about that? Another memory just surfaced. Rather than let them return to their respective homes, I decided to keep them on the clock until I surveyed the Brogan stronghold. ------- Captain Keith Johnson arrived at the mansion late that afternoon. I figured he wouldn't take custody of the remaining prisoners at Gitmo until the following day. I was wrong. As Moody started to make introductions, Johnson said, "First things first. Let's go take a look at those prisoners." Colleen, I said silently. Call Leo and tell him to get the prisoners dressed. She nodded, stepped back, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her dial her cell phone. "Which of you is Morgan?" Johnson inquired. I stepped forward. "I'm Morgan." I saw recognition in his eyes, and then his lips curled with a cynical smile when he thought, Morgan, hell. That's Mr. Bart's boy, Luke Upton. I took a chance and said, "I believe we've already met, Captain." When and where I had no clue, but... His smile broadened. "That we have, Morgan. That we have. Let's go see your prisoners." "All right. Sifu, please drive us. Ruben, join the captain and me. Jasper, please drive Tim, Jerry and Michelle. Tim, bring the files with you that we put together to turn over to the captain." Decisive cuss, Johnson thought. Which shouldn't be surprising, not after being trained by Mr. Bart. Sifu, Ruben, Colleen, Captain Johnson knows me from my youth in Reno. He knew Mr. Bart, refers to the man in that fashion, and knows Mr. Bart trained me. He also knows my real name. If this doesn't go well, I'm in a world of hurt, I thought without passing on the thought to anyone. Ruben sat in front with Sifu, and I climbed in the back with Johnson. The state cop was a large man, six-two, I guessed. I put his age at fifty to fifty-five. He had a thick mop of curly, dirty-blond hair, a square chin punctuated by a deep dimple, a large nose and large dark, brooding eyes. He was in very good shape for his age. Johnson fixed his eyes on mine and said, "Have you done any shooting at Hogan's Alley lately?" The question produced a deluge of memories, not the least of which was the fact that Keith Johnson had been my shooting coach in my youth. Mr. Bart's efforts, some serious arm-twisting and favor trading, and Keith's recommendation had given me an opportunity for training at the FBI Academy, specifically from the Practical Applications Unit. Keith had referenced the shoot/no-shoot decisions at Hogan's Alley, the FBI Academy's complex that offers a realistic, urban, practical problem training area. While at the Academy, I'd also been trained by TEVOC, or Tactical Emergency Vehicle Operators Course Program. Memories. Ya gotta love 'em. "No, not recently. Ruben, Sifu, the captain was my shooting coach when I was a lad." Sifu chuckled. Ruben's jaw dropped. "Best student I ever had," Johnson said. "That was a good thing you did for Mr. Bart in his last years, Lu... ah, Morgan." He chuckled. "Sorry. I know a pseudonym is important in your business." "Thanks, Captain." "Ah, hell, Morgan, call me Keith." "All right. Keith, believe it or not, I didn't remember you until I saw you. I'm suffering from retrograde amnesia." I went on to detail the course of my amnesia, when it started and some of the memories I'd retrieved. "Do you remember Marna?" I asked. "Yes." "Joe Karsh's adopted son, Joel Hall, murdered her." "Son of a bitch!" he hissed through his teeth. "She was a good woman." Sifu stopped in front of the overhead door at Gitmo and honked. A few seconds later, the door went up and we drove in. "Jesus!" Johnson said. "Would you look at that!" "We call this facility Protect & Serve's Gitmo," I said with a chuckle. "The immigration folks put it together, used it for a while, and then abandoned it." Johnson walked around the cages. "Gitmo," he said and snorted a laugh. "Appropriate, though." I noticed Leo, Claire and Wanda had managed to get the prisoners dressed. Johnson flipped open a cell phone and dialed. "Lieutenant, belay the prison bus, and we won't need the ambulance or paramedics. The prisoners have been well cared for." He listened and hung up. "Let's see the rest of the facility." We showed him around. "Nice setup, better than the one I planned to use. What did you do about food?" "The food was catered," I said. "What was the average price per meal?" "I don't know, but I can find out." I called Gordy. He checked and gave me a number. I gave it to Johnson. "Cheaper than what I'd pay. You, what's your name?" he said. "Leo Nelson." "How's the food been here?" "Good. Home-made, not the frozen-and-heated-up junk." "What's your arrangement with this place, Morgan? Do you own it, rent it? What?" "A one year lease." "How much?" I told him. "How about subleasing it to the State of Nevada for what you're paying?" "No problem, except we might have an occasion to use it again over the next week or so." Johnson's expression hardened. "I thought your war with Karsh had ended." "It has, but I've still gotta deal with his subhuman adopted children and the man who hired him." "We'll hash that issue out later. Will you sublease this place, or not?" "Yes." "The fucking paper work will take months, and I want to take possession tonight." "Fine by me." "I'll draw up a one-page agreement," Jerry Moody said. "What about the furniture and other personal property?" "I'll throw the furniture in," I said. "Great," Johnson said and dialed his cell phone again. "Lieutenant, Morgan's facility is better than ours; the food's home-made and cheaper, and Morgan agreed to sublease the place to the state... I know, but he agreed to let us take possession tonight... Yeah, a few things. The prisoners are wearing street clothes. Bring some jumpers with you: four extra, extra large, one extra large and two medium. We'll need six guards, two per shift... No, there are two interrogation rooms, and they're already wired for video and sound... No need. You won't believe the guard facilities: bedrooms, a full bath and a kitchen... Yeah, a kitchen. Can you believe it?" He listened and looked up at me. "What's the address here?" I told him. He passed it on to his lieutenant and ended the call. "We'll take custody officially in about an hour. In the meantime, let's take a look at those files." ------- We sat in the great room at the mansion with our eyes glued to the television. It was standing room only. Colleen and I had the center seats - the sofa facing the TV. Michelle sat crowded next to me, and Blount's big behind was parked next to Colleen. Ruben and Robyn stood behind Colleen and Blount, and Heather and Maria sat on the floor in front of us. Always dignified, Sifu occupied an overstuffed chair with an oblique angle to the TV. Moody and Jasper stood behind Michelle and me. Our no-alcohol stint had ended. I took a healthy drink from my cocktail glass and felt straight scotch warm me as it marched down my gullet like a Sousa melody. "Kate," Tom Barrington, the television news anchor, said, "I understand the ongoing Karsh/Morgan saga took some interesting twists and turns today." "It certainly did, Tom," Kate Knight, Barrington's co-anchor, said. "The D.A.'s office dropped all charges against Morgan for lack of evidence, and our own Myra Hollman can guide us through some other startling twists and turns." The television screen split with the anchors on one side and a pretty blonde on the other. "Myra, it appears that Morgan might not be as villainous as the Las Vegas Police Department portrayed him." "That's right, Kate. Today, I uncovered some startling facts. The bodyguards and the groundskeeper wounded during the siege at Mr. Karsh's estate aren't the innocents we believed." A booking photograph of one the guards replaced the anchor side of the split screen. Myra named the man and added, "He's a wanted man, Kate, an ex-convict who broke parole. I spoke with the authorities in California to verify this information." She went on to describe the bodyguard's crimes, and then his ugly mug was replaced with a booking photograph of the other bodyguard in the hospital. Myra detailed his crimes, as well, and finished her report with a brief account of the groundskeeper's crimes." "I checked just before airtime, Kate. These men have not been arrested. The Las Vegas Police Department is still protecting them from the perhaps not so villainous Mr. Morgan." "That is astonishing, Myra," Tom Barrington said. The news anchors were once again occupying half the screen. "It certainly is," Kate said and looked directly at the camera. "Why did Mr. Joseph Karsh employ known felons?" "And why," Tom asked the audience, "is the Las Vegas Police Department protecting wanted felons instead of arresting them?" "If you think these shocking developments mark an end to this story, think again," Kate said. "Tune in to Channel Five at ten for more startling revelations about the Karsh/Morgan saga." "Now, that's more like it," I muttered. Colleen squeezed my hand and leaned to give me a kiss on the cheek. I don't know who started the applause, but it was appropriate, and not just for Michelle. The applause was for all of us, everyone in the room. ------- When I walked out of the bathroom, Colleen was on the bed. She was gloriously naked, and her fingers were busy between her silky legs. She looked at me with eyes hooded with lust, removed a hand from her pussy and gave me the come-hither gesture with a finger. I smiled when she sucked that finger into her mouth. "Hmm. I taste good," she said, her voice soft but teasing. "Dim the lights, baby. Leave just enough so we can see each other." I spun the dimmer switch, and the harsh light faded to a soft glow. Before moving onto the bed, I pushed my boxers down and kicked them off. I was erect. As I knelt on the bed, her hand reached out and wrapped my erection. Her touch was electrifying. I remained kneeling as her hand stroked my length. We gazed lovingly into each other's eyes. "You are a very sexy man, Morgan." "How about Luke Upton? Do you consider him sexy, too?" "Sexier, but in a different way." "Explain," I said as I leaned forward and sucked a nipple into my mouth. It was as hard as a pearl. She'd been playing with it while I was brushing my teeth. "As Morgan, you are a dangerous man. As Luke, you are a businessman." She released my cock, and I reclined next to her. She kissed me, took my hand and pressed it to her cunt. "I'm surprised you find the businessman sexier than the dangerous man." "That surprised me, too, until I thought about it. When the other women here watch you spar with Sifu, their panties get wet. Mine, too. But when I watch you making Protect & Serve grow and become successful, I get sopping. Wanna know why?" My fingers spread her labia. Her clit was swollen and fully retracted from its hood. "Tell me," I said and kissed the side of her neck. Her hand returned to my hard-on. "Because you're creating an organization so you can be with me." She sucked in air through tight lips when my lips wrapped the nipple I'd ignored earlier. I pushed a finger inside her. Her interior muscles clamped around its length and quivered. "Make love with me, Luke," she whispered in my ear. "Make us one." I moved over her and entered her. The coupling was slow and tender. Love coincided with exquisite sensations that shuddered through us in waves. We moved to the edge together and fell into the orgasmic abyss as one. As we cuddled in the afterglow, temporarily sated and fully relaxed, she said, "When will we leave the mansion?" "Tomorrow, perhaps the day after - as soon as more pieces for the final clash with my nemesis come together." "Good. I'll have time to introduce my mother to her therapist. Maggie tracked down the perfect person. The therapist is an ex-hooker, so she won't put up with Mom's bullshit." I laughed. "I bought some French language tapes today on the Internet. Mom will get them in a couple of days. I made them a gift from you, lover. Do you mind?" "Not at all." She squirmed closer to me. "Without lingering and making a voyeur of yourself, check around and tell me who's in bed with whom." My, my, you are the curious one, I said silently. Yes, I'm curious, but if I'm to advise you properly, I need to know the dynamics at play between your people. Bullshit. You want to know because you're nosy, and knowing turns you on. She giggled. That, too. Ruben and Robyn, I said without checking on them, and then I quickly shifted the extended tendril from my mind to touch others in the mansion. I'd expected no surprises. Hah! Heather and Gary Hoyt. They're in the security room, I think. Leo Nelson, Claire Finder and Wanda. Leo's living every man's dream and loving it. Sifu and Maria. My, my, Tim is with Michelle and not for the first time, I gather. Jasper... I chuckled. Jasper just joined Heather and Gary in the security room. Is having two men at the same time every woman's dream? No, but it is a favorite fantasy of mine. Oh, do tell. My tour of the sexual shenanigans at play in the mansion combined with my sweet thing's sexy thoughts had given me another erection. I lifted her legs and slid under them, pushing my revived erection into her while I remained on my side. She was sopping wet, mostly from my semen, but her pussy clamped tightly around my length. I told you about the boy cocks I took on one after the other when I was a slut. Remember? Yes. I thrust into her slowly, savoring the sensations. Her fingers went to her wet cunt. I could feel them rubbing her clitoris. They bumped my cock from time to time. And I told you about my boyfriend, the one who cut and ran when he found out my mother was a whore. Yes. By then, I'd stopped being a slut - mostly. I relapsed once. My boyfriend had a friend, and one afternoon, one thing led to another, and I fucked them both - at the same time. The images her confession provoked were powerful and stimulating. My cock had to have stretched out another half-inch. Did you like that? I asked. Yeah. One of them fucked me while I sucked the other one, and then they switched. I've experienced your thoughts regarding that incident but at the time believed it was a fantasy. It was real, but I still fantasize about it sometimes. She giggled. Embellished considerably, I'm sure. Sexy memories should be embellished, I believe. My telling you about this one excited you, I noticed. Yeah. We're at the same place but for different reasons. I'm excited, but mostly because you're inside me, plus I've been rubbing myself. It's pleasant to mind-talk, get leisurely fucked, and masturbate at the same time. The reasons are not so different. Your confession excited me, but without your wet heat around me, the excitement would have flared and died. If I come again, will you come with me? Yes. Then do it, baby. Fuck me and fuck me and fuck me. Yeah. ------- Chapter 14 A protection assignment surfaced the next morning. A woman in Houston, Texas, feared for her life. Her husband had threatened her and had made one attempt to make good on his threats. The woman had left him for another woman and, at the moment, wasn't happy with the male of our species. She'd requested female protectors. "Although you said you wanted to hear about any possible protection assignments," Sherry said, "I almost blew this one off, but then remembered you had some chicas working for you now. If you take this job, tell your chicas to take care. The brother they'll be up against is mean clean through to the bone." With Ruben sitting by my side in a training capacity, I called the referral source, and then spoke with the principal. Her husband was a linebacker for the Houston Texans and had a history of violence not only with his estranged wife but also others. I called Claire and Wanda into my makeshift office and asked them two questions: one, did they want the assignment, and two, could they handle a three hundred pound behemoth with a violent temper? "Hell yes, I want the job, Morgan," Wanda said. "Regarding the man-mountain, a bullet knows no gender and could care less about the size of the assailant." I said, "What about you, Claire?" "I'm in. I've handled subhuman, misogynist sociopaths like this one before - alone." Ruben and I worked through the preliminaries, spoke with the principal again, plugged the support team into the contract, and talked to Gordy about the money. Two hours later, Protect & Serve had a new contract with a sizable retainer. I turned the contract over to Ruben to fine tune and manage, and sought out Michelle. I found her on the telephone. That woman lived on the phone. While I waited, I reflected back to the ten o'clock news last night when Myra had informed Channel Five's viewing audience about Karsh's housekeeper and cook, how these women were also wanted felons, recidivists who had defied the conditions of their paroles, how they'd suddenly disappeared under the radar, further embarrassing the LVPD. The tide was turning. The muck was starting to wash over Karsh and his thugs and tame cops, leaving me standing, mostly clean, on a littered sand beach. Would I hold the recently gained beachhead, or would I be washed back into the muck with Karsh? While Michelle talked on the phone, she handed me a newspaper. "Below the fold," she said to me with her hand over the mouthpiece. Why is the LVPD Protecting Wanted Felons? the headline read. I scanned the article. It repeated the salient facts Myra had announced on television the day before but added much more detail regarding the wanted men and women. The reporter also referenced Lieutenant George Delgado as the senior police officer handling the case. The reporter had tried to speak with Delgado but had received only the ubiquitous, "No comment." Michelle hung up and said, "Myra wants to interview you. I told her that wasn't in the cards." "You've got that right. Anonymity is necessary in my business." She chuckled. "Then why do you tend to make such good press? The media loves you, Morgan." "Argh! What are your plans for today?" "Unlike you, Captain Johnson isn't camera shy, so I sicced Myra on him, with his prior consent, of course. Channel Five will air her interview with him at five o'clock, instead of with you." She winked. "I believe he plans to announce Lieutenant George Delgado's arrest and hint about more arrests to come." I grinned and relaxed. "Michelle, late today or tomorrow, my crew and I will vacate the mansion. I'll leave you here to guide the stream of publicity in my favor." "Who's leaving and who's staying?" she asked. "You and Tim will stay, and Horace and Dean will move here from their hotel rooms. Ruben, Colleen, Heather, Maria, Gary and Leo will leave with me. Whether Robyn stays or leaves is still open to question. The armed guards at the gate, as well as the security personnel monitoring the video feed will stay, and I've instructed Gary to bring in two senior operatives from the security company who supplied the gate guards to manage the guards and further provide for your security. Because Karsh's kids are still on the loose, it's best to be prudent. Jasper has arranged for vehicles and drivers for you and the support staff to use after we leave, but Jasper and Sifu will leave with us." "Sounds workable," she said. ------- Captain Keith Johnson sat in my makeshift office at the mansion. He hadn't requested the meeting. He'd demanded it. "Contrary to what you believe, Morgan, this is not the Old West," he said with a stern voice and a manufactured self-righteous expression. "I've been in a battle for my life, Keith. If I hadn't stretched or bent a few laws, I'd be dead." He snorted derisively. "Stretched and bent hell! You smashed some of them to smithereens." He sighed. "You've put me in an untenable position. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. I should arrest you right now, but if I did, I'd be painted with the same brush the media is using on Karsh and his vile bunch. If I don't arrest you, I'll be breaking my steadfast commitment to the rule of law." "If you arrest me, I'm a dead man walking, and the vile bunch wins." He nodded. "There's that." His statement surprised me, and he noticed my surprise. He huffed a laugh and said, "You expected me to say that I could and would protect you. Right?" "Yes." "I could, but I'd have to isolate you at a secret place for an indefinite period, which would be cruel and unusual punishment. Your lawyer would get you cut loose. The rock and the hard place, that's what I'm between." "Over the years, Keith, the rule of law has been subverted. We're a compassionate people. We believe the innocent should be protected. That's a good thing. But in our quest to protect the innocent, we've created laws that also protect the guilty. That's fine by me. What isn't fine by me are the laws that say I can't protect myself or those I care for, laws that demand that I must abrogate this responsibility to law enforcement officials, the very same authorities shackled by the laws that protect the guilty, an untenable position for victims. I'm a protector. That's what I am, what I do. If I can't protect myself, then I am nothing." "Some innocents died in your battle with Karsh." "I didn't kill them." "But the possibility was there." "I admit to that possibility. If I harm an innocent I should be prosecuted." He won't arrest me, I thought, but he wants me to back off and leave Brogan and Karsh's kids to him. I didn't come to that conclusion from experiencing his thoughts. His thoughts were difficult to follow. He was seriously conflicted. He knew I was on the right side of right and wrong, but I'd messed with the sanctity of the rule of law, which for him put me on the wrong side of right and wrong. I'd also denied his right to protect me and mine, a right he believed was his, not mine. His jumbled thoughts cleared, and he decided to hit me with a compromise, a compromise I could not accept. He said, "Tell me if I'm mistaken, but I think you know who hired Karsh to kill you and where he is." "You're not mistaken." "If you'll turn him over to me, I won't arrest you. I'll put on my Old West Sheriff's hat and tell you to get out of Dodge, which in this case is the State of Nevada." "I'd do just that, Keith, if I believed you could get the job done. You can't. You can't touch him." "Why not?" "Shackles. Probable cause, constitutional rights, reasonable doubt, rules of evidence." I paused. "Proof." "What gives you the right to run roughshod over these rights?" "My will to live. Karsh's kids have holed up with him. That won't last long. They'll come after me again, wherever I am, and they'll locate me, at which time, this fiasco will start all over again. They can't back off; I'm too dangerous to them to be left alive." "Why did he hire Karsh to kill you in the first place?" "I don't know. I know his name. I did some research to determine his whereabouts. That's it. My memories associated with his name remain elusive. Keith, I'll work with you on this, but I can't turn everything over to you and walk away." He sat back and pushed all the air from his lungs. "He's in Nevada?" "Yes." He shook his mop of dirty-blond hair. "I wish he wasn't." "Me, too. Discounting the rule of law, subverted or not, I consider you a friend. More importantly, you're an honest cop. You take your commitment to protect and serve seriously. In that, we're alike. We do, however, differ in the methods we'll use to achieve that end. You are an officer of the court and of the law and as such must abide by the letter of the law. I'm a private citizen who has made a personal commitment to protect the good guys from the bad guys. This case is a little different. In this case, I'm one of the good guys, and I'm protecting myself instead of someone else." I paused and looked Johnson in the eye. "Keith, you knew Mr. Bart. Until his mind took a permanent vacation, Mr. Bart and I discussed this issue at length. When he died, I had a choice to make, but the choice wasn't whether to protect and serve. That was a given. The choice was how I would protect and serve. One of the alternatives was the path you selected - to become an officer of the court and the rule of law. I chose a different path. Looking back, the path I chose was a given, too. I chose the path Mr. Bart wanted me to take. I became a protector, and as a protector I assume various roles. Sometimes I'm like a Secret Service Agent, but I protect private citizens from harm, not the President of the United States. I also pick and choose the citizens I protect. I won't protect bad guys. Sometimes, I become a Swat Team when I release hostages held by bad guys. Sometimes, I assume the role of an FBI Agent and extract kidnap victims from their abductors. Sometimes I'm a Police Detective when I search for and find missing persons. Because I do these things as a private citizen, and also because I'm very good at what I do, I piss off the members of the path I didn't choose. I'm not in their fraternity, your fraternity, Keith, so I'm labeled a vigilante. I chose the path I took because I refused to be shackled by all the laws you must and should obey. My guiding force is not the letter of the law. It's the spirit of the law. Yes, I know the name of the man who hired Karsh to kill me. If I gave you his name, with the restrictions placed on you by the rule of law, you couldn't touch him. I can and will. Work with me, Keith, or arrest me. Those are the only two choices you have." He arrested me. He recited the Miranda warning from memory and cuffed me. ------- Colleen, Captain Johnson just arrested me. Ask Tim to join me in my office. Arrested you! "What's his name?" Johnson asked as he started to march me out of my makeshift office. At that point, I could think of no valid reason to keep Brogan's name a secret. "Glen Brogan. He owns a ranch near Ely, Nevada." As thoughts go, Johnson's silent, sustained curses were loud and expressive, and his face mirrored his fury. "Turn around," he growled. I turned my back to him, and he removed the handcuffs. "I've been after that no-account son-of-a-bitch for years," he said. "You're right. I can't touch him." He gave me a hard look. "But you can. I'll work with you." Colleen, I've just been un-arrested. I sensed her sigh of relief. Do you still want Tim there? No. "Sit down, Captain Johnson," I said, motioning him toward a chair. I sat facing him. "Please, tell me what you know about Glen Brogan." We talked for an hour, and what Johnson told me about Glen Brogan jerked memories from sinister, dark places in my mind where I'd hidden them. They came forth from the dark screaming and kicking like thwarted children throwing a fit. For the first time, I considered the possibility that my memory loss following surgery had not been caused by physical trauma. Had I merely sequestered the painful memories to purposefully avoid dealing with them? Had I been in denial? The possibility was very real. My Brogan memories were nearly the last memories to surface to a place where they could be retrieved, and even with what Johnson told me about him, combined with the events and facts I remembered, I intuitively felt that I hadn't retrieved all my memories related to that sick and perverted miserable excuse of a human being. Glen Brogan trafficked in children. Also for the first time, I understood the connection between Karsh and Brogan. It wasn't merely a principal/agent/assassin relationship. Karsh trafficked in children, too. He'd taken Joel, Linda and Nick out of orphanages, fucked them and conditioned them to become assassins. That's why Karsh had referred to Brogan as a friend. They were colleagues, partners committing like crimes. I was a boy under Mr. Bart's tutelage the first time I heard Glen Brogan's name. Mr. Bart had taken me for a shooting lesson. He'd been my instructor that day, not Keith Johnson. As Mr. Bart pulled the car to the curb to let me out after the lesson, I noticed a look of shock and dismay on his rugged face, and then abject anger filled his green eyes. Anger, I'd observed, darkened Mr. Bart's eyes from a smoky green to almost black. Alarmed, I said, "What's wrong?" "That man! That vile, perverted sociopath that just left the orphanage." I twisted my head left and right but saw no one, only a car driving away. "What man?" "Glen Brogan." He spat out the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. Instead of leaving as planned, Mr. Bart turned off the car and went inside with me, marching directly into Ms. Lang's office. Ms. Lang ran the orphanage then. He didn't' come out for a while, and when he left, he didn't look any happier than when he'd arrived. About three years later, I overheard Mr. Bart speaking with Keith Johnson, and Brogan's name came up again. "Proof, Mr. Bart. I need proof," Keith said. "You know what he's doing, Keith. Do something about it, goddammit!" They noticed me then and changed the subject. Later that day, I asked Keith about the man. "You have no need to concern yourself with the likes of Glen Brogan," Keith said. "Concentrate on the task at hand, Luke. You're dipping your shoulder as you move from one target to the next. Stop it." "What does he do that Mr. Bart wants you to stop?" I said, pressing the issue. I also stopped dropping my shoulder. "Mr. Bart believes he's a pedophile and traffics in children." "I know what a pedophile is. What do you mean by traffics in children?" "Through various means he gains control over children, uses them to satisfy his perverted sexual needs, and then sells them to others with like perversions." "I agree with Mr. Bart. I think you should stop him." "Nothing would please me more, Luke, but I need more than Mr. Bart's suppositions to arrest him. To bring him to justice, I need evidence, physical or circumstantial, preferably both, or I need an eyewitness to his crimes. I have nothing. Possible witnesses to his crimes, including the children he abuses, have a habit of disappearing, never to be seen again. Glen Brogan is a careful man, and his political and financial clout in this state, not to mention his connections with organized crime, make him nearly bulletproof unless I can come up with some real evidence." Much later during some half-lucid mental states, Mr. Bart raved about Brogan by name and deed, but by then Mr. Bart was raving about a lot of things and individuals, so I discounted most of his ravings as byproducts of his disease. After Mr. Bart died, the name didn't resurface until about two months before I woke up in the hospital without any memories. In December the previous year, I'd accepted a recovery assignment. My principal, a single mother named Gladys Esterly, hired me to locate and bring her eight-year-old son back to her. Within hours of taking the job, her son was found in another city. He'd been brutally raped, beaten to death and dumped in a playground. He'd also been abducted from a playground. Feeling like she had no reason to go on living, Mrs. Esterly committed suicide. She'd paid me a substantial retainer, so I felt obligated to stay on the job and bring her son's murderer to justice - my kind of justice. Besides, I'd seen the boy's broken and bloody body where the killer had dumped it. I'd have stayed on the job with or without a retainer. I went on the hunt. Two weeks later, I heard Glen Brogan's name again, and Mr. Bart's word's resonated in my mind: You know what he's doing. Do something about it, goddammit! ------- I wasn't in Nevada when I heard Brogan's name. I picked up a string attached to his name in St. Louis, Missouri, where the Esterly boy's body had been dumped. When his name surfaced, I remembered my discussions about Brogan with Keith and Mr. Bart. I knew I'd found the Esterly boy's killer, but I didn't have proof. I rolled up that string until it broke in Shreveport, Louisiana. The string was broken, but I had direction. I had a name and some repeated associations from his cowardly crimes: Brogan, boys, playgrounds and sometimes orphanages. In Houston, I figured out one of his methods for gaining control of his victims. Unlike Karsh, Brogan didn't adopt. When visiting an orphanage, he pretended interest but left apparently dissatisfied with the boys he'd seen. Not immediately, but within a month or two following his enquiries at an orphanage, a boy at that orphanage disappeared. The boy was reported missing, but not much effort was made to find him. No one of any importance pressured the police. I put myself in Brogan's head. As distasteful as it was, I became him. I visited an orphanage pretending I was a predator pedophile, and I saw what I believed he saw: a blond boy, beautiful and needy, starved for affection. I selected the boy as surely as Brogan would have selected him. I returned to the vicinity of the orphanage a few days later and spoke with that boy at a playground without any authority figures around him. With the slightest encouragement, the boy would have gone away with me without looking back. Sick at heart, I drove away, leaving the boy where he stood looking forlorn and rejected. What Brogan did wasn't difficult or particularly dangerous, but it was evil, the epitome of evil. You know what he's doing. Do something about it, goddammit! I missed Brogan by two days in El Paso, Texas, and by a day in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Then I lost him. He didn't stop at the orphanage in Flagstaff. Upon reflection, I figured the trip through the South was probably his cruising phase. If he followed the methods of most predators, the next phase would be the stalk and takedown. I figured he'd doubled back on me, returned to wherever he'd started cruising a month ago. He'd finished cruising and started his stalk, but where? Would he stalk and take one boy? Or would he take more than one before he returned to his lair. Or would he, to satisfy some sick inner need, entice a boy from a playground, and then rape, murder and dump the boy's body like he did the Esterly boy? I rented a room and worked the telephone, calling all the orphanages I'd visited that I knew he'd visited. "Have any of your boys gone missing?" I asked. "No." "If one does, call me, please," I said and gave them the phone number for my room in Flagstaff. And that's where Brogan's hired thugs took me. That memory proved one thing. I wasn't telepathic before Doc Birch operated on my brain. Had I been able to experience the thoughts of others, they wouldn't have blindsided me like they did. They didn't kill me. They beat me senseless, but they didn't kill me, which confused me. I couldn't understand why they didn't kill me. Instead, they threw me, bloody and bruised, and bound and gagged, into a cargo van and drove me to Las Vegas, where they beat me senseless again. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the hospital after brain surgery with no memories. Why didn't they kill me? ------- "Why didn't you use your support staff?" Colleen asked after I related my Brogan memories to her. "Because I'd personalized the hunt, but mostly because I was on my own nickel. Dumb, huh?" She chortled. "I'll say. You wonder why they didn't kill you. I think they believed they had killed you. The doctor in Vegas told you he believed that whoever had given you the beating had left you for dead." "There's that," I said. "If that's the case, then it was an accident. Only my skull was broken, no other bones. I think the thugs were holding me for Brogan. I think Brogan wanted to kill me himself." "Maybe. Are you sure the thugs who took you in Flagstaff were in Brogan's employ?" "Yes. They mentioned his name once when they believed I was unconscious." "Perhaps they'll be at Brogan's ranch." I nodded. "I hope so." She chuckled. "Revenge is a bad motive, cowboy. So says Sifu. When will we leave for Ely?" "Two or three days. I want vehicles staged before we arrive, and Jasper is looking for a helicopter. I'm sending an advance party tomorrow, Gary & Leo, probably, to do some scouting on some ATVs. They'll be staying at the Ward Mountain Campground in a large RV. The rest of us will be staying at a guest ranch. I polled everyone." I knew my next words would please her. "We can't arrive at the guest ranch looking like city slickers. Shopping for western wear is the order of the day." Yep, her eyes shined bright. ------- What came out of the planning session altered what I'd told Colleen and dramatically changed what I'd told Michelle. Logistics and reconnaissance requirements dictated the changes, and Captain Johnson's input created the major shifts in our plans. We decided that we'd vacate the mansion in three days. Michelle unabashedly announced that she and Tim would only need one room at the Bellagio when the rest of us headed north. "Two rooms would be a waste of money," she said. Tim blushed. I didn't think the large man capable of blushing, but he did. A few quiet snickers turned his eyes hard. The blush faded - as did the snickers. "Unless you call on me, Morgan," Blount said, "I'm off the clock. Jerry can handle any legal work needed here, but I'll hang around in case you cross swords with the White Pine County Sheriff." Ely was the county seat for White Pine County. "Which is not only possible but also likely," Captain Johnson stated. "I suspect but can't prove that Brogan has Sheriff Canton in his hip pocket, which brings up another change I strongly recommend. Stay away from that Duck Creek Guest Ranch. The man who operates that ranch is Brogan's friend." "Crap," I grumbled. "We can't stay in Ely. We'd be spotted in less than a day." Johnson grinned. "Yep, but Brogan isn't the only man with friends in White Pine County. Troy Mayfield at the Lazy M Ranch is a friend of mine. You can set up your headquarters at his ranch." I walked to the large map of Nevada hanging on the wall. "Show me Mayfield's ranch," I said. Johnson put his finger on the map. "Right there. It's northeast of Humboldt National Forest, and here's Brogan's place, southwest of Humboldt Forest." I nodded. "Good. The Lazy M is better situated logistically for us than the guest ranch, but..." I paused and looked Johnson in the eye. "Keith, we'll be marshalling quite a few personnel and a lot of equipment in that area. I'd planned to send Leo and Gary in an RV to the Ward Mountain campground to..." "Uh-uh," Johnson said. "There's a campground here." His finger pressed the map, pointing out an area just north of Highway 6 at the south end of Humboldt Forest. "And another here at the north end of the national forest just below Highway 50. Put an RV at each campground with ATVs." "That works," I said. "Better than you think," Johnson said. "There's a trail through the forest from both campgrounds that will take you to Brogan's ranch." "Can we use the ATVs to negotiate the trails?" Gary asked. "Yep. The lower trail will take you to a bluff that overlooks Brogan's ranch buildings. It's an excellent viewpoint for recon. The upper trail skirts the edge of the national forest along its western boundary. The ranch buildings are about ten miles south of the ranch's northern boundary." "Jasper," I said, "We'll need two RVs, not one." "No problem," he said. "Besides the RVs, I've lined up two Kawasaki Mule Utility Vehicles. I figured you'd need to do some hauling as well as negotiating some trails." "Besides hauling, you might need some sport or sport utility ATVs for incursions," Johnson said. "How many?" Jasper asked. "Four," I said. "Okay. Gary and Leo can take the lower campground, and..." Heather interrupted me. "A man and woman pretending to be a couple would be less conspicuous. Besides, macho male campers in the area will hit on two women camping together. Gary and I will take the lower campground, and Leo and Maria the one to the north." I let my eyes wander from Heather to Gary, and then to Leo and Maria. They all nodded. "So be it. I like it. Two recon teams instead of one, and it'll reduce the size of the crowd at Mayfield's ranch." I turned to Johnson. "That still leaves Colleen, Ruben, Sifu and me at the ranch." "Me, too," Robyn said. "I'm in this to the end, darn it." Ruben nodded but didn't look happy about Robyn's announcement. Truth be told, I wanted Robyn at the ranch with us. The intel she'd gathered for the Karsh siege had been invaluable. "That's six of us at the ranch when Jasper joins us," I said. "Seven, counting me," Johnson said. "Ah,... Keith, you might want to distance yourself from this battle." "I will be at the Lazy M, Morgan. I won't... can't be involved in the battle, but I will be involved in the mop-up and arrests." He grinned. "You'll need someone around to trump Sheriff Canton." I nodded. I knew I couldn't change his mind if I tried, and he made sense. "Let's talk about logistics and staging. Dean, we'll need to move our armory, and Horace, we'll need your surveillance gear, and after some recon, we might need some weapons and equipment we don't have." "Except for perhaps the final incursion, the communication gear we used against the Karsh compound won't work over the distances I'm looking at on that map," Dean said. "Speaking of communication," Horace said, "I can get my hands on up to two dozen encrypted cell phones. No one, and I mean no one, not even the NSA, can listen to a conversation from one of those phones to another one. They're called CryptoPhones, and, they use AES256 and Twofish for encryption, two algorithms considered among the best available. They'd be a good addition for Protect & Serve's ordinance and communication supply, Morgan." "How much?" I asked. Sometimes Horace got caught up in new technology and ignored the cost. "$2,000 each, maybe a little more." "Gulp." Then I remembered I could charge them off to other jobs. "Buy sixteen of them. We'll use the encrypted phones for communication except for the final battle when we'll revert to the communication system we used for the Karsh operation." "Does Mayfield's ranch have a heliport?" Jasper asked. "Yes," Johnson said. "The pilot brings the crowd at the ranch to eight," Jasper said. "Carlos makes nine," I said. "Until the takedown, I'll want the ambulance van staged at the ranch. Jasper, besides the RVs, the ambulance van, and ATVs, what other rolling stock are you recommending?" I asked. "An eighteen-wheeler, three SUVs and a pickup truck. Dean can drive one of the SUVs, Horace another, which means we'll need a driver for the other SUV, and yet another driver for the pickup truck. I'll be driving the eighteen-wheeler to haul the ATVs, the armory and surveillance gear." "Can't the RVs tow the SUV and pickup?" I asked. Jasper grinned. "Good idea." "Why the pickup?" I asked. "For inconspicuous hauling capability like moving the ATVs and other equipment around as needed," Jasper said. I nodded. "Is one of the SUVs for Dean and Horace?" "Yes." "If Dean and Horace rented rooms in Ely, would they be noticed," I asked Johnson. "Probably. Let me check with Mayfield. It'd be best if they stayed at the ranch. I know he has a bunkhouse, but..." "Can you call him now?" "Sure." Johnson checked a small address book and dialed his cell phone. Five minutes later we were good to go. Mayfield had room for twelve: six in the main house and six in the bunkhouse. "Joel Hall knows Colleen, Ruben, Robyn, Sifu and me by sight, and I assume Brogan would recognize you, Captain." He nodded. "Which means the six of us should fly directly to the Lazy M in the helicopter. What's more, I think we should give our advance team a couple of days for staging the rolling stock, weapons, and equipment, and another day for preliminary reconnaissance. It's Monday. The six of us will descend on the Lazy M Friday morning." ------- I sipped scotch and relaxed. Ruben, may I connect? I asked silently. What's on your mind? He chuckled. Leo Nelson. Is he a shooter? A second-chair shooter. Like Maria? Yes. What about Gary? I don't know Gary very well. Why these questions? We've teamed two second-chairs with no lead. You know Leo. Call Corny. Discuss Gary versus Leo with him. Team Heather with the weaker of the two men. Tonight? Yes. They leave in the morning. Will do. I ended my telepathic conversation with Ruben to answer a call to my cell phone. "Morgan, I located your computer whiz. His name is Adrian Frost," Maggie said, "and he knew your documents gal, a woman named Soledad Mesa." She gave me their phone numbers. "Good work, Maggie." "Thanks. Remember that lawyer from Marna Crispin's firm?" "Richard Dent?" "Yes. He called Protect & Serve's main number again, asking for Luke Upton." I leaned back and closed my eyes. What could Dent possibly want now? And why was he calling Protect & Serve to locate Luke Upton? "Give me his number. I'll return his call." I swallowed some scotch and dialed the number Dent left on P&S's answering machine, fully expecting to be shuffled to his voice mail. He answered live. "Mr. Dent, I'm returning your call. I'm Luke Upton." "Finally," Dent said. "You're difficult to find, Mr. Upton. Ah... an attorney with our firm, Marna Crispin..." "I knew Marna, Mr. Dent. Besides being my personal attorney, she was an old and very dear friend of mine." "Yes, I understand, but... this isn't the way... I mean, you'd think that Ms. Crispin, being a lawyer, would have..." "Why did you call, Mr. Dent?" "Oh, sorry. While cleaning out her office yesterday, one of our junior attorneys came across her Last Will and Testament. Ms. Crispin named you in her will, Mr. Upton." "I see. Are you the executor of her estate?" "No, I mean..." "Then why are you calling me?" "The executor of her estate predeceased her, Mr. Upton." "Oh, I see. What happens now?" "I'm contacting all her heirs, and I'll open probate. Mr. Upton, after probate, you will receive $10,000,000. She also left you a sealed envelope. I do not know the contents of the envelope." Stunned, I didn't speak for a few seconds. "Must I wait until after probate to receive the envelope?" "Yes... no, I don't know. The court decides such issues in probate, Mr. Upton." "All right. I'm not in the Phoenix area, but I expect to return next week or the week after. Will this matter hold until then?" "Yes, of course. Call me when you return, and I'll put you in touch with the person to contact with the court." I said goodbye and looked up at the stars. "I loved you, too, Marna," I whispered. Tears filled my eyes. Morgan? Colleen thought, searching for me, I assumed. I'm on the patio, I said silently. Have you noticed how dim the stars are in Las Vegas? Yes. The millions of lights on the strip and downtown wash out the night sky. She stepped outside. Because I sat alone in the shadows, she didn't see me right away. The light from inside the mansion put her in silhouette, and she looked so lovely my breath caught in my throat. You light up my sky, sweet thing, my day sky, my night sky, my life. There you are, she said and smiled. Why are you sitting in the dark? I'm relaxing. She sat next to me and took my hand in hers. I kissed her palm, and then pressed her hand to my face. The calm before the storm, I said. How did your mother do on the GED test? Better than I anticipated; worse than her expectations. She passed the literature and writing sections, did okay on basic math, but missed all the questions related to algebra and geometry. She'll also need some tutoring in the sciences and social studies. She's discourage and fighting herself again. I reached out and touched April's mind. She was fucking... no, she was making love... with another woman. Do you know a friend of your mother's named Esther? No. Ask your mother about her. She's the woman who advised your mother to comply with my deal. She's also your mother's lover. One of her lovers, you mean. Perhaps. Is Esther a hooker? That's what I assumed the first time I connected with your mother when she was with Esther, but now I think that my assumption was wrong. Are you connected with Mother now? Yes. Connect me with her. No. She and Esther are making love, Colleen. Oh, okay. You're bisexual. Do you sometimes feel the urge to be with another woman? Yes, rarely but... It's like this, cowboy. Sometimes when we're out and about, I notice a certain woman catches your eye. You think about her sexually, maybe in your mind's eye you remove some of her clothing, or you imagine her naked on a bed holding her arms out for you. Perhaps your fantasy goes further. I laughed. Almost always. I figured. Well, sometimes I do the same with some men I see, but unlike you, my fantasies involve both genders. She snickered self-consciously. A while back, after noticing the type of female that catches your eye, I started to compare the women who turn me on to your type of woman, and you know what? We're attracted to the same type of women. She giggled. We're talking women, now, not girls, cowboy. Girls are a whole different matter. Some girls stoke my fire, too, like some boys. I suspect my preferences and subsequent fantasy life are much broader than yours. She kissed me, a soft, loving kiss. If you're asking if my urges to be with another female are so strong that I'd cheat on you, the answer is no way, buster. I love you, only you, and you're the only person, male or female, I'll ever have sex with for the rest of my life. She giggled again. Except in my mind. In my fantasy world, I'm a slut of the first order. Her hand slipped up my thigh and cupped my cock and balls. Yes, I was hard, well half-hard. In my fantasy world, baby, I'm a sex addict like my mother. I fuck men and boys and women and girls, singly and in groups. Sometimes you're involved, sometimes not. I saw a girl the other day. She was fourteen, maybe thirteen, as ripe for sex as any teenager I've ever seen, and I imagined teaching her about girl/girl sex, like my friend taught me, and I felt some serious urges. She unzipped my trousers and snaked her hand inside, rubbing the crown of my hard cock with her palm, the palm I'd kissed earlier. Then the fantasy changed. You joined us to teach her about sex with a man. She pulled my hard cock up through the hole in my trousers and stroked it. After looking around, she stood, reached under her skirt and peeled off her panties. I taught her how to jack you off, she said as she helped me push my trousers down off my thighs and straddled me. Then I taught her how to suck you off. That was hot, baby. In my mind's eye, you came in her mouth. Colleen's dainty hand moved deftly and quickly, jerking my hard-on, making it harder, sending exquisite sensations from my genitals up through my spine. Did she swallow? I asked. Uh-huh, every drop. What did she look like? Like I said, she was young, a brunette. I notice you prefer brunettes to blondes. That's my preference for women. For girls, I prefer blondes. Blonde pussy hair on girls is silky, not kinky. But this girl was a brunette with long, long hair, down to the middle of her back. My fingers rubbed through her crease. She was very wet. And her eyes were large and dark. She had a slim body, no baby fat, tomboyish, but she had breasts, not full breasts, but rather the perky kind, and her nipples were very sensitive. I sucked on them when I had sex with her before you joined us. She rose up and swiped my hard cock though her cunt, settled it slightly inside her opening, and let gravity slowly push her cunt down around my shaft. While you were recovering, I went down on her again, but she wanted more. She wanted to taste me again, and soon we were licking each other's pussy. You watched us and slowly stroked your cock until it was fully erect, as hard as you are right now, and that's really hard, cowboy, almost boy-cock hard. Did I fuck her then? No, you fucked me. I was on top for the sixty-nine, and you moved behind me and pushed your cock inside me while she continued to eat me. With the multiple sensations each of you spawned, it didn't take long for me to come, and that's when you fucked her. I helped; I guided your hard cock, put it just inside her little cunt and told you to fuck her good. Was she a virgin? For a man-cock, yes, but she'd fucked some boys, inept, inexperienced boys with boy-cock hard little dicks. No hymen. No pain. This was my fantasy. I didn't want pain, just pleasure. Did I fit? Yes, barely. She loved it. She'd never climaxed while fucking, and she climaxed for the first time while you fucked her. Colleen moaned with passion. I helped. I diddled her clit while you fucked her. I played with her cunt and sucked her tits and kissed her while you fucked her. She came once, but we weren't finished with her. I straddled her face, and she ate me again while you continued to fuck her. You fondled my tits. Was that a hint? My hands went to her breasts and squeezed, pinching both nipples. Yeah, like that. That's what you did, and her tongue was busy lashing my clit, and soon she was thrashing around again, coming again, and you roared like an animal and pumped your come inside her, filled her with your come, and I came on her mouth, like I'm coming on your cock right now... Now! Come with me! Come... ------- The next morning after watching the advance team drive away in their assorted vehicles, Colleen and I took a charter flight to Scottsdale. At my urging and because of my urges, Colleen joined the mile-high club between Henderson and Scottsdale. I was already a member, but initiating Colleen to the club was much more rewarding than my first time soaring through the sky. Sifu had flown to Phoenix commercially the night before but planned to return to Vegas with Colleen and me on the charter flight the next day. Adrian Frost, my computer whiz, met us at the Scottsdale Airport. I expected to see a geek, a skinny man with narrow shoulders, or a chubby man with acne scars. Frost was neither. Jeez, cowboy, your computer whiz is a hunk! Colleen announced with a thought. He was tall, about my height, blond with striking blue eyes, wide shoulders, a deep chest, narrow waist and hips. I guessed his age at twenty-three or four. I don't mind you sharing your fantasies about this man, sweet thing, but later please. Not now. Then turn down your connection with me. I'm taking off his elegant clothes right now. Ooh, he's hung, baby. You can't know that, I said. Hey, it's my fantasy, not yours. If I want him hung, he's hung, buster. Besides, in my fantasies, reality isn't welcome. Argh! I didn't tune her thoughts down. I jerked my mind from hers. Otherwise, Frost might have gotten the wrong impression when my pants started to bulge. Colleen's eyes glinted and teased me. "Coward," she whispered. Since the moment I was able to transfer my thoughts to her, she knew when I was in her mind and when I wasn't connected with her. Before flying to Scottsdale, I'd told Frost what I wanted, so he'd brought along the equipment he would need. I guided him as he drove to the Carefree house. Colleen and I helped him lug his equipment up the stairs and left him to do his thing with my computer. An hour later, he announced that he had access to the hard drive. When I sat in front of the computer, the dialogue box to change the password was on the monitor. I typed in a new password - twice - and I was in. Like some of my memories, my Referral Source List remained elusive. It wasn't on that computer. Hopefully, I'd saved it to the computer at Morgan's condo. I showed Frost the CD from the safe, the CD I suspected contained the referral list. "It's encrypted," I said. He shrugged. "Can't help you with that unless you can remember the key," he replied. I drove the Hummer to the condo. For all I knew, Greenfield's minions still had the place staked out. If he did, I didn't notice any watchers. Bucky was happy to see me but was disappointed when he noticed the elevator cardkey in my hand. His disappointment melted away when Colleen gave him a thank-you hug and kiss for helping her remain anonymous after the Gunfight at the 24th Street Corral. The kiss reminded me of the kiss Colleen had given Sifu for saving her with his stellar driving. It was passionate enough to give the middle-aged doorman a hard-on, I noticed, and I suspected he appreciated the kiss more than a $20 tip he didn't get because I hadn't lost my elevator cardkey. As we ascended in the elevator, I told Frost and Colleen not to talk in the condo until I checked for listening devices. My handy-dandy bug detector detected no bugs, and I set Frost to work on the computer while I showed Colleen around the penthouse residence. Jeez, cowboy, this is a pleasure palace, she said silently. Who helped you decorate the place? A name and face surfaced. I laughed. "You're thinking female, right?" "Oh, yeah." "Sorry. The decorator's name was Stanley." "Gay?" "If he wasn't, he was missing a hell of an opportunity." She giggled and said, "What's the key to open the CD?" My face went slack as a bunch of letters and numbers danced across my mind as if they were stock trades on an electronic tickertape board. She giggled again and said, "Gotcha!" I pulled her into my arms and twirled her around. She squealed happily until I set her back on the floor and kissed her. Then she moaned with pleasure. "Later," I said when her thoughts wandered to black satin sheets. "Spoilsport." The Referral Source List wasn't on the computer at the condo, either, but the safe contained another encrypted CD. I put the disk in the computer, typed in the remembered encryption key, and scrolled through my list of referrals. "Your Glaring Exception List is down to one item, cowboy," Colleen said. "Yeah, the location of my non-descript sedan." "Maybe Jasper knows its whereabouts," she said. "Maybe." Using my new encrypted cell phone, I called him. He laughed and said, "You sold it, Morgan." "When?" "Early December last year. We talked about ordering a new one, armored and souped-up, of course, but... well, that's when you went missing." "I still have a set of keys for it." He laughed again. "That doesn't surprise me. You're much too casual about your car keys." "Where are you now?" "Still on the road to Ely. I just drove by Majors Place. I heard from Horace. He passed through Ely a while back. Dean is behind me, and Gary and Maria a few miles ahead of me. We staggered departures to avoid the appearance of a convoy. As you know, Leo and Heather were the last to leave Vegas, but then they have the shortest traveling distance." After discussing qualifications with Corny, Ruben teamed Gary with Maria and Leo with Heather. Concerned that one of them might be upset with the change, I'd connected with each of them. Gary was disappointed but appreciated the pseudo-promotion. Leo was pleased when Heather took his arm and announced that they were fated to be fuck buddies. Maria secretly preferred Gary to Leo and planned to break in the RV that night with a rousing fuck. I had an amiable crew. After Colleen and I watched Frost drive away from the house at Carefree, she pulled me into our playpen and rode me to a powerful climax. I teased her about using me to slake the lust engendered by another man. "Sure, like you've never used me for the same purpose," was her retort. We met Soledad Mesa for happy hour at the microbrewery I owned a piece of in Scottsdale. She was beyond gorgeous. She reminded me of Sophia Loren, and seeing her brought back some sexy memories, memories I shared that night with Colleen. Not surprisingly, Soledad turned Colleen on as much as the dark-haired beauty turned me on, and later that night, our shared fantasy of a threesome with Soledad quickly took us to climax. We made love later without any intruding fantasies, and we both agreed that sharing fantasies was fun and arousing but nothing beat making tender, sweet love. While with Soledad, I ordered a full set of documents for a new identity for Colleen. I had an identity in my safe in Carefree that I'd never used, and I saw the possibility of a future need for another identity for Colleen. Gordy and Maggie joined Colleen and me for dinner at Ruth's Chris Steak House. The four of us had a grand time. I teased Colleen about Frost, and she teased me about Soledad. Gordy and Maggie just shook their heads as they listened to our banter. We did take care of some business. Maggie had isolated one of Jenny's operators to become Protect & Serve's Assignments Coordinator and had started to train her, and Gordy handed me a business plan for another restaurant he thought could make us some money. I told him I'd read the plan on the flight to Vegas the next morning and give him my opinion. "Let's stay in Phoenix another day, cowboy," Colleen said. "You can meet your new Assignments Coordinator, say yes or no on the restaurant, and if its yes, meet your new partner. And I'd like to touch base with my friends. I can also get with Soledad so she can take the photographs she needs for my new identity." We weren't needed in Vegas until Thursday night. Why not? "All right. I also want to list the condo for sale and initiate the search for the land for Protect & Serve's new headquarters." I connected with Sifu telepathically. He was delighted we were staying another day. How's your business been in your absence? I asked. Fine. My instructors are a good group. A good group - an expression from the Tao. According to Lao Tzu's Tao te Ching, a good group is better than a spectacular group. For the same reason, I tried not to outshine my operatives and maintain a moderate ego. My efforts along these lines weren't always successful, I knew. I'll let you know about the new departure time, Sifu. ------- Heather: Strange country. Sagebrush, desert, gray earth, then scrub oak, cedar, and finally tall pine trees. Horned toads, lizards, snakes, jack rabbits. Sparse. Oh! Look, Leo, a fawn! Where's its mother. There she is. Beautiful! Look at her jump! Leo: She's wild, wild like this country. Heather is in her element here, a wild thing in a wild place. Married. She's married. Unbelievable. And her husband knows she fucks around. It's just fuckin', sweetie, she said. Sex and love are two different things. Folks are always tryin' to make them one thing. Why, I don't know. I think it's dumb to mix them up that way, but I stopped tryin' to point out the obvious a long time ago. Folks think what they want to think. I love my husband, she said. I love him, and only him, and he knows this, and glory be, he loves me the same way. Our love is monogamous, Leo. I'll fuck you, but I won't love you. We're fuck buddies, not lovers. Got it? Well, I got it. I got it every which way there is. Heather: We're coming up on that overlook, I think. Yeah, we are. Drive the mule up there, Leo. The trees will give us shade, and the scrub oak will give us cover. Good. Right here. Let's take a look before we settle in. Yep, a good spot for recon. Not worth a fuck for a small-arms assault, though. Is there a way down? Maybe down that gully through that line of trees. We'll check that out later. First, let's see what we can see. There's the main house, just like the aerial photos Robyn got us. Robyn. Now there's a gal I'd dearly love to fuck. Right after Colleen. Whew! That youngster is hot! They've both fucked other women, too. A gal like me can tell. A look in the eye, that extra little twist in the ass when they walk away from another woman. It's in the tease. A woman who teases only a man doesn't swing both ways. Robyn and Colleen tease women and men. Leo: A good view at the back of the house. Can't see the front, though. Same with the bunkhouse. There's the heliport. No helicopter, though. The large shed is for hay storage. The small one for machinery. Ah, the small building next to the bunkhouse is for cooking and dining. Brogan probably segregates the help, keeps them out of the main house. Linda Carson! Fuck! Look at her! Sexy! What was that assassin's description of her? I remember. She's death with a pretty face and a flirtatious smile on her lips. Jesus, she... Look at that. Naked as the day she was born. She'll drive Brogan's wranglers crazy if she struts around naked like that. Hmm, maybe not. That line of bushes shields the view from the north. The bathhouse protects her from the east. There's nothing to the west, and I guess she doesn't care if anyone sees her from the main house. Nice dive. Good swimmer. Heather: There's Joel Hall. Whew! He's a hunk! It looks like... Yep, he's stripping, too. Look at that swinging dick, would you. A hung hunk. She laughed. Can't dive worth a fuck, though. And his sister could swim laps around him in a race. He's brute strength. She's swift and clever and sure. Of the two, who's dominant? Where's Brogan? Who is that woman? I haven't seen her before. Hmm, maybe she's the assassin who drove into Karsh's stronghold that we couldn't interdict. Hand me the camera, Leo... Thanks. Leo: Helicopter coming. We're all right. We can't be seen from the air. Take a picture of the men coming out of the bunkhouse, Heather. And the woman by the door of the building next to the bunkhouse. Looks like a cook. Makes sense. She cooks for the help. Is there another cook for the occupants of the main house? Two cowboys. Hall and Carson are getting dressed. Brogan has arrived. ------- "What's ya doin', cowboy?" Colleen asked when she saw me in the great room. Look at her, I told myself. Rosy cheeks. Happy face. "Sharing Heather and Leo's recon. That overlook Johnson mentioned gives them a good view of the ranch buildings. It's close enough for a camera with a long lens." She leaned and gave me a quick kiss. "What did you decide regarding the restaurant?" "I passed. The business plan looked good. I gave Gordy the green light, and he set up a luncheon with the woman who would become my partner. I didn't like her, so I passed." "What didn't you like about her?" "Her mental personality. On the surface, she presented a positive, winning picture of herself. Inside, she was mean, bitter, and dishonest. Without telepathy, Colleen, I probably would have put up the venture capital and moved forward with her." I chuckled. "I confused Gordy when I passed. He didn't understand, and I couldn't give him my reasons. He started to argue with me, and then shrugged and smiled. 'It's your money, ' he said, 'and you haven't been wrong yet.'" "Gordy's a good friend." "Yes he is. Speaking of friends, were you able to connect with any or yours?" "Yep. Ellie's engaged. Keith popped the question last week." I said nothing. "I know," Colleen said with a pretty grimace. "He's not the man for her. She loves him, though, and that's what counts. On a more positive note, Gary Pernell has a new girlfriend. I met her. She's a doll. I think Gary finally found a keeper. But Kate gave me the best news. She's excited out of her mind, cowboy. She's pregnant." Colleen's eyes shined, and she gazed toward a far place as if looking at the future. We'd talked about a lot of things, but the subject of having babies together hadn't come up. "What about you, Colleen? Do you want children?" Her pretty eyes focused on mine, and then she smiled brightly. "Someday, yes. Not anytime soon, though. I have to learn how to be rich first." I frowned. Her comment perplexed me. "Why learn how to be rich first?" My father was a drunk, my mother a whore. They brought me into this world without a clue about how the world works. Daddy loved me without reservation, but he loved the bottle more. Mom tried to love me, but... you've met my mother. You know how she is. She doesn't know how to love, not anymore. She stopped trusting love when her first love left her. My father probably isn't my biological father, cowboy. Mom's first love left her when she got pregnant. I asked her once if her first love was my biological father. She doesn't know. She said he or my father could be my biological father, one of many men who could claim the title. That's the world I knew until I met you. I didn't know how to set a table, which fork to use at a fancy restaurant. I didn't know how to dress to look classy instead of cheap or frumpy. I didn't know much of anything, but I was and am determined to learn. She sighed deeply. Then you gave me a future, and even more, you gave me your tender, sweet love, and my world became a brighter place, but I had a lot of learning to do to fit the world you gave me. I was doing fine with middle-class. Being middle-class was easy for me, and then you ended up being rich, and that scared me, cowboy. Being rich still frightens me. I'm learning, though. As they say, I've come a long way, baby, but I'm not there, not yet. And..." You're wrong, I said interrupting her. You're there. You were there before you started. Do you know why? Tell me. Because you wanted to be more than you were. You wanted to be all you could be. You aren't there yet. I haven't arrived at that place, either. That's our quest, our journey through life, and we'll travel that road together. You're learning how to be all you can be, not how to be rich. Being rich or poor doesn't matter. Being all you can be is what it's all about. So get off the learning-how-to-be-rich train. That train isn't going anywhere. It's dead on the tracks. I placed a hand on each side of her face. "And part of being all you can be is becoming a mother. Am I right or wrong?" Tears welled in her eyes. "You're right." I brushed her lips with mine. "Good. I want children, too, but like you, not right away. We have time. How many children do you want?" "More than one. Children should have brothers and sisters." "Two? A dozen? Somewhere in between?" "One boy, one girl, would be fine. One of each, but if the first two are girls, I'd want to try again for a boy." "My world is a violent place, sweet thing. I look death in the eye more than most men. Should we bring children into such a place?" "Yes." "You could end up being a single parent." "That's the risk every man and woman takes when they make a baby." "We're talking odds, here, sweet thing." "Fuck the odds. We'll grow old together, cowboy. We'll poke death in the eye and defy the odds. We'll raise beautiful, smart children, who will become all they can be. We'll spoil our grandchildren and sit center stage for a family photo with our children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Being rich may not matter to you, but it matters. It'll give our children and their children and their children a leg up on life so they can be all they can be a little easier than otherwise, and not just our children. Being rich will give the orphans you select a chance to be all that they can be. And the single mothers I help will help their children be all they can be. So being rich matters, cowboy. I'm learning how to be rich the right way, for the right reasons, not to be a consumer, not to own big houses, not to drive fancy cars. I'm learning how be rich with you, so we can give others a leg up on life." I felt like I was standing under a waterfall. The water was my love for her, and it crashed over me, shutting out everything around me. "I love you," I said. "Uh-huh, you do, and I love you, and I think we should go practice making babies. I wanna be really good at making babies when we're ready to bring some into our world, baby. Waddaya say? Wanna practice with me?" ------- Chapter 15 Sifu, Colleen and I settled into our seats, and the chartered aircraft rolled down the runway. Have you monitored your advance team, Morgan? Sifu asked silently. Off and on, I replied. Like you, I had other business tasks to handle here in Phoenix. I found my Referral Source List, by the way. He nodded. Tell me what about Brogan's ranch. It's a stronghold similar to Karsh's setup in Vegas, except it's much larger. The ranch is 36,000 acres, most of it open range for grazing cattle. Fences and Mother Nature define the stronghold. A steep bluff, created - I think - by the heaving of the earth eons ago, runs along the eastern boundary of the stronghold. Leo and Heather command a lookout point on this bluff. The south fence is an eight-foot high, solid wall punctured by the main access gates on the east side fairly close to the bluff. There's an unmanned gatehouse just inside the wall. The west and north walls are the same height as the south wall but are chain-link fences topped with concertina wire. Fifteen feet inside the chain-link fences, Brogan installed a second chain-link fence. Dogs constantly roam the area between the fences. There's a kennel at the northwest corner of the property inside the interior fence. Also, Heather believes the interior fence is electrified. The dogs stay away from that fence, but not the exterior fence. The main ranch buildings are all inside this fenced and bluff contained area. A winding road bisects the stronghold from front to back. A barn and three corrals sit in the northwest sector. A large hayshed is located in the northeast corner, and building for machinery storage and repair is situated south of the hayshed. The bunkhouse, ranch kitchen, and wrangler dining room are located south of the machinery building. Heather believes Brogan purposefully segregates the ranch hands from the occupants of the main ranch house. The bisecting road helps. The main house was constructed on the southwest corner of the stronghold. It's a large residence, two stories, and there's a carriage house to the right, with garages on the ground level and housing for two bodyguards, a cook and a housekeeper over the garages. There's a swimming pool at the rear of the house with a bathhouse on the right. No tennis courts. Brogan lands his helicopter on a pad in the center of the circular driveway in front of the main house. The no-man's land does not turn at the solid wall. It butts into the wall. It also ends at the north gate. Brogan maintains a pasture for his horses in front of the main house. Besides cattle ranching, he breeds, trains and sells quarter horses. What about personnel? Sifu asked. Leo and Heather have photographed four wranglers, the ranch cook, and a man they call the farmer. Brogan grows and harvests his own hay. We suspect there are more ranch hands. Gary and Maria saw some cowboys rounding up some cattle outside the stronghold. I've mentioned the two bodyguards, housekeeper and cook at the main house. We believe Brogan, Joel, Nick, Linda, a female assassin, the helicopter pilot, and the ranch foreman occupy the main house. Robyn is working with her friend at the LVPD to put names on the personnel we don't know, but all she has to work with are digital photographs Heather e-mailed her. Do you have a plan? Sifu asked. I laughed. Plan A is evolving. At the moment, I don't have a glimmer of an idea for Plan B. Give me the bare bones of Plan A. Make a solo, silent incursion, initiate as many telepathic connections as possible with the personnel in the stronghold, and then sneak out without leaving a trace. Sifu chuckled. You should rethink Plan A, or start putting together Plan B. That would be my advice, Colleen said. ------- Ruben met us at the Henderson Executive Airport and drove us to the mansion. "Did Carlos leave this morning?" I asked. "Yes. He drove away in the ambulance van about an hour ago, and before you ask, the helicopter is sitting on the mansion's front lawn." Ruben chuckled. "You and Sifu will need to spar somewhere else tomorrow morning." "Tell me about the helicopter and pilot." "The helicopter seats eight. According to Diane Keeny, the pilot, it's a MD 600N. MD stands for MacDonald Douglas, but Boeing swallowed MacDonald Douglas whole not long ago, so I guess it's a Boeing aircraft now. That's all I know about the helicopter. If you want to know more, talk with Diane. She's an attractive brunette in her early forties. She flew helicopters in the first Gulf War. Jasper says she's the best there is." I grinned. "Jasper hasn't steered me wrong yet. That's good enough for me." "Michelle wants to meet with you. She says you're a hero now, not a villain, and that she's no longer needed. I think she plans to tell you that she'll hang around off the clock with Tim for a few days in case you need her during or after the Brogan siege." He took his eyes off the road and looked at me. "Morgan, I find it amazing that you command such loyalty from professionals like Tim and Michelle. What's your secret?" "Hah! I pay them well and in advance." That's not fair, cowboy, Colleen commented silently. True, sorry. "I also treat them with respect, Ruben, and yes, they're loyal." I huffed a cynical laugh. "More importantly, I present interesting problems in their respective fields. I'd wager most of Tim's clients are not only guilty but also on the wrong side of right and wrong. I might be guilty of bending, stretching or even breaking a few laws, but I wear a white hat. Tim gets a kick out of the legal challenges I present. Michelle sees me as a vigilante, and vigilantes make good press. What's more, Michelle gets a kick out of poking authority figures in the eye. Tim, too. That's why he's a defense attorney instead of a prosecutor. So, my secret isn't really a secret, Ruben. Pay professionals well and in advance, respect them, give them interesting problems to solve, and at the same time, give them opportunities to poke the establishment in the eye, and you'll command the same loyalty from them." Sifu chuckled. "Morgan facilitates their processes, Ruben. He doesn't intrude. He doesn't control them. He trusts them." He paused and smiled. "Most importantly, he pays well and in advance." Colleen giggled. "Be nice, grasshopper," Sifu said. ------- "From the aerials and reports from Heather and Gary, the only way into the stronghold is from the bluff to the east," Ruben said, "and the bluff presents some serious obstacles, perhaps insurmountable impediments." We were at the mansion reviewing intel and trying to develop a plan to take Brogan down. "What about this gorge?" I asked, pointing at an aerial photograph. "It starts near the top of the bluff and drops and spreads into the stronghold." "It's booby-trapped, and the fifty yards from the bottom of the bluff from north to south is open and covered with surveillance cameras, infrared as well as standard. Heather and Gary spotted cameras on the hayshed, the machinery structure, the bunkhouse and the gatehouse. They cover the open fifty yards along the bluff and part of the bluff, itself. I say the bluff is the only way in because cameras cover the open two hundred yards to the south, west and north of the perimeter fence. Two hundred yards, Morgan, not fifty. Dogs roam the no-man's land to the west and north, and we'd need to deal with concertina wire, to boot. That leaves the south fence as an entry point, and although the twenty feet from inside that block wall to the pasture fence looks benign, I suspect..." "Landmines," I muttered. "Maybe," Ruben said. "Probably. Otherwise why not take the pasture to the wall?" I nodded. "Which leaves the bluff, but we can't rappel down the bluff because cameras cover the bluff," I commented. "That's the way I see it." "Are those cameras in rifle range?" I asked. "Yes, but three expert shooters from three different vantage points along the bluff would be needed, and the second we take them out, Brogan would know we've arrived." I bit my lower lip with my upper teeth and studied the aerial maps for the umpteenth time. "Considering our resources, Ruben, how would you take this stronghold?" He shook his head. "We need more resources." "Tell me. What resources?" "Another shooter. Two would be better, and if only as diversions, I'd take out the south and north gates simultaneously with RPGs." I chuckled. "That would certainly announce our presence." He laughed. "That's for sure. Morgan, I see no way to make a silent entry." I pursed my lips. "Maybe." "Tell me," he said. I told him what I had in mind. "That might work. We'll see when we're on the bluff tomorrow," he said. "No, call Heather and tell her to check the range today." "All right." "Has Robyn identified any of the players at Brogan's ranch?" I asked, changing the subject. "One of the bodyguards. His name is John Ender. He's an ex-con but isn't wanted for breaking parole. Captain Johnson identified the ranch foreman, another ex-con named Mathew Bailand." "Are they members of the Aryan Brotherhood, like Karsh's bunch?" "No. They are registered sex offenders, though." I grimaced. "Perverts, huh? That doesn't surprise me." I started to walk away but turned back to him. "Talk to Dean about my idea. We'll need a launcher, and just in case, mention your idea about taking out the gates with RPGs." Ruben looked shocked. "Ah, Morgan, I wasn't serious..." "Do it. The terror value of some rocket grenades might make a difference. We won't use them against personnel, but they won't know that." ------- Colleen looked pensive, and being a mind reader, I knew what was bothering her. She'd just finished a telephone conversation with her mother. "Whatever it takes," I said. "Esther moved in with her," Colleen said. "I know. This bothers you. Why?" She shook her head and said nothing. I waited. She said, "They're a couple, Morgan. Lovers." "Uh-huh." "Esther isn't bisexual. She's a lesbian." "Whatever it takes, Colleen." She shook her head again. "I don't know. It's weird. For me, it's weird, cowboy." "Esther is supporting your mother's effort to change." "I understand that. It's just that... ah, crap. I'd hoped she'd straighten up and fly right. This is wrong. Mom doesn't love her. Mom doesn't know how to love. She's using the woman, and she'll cheat on her with a man." "Or another woman," I said. "You think?" "Sweet thing, this might shock you, but your mother is bisexual, and..." "That's not a shock." "You didn't let me finish. As lovers go, your mother prefers women to men." I chuckled. My added announcement had indeed shocked her. "What's more, I think Esther loves your mother. Perhaps she'll teach your mother how to love again. If this is bothering you, talk to your mother's therapist. Ask her opinion about the relationship, whether it's healthy or otherwise." Colleen nodded. "All right." "Well?" "Now?" "Now." Colleen dug her encrypted cell phone from her purse. It worked as a normal phone unless the user pushed a soft key. "Dr. Redmond, it's Charlotte Hilton... Fine, thanks. How's my mother doing?... Yes. That's what I'm calling about... I see... Mom will cheat on her... Really?" She listened without speaking for about a minute. "Okay, I'll try. It's just that I never saw my mother that way, so it's weird, very strange. It'll take some getting used to... Yes, I am... No, I prefer men, one man to be specific." She laughed. "That's for sure... Thanks, Dr. Redmond. Goodbye." She hung up, looked up at me and smiled. "Dr. Redmond thinks that Esther moving in with Mom is the best thing that could have happened. She agreed with me about Mom cheating, but says it wouldn't be cheating, because Mom and Esther have an open relationship, and they tell each other everything. She didn't come right out and say it, but she implied that Mom and Esther sometimes invite others - men and women - into their bed with them." "I'd say you read the therapist right." "You knew?" I nodded. "What did you expect? Your mother's a sex addict, sweet thing. My deal didn't preclude her from having sex. It dictated that she'd stop having sex for money, and from what I've experienced in your mother's mind, she's honored our deal. Her open relationship with Esther has helped her remember how fun sex can be. Tell me, is your mother showing up for her sessions with the therapist?" "Yes." "Is she studying, working with the tutor you arranged to help her pass the GED test?" "She says she is. I haven't checked with the tutor." "No need. She is, and Esther's helping there, too, grills her with the GED flash cards, that sort of thing." "What does Esther do? Is she a hooker?" "No. She's a blackjack dealer at one of the hotels on the strip. Your mother's doing just fine, sweet thing." Colleen slumped in her chair and slowly let all the air from her lungs. "Okay," she breathed, and her smile lit up my day. ------- "What's the range?" I asked Diane Keeny, our helicopter pilot. We were en route to the Lazy M Ranch. I sat in the co-pilot's seat. "380 nautical miles." "Argh. Do the math for me." She chuckled. "That's 437 plus a fraction miles." "Thanks. The ranch is about 400 miles away. Will you cut it that close?" "No. There's a landing field in Alamo. We'll refuel there." "What about speed?" "136 knots. That's 156 plus a fraction miles per hour." I liked Diane Keeny. Mostly, I liked the way her mind worked. Her thoughts were crisp, not muddled. Risqué, too without being raunchy. She was interested in Captain Johnson, and her interest wouldn't be rebuffed. Keith's wife of twenty-five years had divorced him a few years back. Currently, he wasn't seriously involved with a woman, and he was looking. From his thoughts, the divorce had been amiable. He and his ex-wife had stayed married until their two children left their nest, and then they went their separate ways. She'd since remarried. "Did Jasper fill you in on what we are doing?" I asked the comely pilot. "Yes," Keeny replied. "Did he mention the possibility of a firefight?" "Yes, on the ground, though." "True, but we might need you for an extraction." She nodded. "Understood." Keeny preferred dominant men, and Keith fit that requirement. She wasn't a shrinking violet, though, which created problems in her relationships. She enjoyed the battle of wits and wills with a strong man, whether she won or lost. She glanced over her shoulder. Keith was seated directly behind me. Sexy, she thought. Big, strong, mature, not like the boy sitting next to me. Boy? I stifled a laugh. She's dazzling, Keith thought. Strong. Capable. My kind of woman. She's probably committed. Women like her attract men without trying. I wondered about the sleeping arrangements at the Lazy M. Mayfield told Keith he had beds for twelve: six in the main house, and six in the bunkhouse. I saw Colleen and me, Ruben and Robyn, Sifu and Captain Johnson in the main house. That totaled six, which meant that Keeny would be shuffled off to the bunkhouse with Dean, Horace, Carlos and Jasper. That wouldn't work. As it turned out, my concerns were unfounded. Because Colleen and I shared a bed, and Ruben and Robyn shared another bed, there was room for Keeny in the main house without asking Sifu to sleep in the bunkhouse. Ruben, I said silently. Yes? Did you talk with Dean about the launcher? Yeah. He ordered one. It should arrive at the Lazy M today or tomorrow morning by Fed-Ex. The distance is iffy. Heather checked with a laser rangefinder. It's 400 feet, the maximum range for the launcher, even tricked out with a customized line. I sighed with relief. It's possible, though. Barely. Plan A was doable, but I was beginning to see some elements from Plan B sliding into and becoming part of Plan A. ------- Troy Mayfield was a big, gangly man with a complexion that couldn't resist sunburn on top of sunburn. The back of his neck looked raw and there was a hat ring near the top of his forehead with a stripe of lily-white flesh above the ring. The rest of his face was brown and wrinkled like old leather chaps. Kind gray eyes softened his rugged look. His meaty fist dwarfed mine when I shook hands with him. "Welcome to the Lazy M, Mr. Morgan," he said, his voice as rugged as his countenance. I classified Dorothy, Mayfield's wife, a nurturing earth mother. She was plump and affable, shorter than her husband by a foot. Then she surprised me. "I understand you're here to take down that low-life, perverted baby fucker that we've been forced to call neighbor for far too long," she said. I nodded. "Dorothy," her husband cautioned. "Don't shush me, Troy. You know how I feel about that evil blight on the human race. Merely hearing his name makes me feel like a line of thumbtacks are being pushed into my brain around my head like a Stetson two sizes too small. Keith tells us you were Mr. Bart's boy, Morgan. We knew Mr. Bart. Some years, he hunted with Troy. He was a good man." "Yes he was," I said. "When you take down the monster, take him down all the way, Morgan," she said as we walked into the ranch house. "Don't leave him alive to face a jury of his peers. He's slimy, slithery as a snake and as deadly as a timber rattler. He'll buy some jury members, maybe the judge, too. Don't mess with him. Just shoot the slippery skunk dead and leave him lying where he falls to feed the vultures and fertilize the alkali oozing to the surface around his ranch house." "That's not good advice," Captain Johnson said, giving me a stern look. Sounds like good advice to me, Ruben said silently. I agreed, but said nothing, silently or out loud. Brogan's death was Plan A's objective. To hell with reading his mind. I'd just shoot him dead and avoid the psychopathic horrors drifting in his misfiring synapses with scenes of dead and bloody children in torture chambers on a never-ending loop. ------- The air was clean and brisk, rustling through the tall pines, and the stars shined as bright as I'd ever seen them. A cool breeze rustled the needles, and I heard the hoot of an owl. Civilization seemed a million miles away. "Now that's a sky!" I said to Colleen. "Uh-huh. Look! A shooting star." I chuckled. "Did you make a wish?" "Uh-huh. I wished that Captain Johnson wouldn't arrest you after you've done his job for him." You know what he's doing. Do something about it, goddammit! The statement came to me from the star-studded firmament as if from my adopted father's dead mind. Soon, Mr. Bart, I answered silently. "Waddaya think, cowboy? Will Johnson arrest you?" Colleen asked. "Maybe. Probably. I will break some laws." She squeezed my arm with hers, and then took my hand. Our fingers entwined. "Then it's good that Tim and Michelle are standing by. Tell me your plan." "It's still evolving." My encrypted cell phone rang. "Morgan, it's Heather. There's activity at Brogan's ranch. A limo and a sedan just drove through the gates, followed by a police cruiser." "That'll be Sheriff Canton," I said. "Is there enough light to photograph the new arrivals?" "No, but if they're still around tomorrow morning, I'll take their pictures before we leave for the planning session. The hotshot in the limo looks like somebody important. Besides his driver, he arrived with two bodyguards, and the main man in the sedan came with a bodyguard, too. You called it. The fat White Pine County Sheriff just stepped from the cruiser. I recognize him from his photo, the one Robyn dug up. Brogan, Hall and Carson are standing under the main house portico to greet them. It's quite a gathering. It has the feel of a high-level conference. I could be wrong." "Call Captain Johnson and describe the two hotshots. Maybe he can identify them for us." "All right." The feel of a high-level conference. Disturbing. Was Brogan aware of our surveillance and pending plans to take him down? The three additional bodyguards also bothered me. If I counted Brogan among the shooters and didn't count his servants or ranch personnel, the hotshots who'd just arrived, or the sheriff, the three new bodyguards brought the number of shooters inside the stronghold to twelve. Even with my propensity to gamble, the odds of going in alone and taking Brogan down just became too long. I'd told Colleen my plan was still evolving, but at that moment, my comment had been a lie. I'd intended a silent, solo incursion, and then a reign of death as I moved through the stronghold eliminating the evil that lurked within. "The sedan's driver just dropped one of the bodyguards at the gatehouse," Heather said. "If I were to guess, I'd say the unmanned gatehouse just became manned." "Call Johnson, Heather," I said and hung up. I didn't like it when a plan got shot to hell. ------- "Tell me about the new arrivals at Brogan's ranch," I said to Johnson after Colleen and I returned to the main ranch house. "The man in the limo with two bodyguards is Conner James, a senator in the state legislature and one of Brogan's asswipe buddies." "What about the other man?" Johnson looked uncomfortable, and after experiencing his thoughts, I understood why. Johnson suspected the man in the sedan was Major Brett Knott, Chief of the State of Nevada Criminal Investigative Division. "I'm not sure," he said. "Guess," I said. "He might be Brett Knott, my boss." "Does Knott know where you are?" "No, I'm on leave. He thinks I'm fly fishing in Montana." "You're here to trump Sheriff Canton. Will Knott trump you?" I asked. He didn't speak, but his thoughts didn't offer any good news. "Does Knott's presence at a possible high-level conference with Brogan surprise you?" I asked. "Yes, definitely." But it also explains why Brogan skated every time I got close to taking him down. "Keith, that fraternity you belong to, the one that wants to pull my teeth, needs a thorough house cleaning." "I might be wrong about Knott." "I don't think so. Goodnight." Ruben, Sifu, Colleen, meet me down by the corral, I said silently as I walked away. Let's lean on a rail like wranglers, look at the horses and come up with a plan that'll work. Colleen and Sifu walked with me to the corral. A friendly horse trotted over and nuzzled Colleen, which delighted her. The clean air now carried the odors of horse sweat and manure, not all that offensive, I decided. Ruben arrived five minutes later. I told them about Senator James and Chief Knott. "Sheriff Canton also joined the party at Brogan's ranch," I added. "So, besides Brogan, four trained assassins, assorted bodyguards and other hard-cases, we must now deal with a state senator, Johnson's boss, and a county sheriff." "That complicates things," Ruben said. "Why?" Sifu asked. Let's mind-talk, I said to each of them. Answer Sifu's question, Ruben. Killing the head cop for the State of Nevada isn't something Johnson can let slide, Ruben said. Then don't kill him, Sifu remarked. To take the heat, I'd planned to go in by myself, I said. I can't do that now. I'm good, but I'm not that good. That, I wouldn't have allowed, Ruben said. Even his thought sounded forceful. I laughed. Subterfuge, Ruben. I would've used subterfuge. Here's our problem. Killing Brogan, Joel Hall and Linda Carson doesn't bother me. They deserve to die. I'm conflicted about Nick Martin, though, and I'm even more conflicted about the woman we assume is an assassin. Our assumption might be wrong. I'd planned to bypass the ranch personnel completely and let the pilot, the ranch foreman, his bodyguards and servants live, so my incursion would've been silent and surgical. Now... I let the rest of the sentence hang. When no one responded, I said, Now we need a new plan. Brogan traffics in children, Colleen said. He could be holding children captive in his stronghold. Any plan we devise should include that possibility. Colleen's statement stunned me. The gathering might not be a high-level conference, Sifu said. What better way to control a state senator, the state's top cop, and a county sheriff than to offer them a fresh batch of children from time to time to satisfy their perverted needs? "God damn them!" Ruben huffed out loud. "One way or the other, we go in tomorrow night," I said. ------- I drank my morning coffee sitting outside on a pine picnic bench. The sky was deep and blue, dotted with pure white clouds. I could smell pine and sage, and the air tasted sweet. While I sipped coffee, I paged through the photos Heather and Leo had taken from their overlook. Mathew Bailand, the ranch foreman, was one of the thugs who beat me senseless and left me for dead behind Circus Circus. His photograph triggered the memory. Bailand's partner wasn't among those captured by the long lens of Heather's camera. What's more, Nick Martin was conspicuous in his absence. I made a mental note to query Heather about Martin when she arrived. My four operatives camping in RVs in the Humboldt National Forest were en route to the Lazy M for a planning session. Keith Johnson stepped outside and sat on the bench across from me. He blew across the top surface of his coffee mug and sipped. "Do you have a plan?" he asked. I flipped a photo on the table. "Heather e-mailed this photograph this morning. Is that man Brett Knott?" Johnson looked down at the photo, looked back up at me, and said, "Yes." "The arrival of your boss, a state senator, and a county sheriff last night stuffed my plan into a cocked hat. I'm told the lights in Brogan's ranch house burned long into the night. What would be your guess regarding the activities that kept the lights on so late, Keith?" Without responding to my question, he said, "Why are you angry with me?" "Because I'll enter Brogan's stronghold sometime during the next few days, and when I walk out, you'll read me my rights and arrest me." He blew over his mug again. "If I do, I'll speak on your behalf at your trial." Big of him, I thought. "Dorothy makes a good cup of coffee," I said. "She also makes good sense. Take a stroll down memory lane with me, Keith. Mr. Bart once said to you, 'You know what he's doing, Keith. Do something about it, goddammit.' Do you remember? I do. Those were his exact words. He said them fifteen years ago. I heard them again last night. They resonated in my mind like a commandment from on high." I don't need to listen to this shit, he thought, stood up and walked into the house. Ruben joined me, careful not to spill coffee when he sat at the table. "The captain didn't look happy. What did you say to him?" Ruben asked. "I pushed his face into the dung of his ineptitude." Ruben chuckled. "I understand. In the cold light of day, I think your plan sucks." "Touché," I said. "Why?" "I should go in with you, not an hour later." "I agree. Heather, too." He laughed. "You're no fun. I was looking forward to a shouting match on the issue. Why the change of heart." Privacy is called for. Let's mind-talk. If my silent incursion gets noisy, you and Heather should be on the ground, not up on the bluff. Also, the two of you can silently incapacitate the ranch personnel while I do a silent pass through the main house to see what we're up against. Use flex cuffs on the ranch personnel's ankles and wrists and duct tape around their heads covering their mouths and eyes. My first contact should be any guards wandering the property or minding monitors in the security room. I'll kill them. I can't risk sparing their lives. Once the security room is neutralized, Gary or Leo or Maria, one of them, should take out the gate guard from the bluff with a silenced sniper rifle. Is one of them up to the task? He pursed his lips. I don't know. This is critical, Ruben. I see that. If necessary, we'll leave Heather on the bluff to take out the gate guard before joining us. We'll discuss this issue at our planning session. Ruben nodded. After the security-room guards, any roaming guards and the gate guard are down, the stronghold is ours. We'll move from room to room in the main house incapacitating everyone except Brogan, Joel Hall, Linda Carson, and Mathew Bailand. I don't want those four cretins breathing my air. Bailand surprises me, he said. He's the thug responsible for my memory loss. All right. What about Nick Martin? I don't think he's at the ranch. Why do you say that? He isn't in any of the photographs. Except for the gate guard, I'll do the killing, Ruben. "That isn't acceptable," he said out loud. I heard engines racing and turned to the sounds. Gary and Maria had arrived on their ATVs. I said, "Captain Johnson asked me about our plan this morning. I'd prefer to keep the captain in the dark - our intrepid helicopter pilot, too. Johnson and Keeny became a couple last night. Misdirection is warranted. Let's take walks with individuals rather than meet as a group. We'll start with Gary Hoyt." Ruben nodded and motioned Gary to join us. ------- As we walked through a stand of stunted cedar trees, a sage hen left the ground with noisy and sudden winged flurry, making us jump with fright. I felt adrenalin seep into my system and smiled. Ruben and Hoyt laughed self-consciously. After all, small birds shouldn't make brave men jump, and we were brave men, weren't we? Ruben and I had walked Hoyt through our plan up to the moment when the gate guard needed to be taken out. "This is not a test, Gary, but given the remainder of the mission, what's the next task facing us?" I asked. He considered my question. I listened to his thoughts as he reviewed the situation. "The gate guard," he said. "The gate guard must me neutralized - silently." "Correct," Ruben said. "How, is the question? The area around the gate is lighted. We can't sneak up on him." He shrugged. "A rifle. Use one of our silenced sniper rifles." Say nothing, Ruben, I said silently. He'll figure it out, and his reaction will tell us if he can do the job. I also let Ruben experience Hoyt's thoughts. Why aren't they responding? Hoyt asked himself. Was my answer or method wrong? He ran the situation through his mind again and came to the same conclusion. Crap! he thought, his eyes turning wild. They want me to... I don't know if I can. Let's let him off the hook, Ruben said. He's not the man for the job. I agree. "After the gate guard is neutralized," I said, "we'll control the stronghold. That's when we'll want you, Leo and Maria to rappel down from the bluff. Each of you will be responsible for controlling a sector of the stronghold. We'll assign those sectors later after we've spoken with everyone." "All right," he said, looking relieved. We repeated the exercise with Maria. She surprised us and unhesitatingly volunteered to take out the gate guard with a sniper rifle. "How are you with a rifle?" I asked. She grinned. "I'm not a trained sniper. I can't hit a target at a thousand yards, but they called me Annie Oakley at the rifle range in the military. From the top of the bluff to the gatehouse is only about a hundred and fifty yards. No problem." I gave her a hard look. "One shot, that's all you'll get, and it must be a headshot, Maria. I believe you can do it, but... Let me put it this way. You won't be shooting at a paper target. Can you settle the crosshairs on a man's head and squeeze off a round without shaking just a little bit? If you miss, he'll alert the main house, and those of us on the ground will be in a world of hurt." She looked me in the eye and said, "I can do it." ------- "Our plan sucks," I said. Ruben and I were back at the picnic bench waiting for Heather and Leo's arrival. "Why?" Ruben asked. No escape plan, I said silently. What's more, if our plan goes south after we've done some killing, arresting only me won't appease Johnson. He'll put cuffs on everyone. "That includes Robyn and Colleen, Ruben," I said out loud for emphasis. His eyes turned into black holes sucking in all the light around them. "That can't happen," he said softly but with exaggerated force. "I agree. Let's change the plan." We watched as Leo and Heather drove into the ranch yard in a pickup truck. You, Heather and I can do this job, Ruben, I said silently. I want everyone else, including Robyn and Colleen in Vegas or beyond with solid alibis before we go in. Now you're talkin' my language, he said. Let's see if Heather agrees with us. "Hot damn," Heather said as she moved onto the deck. "You two are a sight for sore eyes. I don't see any sidekicks or mates around. How about giving this old broad a fuck-buddy kiss?" I stood and held out my arms. "You're neither old nor broad, ex-fuck buddy. Lay one on me." Robyn, I said silently when I noticed Ruben hesitating, give Ruben permission to accept a fuck-buddy kiss from Heather. Remember, a kiss don't mean nothin'. As Heathers lush body moved against me, I sensed Robyn's laugh. Go for it, baby, Robyn said. Show her how it's done. Kiss that slut until her bones feel like they've turned into straw. That's what you do to me sometimes. Just remember that she's your ex-fuck buddy, with the emphasis on ex. I cut all connections. I had to. All the blood in my brain had flowed south. Boy-cock hard, that's what I was. Heather laughed gaily, gave my raging tumescence a squeeze and moved into Ruben's arms. I sat down. I had no choice. Except for the bone pushing my pants out to an alarming distance, I'd turned into a scarecrow. Fifteen minutes later while walking through tall pines, Heather enthusiastically endorsed our new plan. ------- A flurry of activity took place over the next hour. A sage hen taking flight had nothing on my crew. As expected, Colleen wasn't happy. "I won't do it," she said in no uncertain terms. I need plausible deniability, sweet thing. An alibi would be better. If you stay by my side, Johnson will arrest me. If you leave, you can be my alibi. You'd lie for me, wouldn't you? You know I would. I'll pretend to leave and stay with Sifu, and then fly out with you. Uh-uh, to make the subterfuge look real, you've got to check into our suite at the Bellagio. Robyn must do the same. Gordy and Maggie will be joining us in Vegas to enhance the alibi. Morgan, it's Ruben. Can you talk? What? I replied. Robyn is giving me grief about leaving. I've got the same problem. Join us in our room, please. I needed advice. Sifu, will you join Colleen and me in our room? Of course, he said. What will you do if Brogan is holding children captive in that place? Colleen asked. "Hold that thought until Robyn and Ruben join us," I said. "Sifu is on his way here, too." Moments later, Robyn stomped into our room. She looked me in the eye. "Damn fools, that's what you are." Sifu stepped into the room behind Robyn and Ruben. Silently, I outlined the situation for Sifu. Should Colleen stay or leave? I asked him. He gave Colleen a hard look. You must leave, grasshopper. She ignored him and turned to me. You didn't answer my question. What will you do if Brogan is holding children in his stronghold? If he is, they'll need help. Answer Colleen's question, Morgan, Robyn said. If for no other reason, Colleen and I should stay to help the children. I saw a way out of the impasse. "Is that the job the two of you want in this operation?" I asked. "Yes," they said simultaneously. "Then it's yours." "Wait just a damned minute," Ruben said. Listen and learn, I said to Ruben and only Ruben. Are you qualified doctors or nurses or paramedics? I asked Colleen and Robyn. No, but... , Robyn said. That's immaterial, Colleen said. No, Colleen. Admitting that you aren't qualified to give any children we rescue the medical and psychological help they'll need is very material. Get with Carlos. Determine the best way to stage qualified help and have it standing by. Talk to Gordy. Money transfers to pay for any services and equipment must be untraceable. Use aliases to engage the services or to rent or buy any equipment. All right, Colleen said. The second we run across any children in that stronghold, I'll notify you telepathically, and you can start the staged help rolling. That's your job. Will you do it? Yes. What about you, Robyn? I asked. Will you work with Colleen to make sure this part of the operation functions smoothly and effectively? Yes. Will you also admit that you can order the medical personnel and equipment to the stronghold from wherever they're staged with a telephone call from Las Vegas? Robyn slumped in her chair. Colleen didn't. She squared her shoulders and said, It would be better if we were nearby. Why? I asked and continued before she could answer my question. If you do your job properly, you could order the staged help into the stronghold from anywhere in the world your cell phone will work. Am I right or wrong? That's when Colleen caved. I could see her acceptance in her expression. Well, get to it. You two have a lot to do before we all roll away from this ranch in an hour. ------- "What's going on?" Johnson asked. "We're leaving," I said. Not likely, he thought. "If my people and I go into that stronghold, some bad guys will die, Keith. Guaranteed. Your boss could be one of them. If that happens, you'll not only arrest me, you'll also arrest all my people. You wouldn't have a choice. They'd be accomplices. My attorney advised me to make tracks. I'm taking his advice." I fixed my eyes on his. "That doesn't mean I won't come back and take Brogan down later, but you won't be standing at his gates ready to slap handcuffs on my wrists when I walk out, not then, not like you are now. I decided I wanted the same rights Brogan has misused for fifteen plus years. You'll have to prove I did it, Keith. I'll make sure I don't leave any proof lying around." "You sonofabitch. We had a deal." "And I'll honor our deal, but at a time and place of my choosing." "I could arrest you right now." "I don't think so. You let me skate in Vegas and pointed me at Brogan as if I were a battery of howitzers on a destroyer. Arrest me now, and we'll be sharing jail cells because not placing me under arrest and pointing me at Brogan was a criminal act. For one brief moment, you became me, Keith. You listened to the spirit of the law and ignored the letter of the law. We'll be outta here within the hour." I turned and waked away. Keith's crooked halo pissed me off. I found Keeny fussing with her helicopter. "Your services are no longer required," I said. "As of right now, you're off the clock." "Uh-uh," she said. "You'll pay for the return trip to Vegas whether you occupy a seat, or this aircraft returns vacant." "No problem. Send us a bill. We'll pay it without argument, but we're done." I turned and walked away. Wearing an apron, Dorothy Mayfield was busy in her kitchen. "Let's take a walk," I said. She glared at me. "You gave me hope, young man, and then you jerked the rug right out from under me. I won't walk anywhere with you." We were alone. A walk in the tall pines wasn't necessary. "Okay, we'll talk here. Whatever happens, don't let Keith leave the ranch before sunrise tomorrow, or until you receive a telephone call from someone telling you otherwise, whichever comes first." I smiled. "I need plausible deniability, Dorothy. Will you help me? I have a dirty, illegal job that needs doing, but I'm in love and would rather avoid a lengthy stay in the hoosegow. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Keith volunteered for mop-up detail for this shindig. If he leaves too soon, he won't be here to do his job." Her eyes widened, and then her smile became even wider. "Keith's a good man, but he's an officer of the court and, as such, is obligated to follow the letter of the law," I said. "I understand. If I have to, I'll hogtie him. He'll be here for sunrise or until I answer that call you mentioned." I held out my arms. "How about a hug." With a girlish squeal of happiness, she wrapped her arms around me and held me tightly. She kissed my cheek and rubbed away the lipstick with her thumb. She said, "Do that nasty, illegal job, but take care doing it. Okay?" I nodded. "Our secret?" "For sure." I turned and walked away. ------- I glanced at the luminous dial on my wristwatch and let the cover slam back shut. 3:00 AM. Time to boogie. "Fire the launcher, Heather," I whispered into the microphone at my neck. Besides communication equipment, we were dressed head to toe in black, including Kevlar vests, and our faces were striped with night camouflage paint. What looked like night watch caps on our heads doubled as ski masks to hide our faces for any up-close-and-personal encounters with the men and women we'd elected to incapacitate rather than kill. The launcher was non-protechnic and used air-thrust technology, as opposed to an explosive, to throw the grappling hook and line through the crisp night air. The hook sailed and landed with a loud thud on the roof of the machinery shed four hundred feet away. Would the noise rouse anyone or attract attention. Apparently not. We breathed a collective sigh of relief. I pulled NightOwl goggles from my forehead down over my eyes and adjusted the focus for the distance involved. "Take four or five paces to your left, Heather, and then drag the line slowly toward you. The hook should grab a plumbing pipe sticking up through the roof... Stop. Two more paces to the left. Okay, try again... That does it. Give the line a jerk." "It's set," she said and tied the line to the base of a pine tree behind her, making the line as taut as possible. I attached a pulley to the line and launched my body off the bluff. The pulley came with a drag, so I slowed my descent before I made an almost silent landing. "I'm down," I said. "Retract the pulley." Three minutes later, Ruben and Heather had joined me on the roof, and we rappelled down a line to the ground. We pulled on dull-black surgical gloves. Heather wiped down the pulley, removing our fingerprints from its surface, and Ruben did the same with the launcher, which he'd carried slung across his back down the line. We removed the fingerprints in case we couldn't return later to retrieve the equipment. The line and grappling hook had to stay where they were. We'd gathered all other equipment on the bluff earlier, and Leo had hauled it away with an ATV mule, which Jasper picked up at the campground with the eighteen-wheeler. Everyone but Sifu and the three of us had arrived in Las Vegas many hours ago. Sifu was staged in an SUV outside the stronghold within range of our communication equipment. He was our driver. We'd also removed all other vehicles and equipment outside the Ely area. "We're in, Sifu," I said. "Excellent," he replied. Ruben and Heather moved toward the bunkhouse as I dashed through the shadows toward the main house. I slowed my approach and stopped behind cover, pulling the goggles down over my eyes again to search for any roaming guards. Five guards protected the stronghold. One occupied the gatehouse. His relief would be asleep - maybe. One guard would be tending the monitors in the security room, wherever that room was located, and his relief would be asleep - maybe. That left one guard to roam. I found him when a cigarette lighter flared. Amateur. Sentries who smoke should be taken out and shot. I'd planned to kill any roaming guards, but this one was so inept, I decided to spare his life - maybe. Concussions could kill. I determined his likely roaming path and put myself in position. As he approached me, I shoved the end of my cudgel into his diaphragm before I whopped him over the head. All the air left his lungs, and he dropped as if all his bones had disintegrated. I slung my cudgel over my back, quickly restrained him with flex cuffs and covered his mouth and eyes with black duct tape. "A roaming guard is down," I said into the microphone. I didn't expect Heather or Ruben to respond, and they didn't. They had a big job to do. They had to silently restrain and tape the wranglers, the farmer and the cowboy cook. They wouldn't report in or respond until that job was finished. Staying in shadows, I circled the house. I'd pegged the guard status right on the money so far. Only one roaming guard. I asked myself where I'd locate the security room if this were my facility. Before the arrival of the three extra guards that came with the state senator and Keith's boss, the permanent guards occupied rooms over the garages in the carriage house. I'd have located the security room close to the guards, so I moved up an outside stairway, keeping my feet close to the structure side of the stairs to minimize any squeaking from the wooden treads. I tested the door at the landing. It wasn't locked, so I moved inside. I stood in a combination living room-kitchen with kitchen eating. I wouldn't need night-vision goggles. A nightlight was plugged into a wall socket next to a hall that bisected the structure. With a silenced XD-9 in my hand, I stood without moving for sixty seconds before navigating around the furniture to the hall. A second nightlight illuminated the hall at the opposite end. I counted eight doors, two more than I'd expected. I figured the security room would be behind one of two doors at the end of the hall, but I couldn't bypass the other doors without knowing what lurked behind them, or I could be trapped. I turned the knob on the first door to the right. It wasn't locked, and I stepped inside the room, closing the door silently behind me. The room was pitch black, so I pulled the goggles down over my eyes. The cook was asleep in her bed. I moved silently across the room, rendered her unconscious while holding my hand over her mouth, and then restrained and taped her. I did the same with the housekeeper directly across the hall. The next door on the left contained a sleeping guard. I didn't mess around with him. I struck his head with my cudgel, and then cuffed, blindfolded and gagged him. The next two doors on the right were back-to-back bathrooms. They were empty. The extra bathroom accounted for one of the extra doors. Who slept behind the other one? I found another sleeping guard in the next room on the left. He must've been a light sleeper because he roused when I opened the door. To silence him immediately, I shot him, a body-mass shot, turned and moved quickly down the hall to the next door on the right. A silenced pistol isn't truly silent. The guard in the security room had to have heard the gunshot. I'd assumed correctly. He was standing with a machine pistol in his hand and moving toward the door as I entered the room. I shot him in the head. Pink mist flew out behind him, spattering two monitors. I'd found and neutralized the security room, but one door remained unopened. The helicopter pilot was not a light sleeper. He also snored. My cudgel made sure he remained asleep, and the flex cuffs and duct tape insured he wouldn't be flying anywhere that night. "The ranch personnel are incapacitated," Ruben said in my ear. "Perfect timing," I replied. "The security room has been neutralized, also three guards, the pilot, cook and housekeeper. Heather, it's time to take out the gate guard." She'd slid down the line from the bluff to the machinery-shed roof with a sniper rifle slung across her back. I returned to the guard I'd shot in the chest. He was dead. To aid in plausible deniability, I put his gun in his hand. "The gate guard is down," Heather said. "Good. Rendezvous at point A," I said. "Good job, everyone," Sifu said. Brogan's stronghold was now ours. ------- As I descended the stairs, I noticed a bouncing light about one hundred yards to the northwest. Someone was outside walking with a flashlight. I reported the activity to Ruben and Heather. Our plan didn't allow for anyone wandering around in the dark. "Stay still and in the shadows. I'll investigate," I whispered as I stepped from the stairs to the ground. I looked around and noticed no other movement, so I struck out toward the moving light, quickly determining that the person holding the flashlight was on a path that stretched between the main house and the barn. The flashlight veered off the path, and moments later stopped moving. It appeared that the person set it on the ground. I slowed my approach and moved off the path using what little cover was available. "What the hell?" I asked myself. "What?" Ruben said. "It looks like a man is digging in the dirt with a shovel." I moved closer. Mathew Bailand! What is he doing? I moved to my left so I could come up behind him. He wouldn't hear me. He was grunting with strain as he shoveled dirt from a hole. I noticed a dark mound to his right that didn't fit the landscape. Was he burying something? It hit me then, and I must have gasped with shock, because he straightened his back and spun toward me. Red fury filled my brain, and then traveled to every molecule in my body like the sensations of an orgasm. I don't believe I'd ever felt such intense, consuming anger in my life. I shot him in the chest, and before he could fall, put another round in his forehead. He fell backwards into the shallow grave he'd been digging. Knowing what I'd find, I approached the dark mound with trepidation. It was a cheap, multicolored blanket woven in Mexico and sold to unsuspecting tourists as authentic Mexican Indian blankets for two or three times what they were worth. I knelt and gently folded the blanket back away from the broken and bloody body of a young boy. It wasn't the same beautiful blond boy I'd selected to abduct when I pretended to be a predator pedophile like Brogan while visiting an orphanage. This boy had dark hair. Intellectually, I knew he wasn't the boy I'd left looking forlorn and rejected in the playground on another day. Still, the dead child took on the countenance of that beautiful blond boy, and the red furies intensified behind my eyes to an unimaginable level. You know what he's doing. Do something about it, goddammit! I covered the broken body with the cheap blanket and rose to my feet. "No mercy," I said as I walked quickly down the path to the main house without looking left or right. "I'll kill them, all of them." "What do you mean by that?" Heather said. I ignored her and lengthened my stride. "Stop him," Sifu said. "He's lost it." Before I reached the house, Heather and Ruben stepped onto the path in front of me. Heather wrapped me in her arms. "Calm down, Morgan," she said when I tried to twist away from her. "Help me, Ruben." "Control yourself, Morgan," Sifu said. Their combined strength halted my progress, and the red haze behind my eyes cleared enough to bring me back to reality. "I'm all right now," I said. They dropped their arms and released me but stayed between the house and me. "Tell us," Heather said. ------- Chapter 16 "I wonder how many small bodies are buried on this ranch?" Heather said. Heather's question could have been taken verbatim from my mind. Morgan, can you hear me? Sifu said silently. Yes. Talk with Colleen. You need her perspective. "I need to think," I said and took a few steps into the shadows. Ruben, keep Heather busy for a few minutes. I need advice. He knew about my telepathic advisory board, and I sensed approval in his expression. Like Sifu, did he believe I needed advice? A gust of wind rushed through the stand of pines behind the bathhouse. I heard a pinecone tumble from the tree, finally striking the metal gutter on the eave before falling to the needle-strewn ground. I'd returned from the red fog and no longer needed sweet thing's mental counsel, but we'd stalled the mission with an intermission and touching my mind with hers was always refreshing. I clicked my tongue. Finally, Colleen said. Are you all right? Is Ruben all right? Robyn is in our suite with me. I'm not hurt, but I'm not all right. For a while, I lost it, baby. But for Heather, Ruben and Sifu, I'd have thrown the rest of my life away. If that sounded melodramatic, think again. Killing under the influence of the red haze of anger and revenge that had briefly consumed my body and mind would have been counter to Mr. Bart's conditioning. I'd have surely lost my humanity. I told Colleen about Bailand, the shallow grave, the dead boy wrapped in a cheap Mexican blanket, and then I described my angry reaction that took me on a side trip into the murky realm of insanity. For a brief time, I became what Heather once called me: a killing machine. I felt compelled to move through that house leaving death in my wake without a sense of right or wrong or a concern for my own safety. I went berserk, sweet thing. I'm not sure I would have reacted differently. I connected with you for advice, I said. Sifu is also connected, and an advisory board meeting is hereby called to order. The three of us did some mind-talking for about five minutes. Then I let Ruben and Robyn converse while I spoke quietly with Heather. "No one has exited the house to check on Bailand," I said. "I noticed," Heather said. I heard Ruben tell Robyn that he needed to return to the task at hand. He looked at me and, nodding toward the house, said, "How should we do this?" "I'm going in. Recon only. We need to know what we're up against before we enter en masse." When Ruben started to object, I said silently, I'll move through the house and locate the occupants using telepathy. Recon only. In and out, Ruben. I'm fine, now. Okay, he replied. Besides Glen Brogan, six or seven adults occupied the house, the seventh being Nick Martin. If I found more than eight mental signatures in the house, I'd know Brogan was holding other children captive. Besides, I'd been in children's minds. I believed I could recognize and differentiate the mind of a child from an adult's. I entered through an unlocked patio door. I wasn't surprised by my ease of entry. All the stronghold's defenses were concentrated on the perimeter. Besides, Bailand had exited the house carrying the murdered boy and a shovel. I quickly cleared the vacant east side of the ground floor, which included the kitchen and dining areas. No new minds in that area, but I found four mental signatures on the west side. All occupants in those rooms were asleep; two of them were children. I mounted the stairs to the second floor and found five new minds. Two of the five were children. Everyone was asleep. I exited the house thoroughly confused. I'd expected to find seven or eight adults. I'd located five. Maintaining the assumption that Nick Martin was not at the ranch, that meant two of the seven adults who should have been in the house were missing. Had Brogan slipped my net again? Had he left the ranch this morning after Heather and Leo gave up their surveillance? Perhaps the sheriff left, or the senator, or Keith's boss. Had I been mistaken regarding my adult and child classifications? Shit. I joined Ruben and Heather in the bathhouse where they'd waited for me and told them what I'd found. "The senator arrived in a limo, Keith's boss in a sedan, and the sheriff in a police cruiser," Heather said. "I'll check the garages and the parking areas for those vehicles." She left the bathhouse and moved into the shadows. Heather wasn't privy to my telepathic abilities, so I couldn't discuss my concerns about possible classification mistakes with her. After she left to check on the vehicles, I told Ruben about them, silently, of course, and it was time to inform Colleen about the children I'd found at the ranch. Sweet thing, I said silently, I found four live children in the house. I could be wrong. I might have mistakenly classified one or more of the sleeping minds a child when, in fact, they were adults. Regardless, at least one person in that house is a child. Start moving your medical help toward the ranch now. All right. Tell them about Sifu. If the medical personnel arrive before we've neutralized all the adults, they'll need to wait with Sifu before we can open the gates for them. Heather returned. "The limo, sedan and cruiser are still here," she announced. That means three of the five adults in the house are the senator, the state cop and the sheriff, Ruben thought. Maybe, I said to him. Uh-uh, he said. I've grown to trust your telepathic abilities. We'll find five adults and four children in that house. ------- "All right. Let's do it this way," I said. "We'll use the bathhouse as our holding area for the children. They'll make noise, so what we do inside with the adults must be quick and sure." I outlined my plan. Ruben and Heather made suggestions, and we altered the plan. We were a good team. The three of us entered the house together, and Ruben and Heather followed me down the hall to the first occupied bedroom. I opened the door and entered the room. The fat county sheriff was snoring loudly, and a child was asleep in the bed with him. I whacked the sheriff on the head with my cudgel, careful not to kill him - sort of. I hoped he'd wake up with no memories. Ruben placed his hand over the child's mouth, a boy, I noticed. He was restrained. The sheriff had cuffed him to the bed. "Heather, search the sheriff's clothes for the handcuff keys," I whispered into the microphone as I pressed my fingers against the child's neck to put him to sleep. I noticed large bruises on his face and body. He was naked. Ruben grunted when he flipped the fat sheriff onto his back and used flex cuffs on his wrists and ankles to restrain him. "Found them," Heather said, holding up the keys. I taped the sheriff's mouth and eyes while Heather unlocked the cuffs and released the sleeping boy. "How long will he sleep?" Heather asked. "He could wake up while Ruben carries him to the bathhouse," I said as I gently placed a piece of duct tape on his mouth. None of us liked it, but we'd collectively decided the children had to be gagged until we got them to the bathhouse. After that, it was Heather's call. Ruben picked up the boy, and he and Heather left the room. Heather would stay with the child in the bathhouse, and Ruben would return to help me in the next occupied bedroom on the ground floor. The state senator was asleep in a king-sized bed, and the child with him was a girl, which surprised me. I'd expected to find nothing but boys. Like the previous captive, she was restrained, but not with handcuffs. The senator had bound her hands and feet with neckties. While you carry the girl to Heather, I'll incapacitate the adult sleeping alone upstairs, I said to Ruben telepathically after we'd trussed and gagged the senator. All right. The single adult was the female that we'd assumed was an assassin. I quickly rendered her unconscious, restrained and taped her. She was wearing an unbecoming flannel nightgown. Three down, two to go, Sifu. Don't become overconfident. Good advice, I reasoned. I returned to the landing. Ruben was waiting for me. If the layout upstairs on the west side is similar to the layout downstairs, we should find another master bedroom at the end of the hall. If he's in the house, that's where we'll find Brogan, I said to Ruben silently. Let's check out that room first. Brogan didn't occupy the room. Chief Brett Knott slept in the bed with another girl. I didn't need to put the girl to sleep. She'd been badly beaten and was unconscious. I relayed her condition to Colleen. She'll need medical attention before the other two children we've freed. Is Knott unconscious, gagged and restrained? she asked. Yes. Break both his legs for me. I whacked his shins with the cudgel. The reverberations sounded like hyenas chomping on bones, satisfying echoes in my mind. Done, I said. Thanks, cowboy. My pleasure. Thanks for the suggestion. ------- I waited while Ruben carried the unconscious girl to Heather. With her injuries, we'd discussed not moving her at all but considered that approach too dangerous. Ruben left carrying the girl as if she were an armful of eggs. He'd be a while, and I became impatient. The three remaining adults - two of them were missing - were my nemesis Joel Hall and Linda Carson. I was more convinced than ever that Nick Martin wasn't in the house, so Brogan or Hall or Carson lay asleep with a sleeping child in the last occupied bedroom. Curiosity killed the cat, it's said, but I wasn't a cat. I was curious, though. Rather than wait for Ruben's return, I walked to the last occupied bedroom and opened the door. Joel Hall looked back at me. "Morgan!" he shouted. My bullet entered his open mouth. Hair and bone and brains and blood exploded from the exit wound, splattering the sleeping girl. Hall's shout and the sound of my silenced pistol awakened her, though. She looked at me with unsurprised, unconcerned green eyes. Blood oozed from her nose - her blood, not Hall's - when she moved up onto her elbows, and the coagulating liquid streamed slowly down over her upper lip into her mouth. She licked at it. "Who are you?" she asked. Her voice was tiny but strong. "I'm Morgan," I said as I untied the scarf used to restrain her hands. "I'm here to set you free." She turned her head and looked at Hall. "You killed him. Good. He was a bad man." Suddenly, an un-silenced gunshot echoed through the house. Had Brogan or Linda Carson returned? Or both of them? I rushed from the room. I saw Ruben sprawled at an awkward angle, either unconscious or dead, halfway up the stairs. Linda Carson stood at the bottom of the stairs. She was naked, which startled me, but she also had a gun in her hand. She saw me at the same time I saw her, and she was fast, faster than I. Her bullet left her gun a fraction of a second before mine. She missed. I didn't. She'd gone for a headshot. The supersonic bullet ruffled my hair as it ripped by my head. When my bullet struck between her breasts, she spun to her right and hit the parquet floor on her side. She wasn't dead, and when she rolled onto her back and aimed her gun at me, I shot her again, another body-mass shot. The striking bullet made her hips bounce. I shot her once more as I started down the stairs to Ruben. She stopped moving. Ruben's eyes opened, and he rolled with a groan onto his side, and then sat on a stair tread. "Where are you hit?" I asked as I ejected the mostly empty magazine in my XD-9 and rammed home a full one. He gasped and said, "My right side, but the bullet hit the vest. It knocked me down. I must have cracked my head on the stairs when I fell." He rubbed the back of his neck. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Where the hell did Linda Carson come from?" I asked. "Damned if I know. Who's in the bedroom upstairs?" "Joel Hall. I killed him." That reminded me that I'd left a little girl alone with a dead and bloody body and a scarf tied around her ankles. Not good. "There's a girl upstairs. Are you up to carrying her to the bathhouse? I want to search the house again. I don't know how I missed Linda Carson, and Brogan is still missing." "I'll try," he said. "I can walk," a tiny voice said. Ruben and I looked up at her. She stood naked at the top of the stairs. Blood and gore dotted her slim body. She must have removed the scarf from her legs by herself. She started down the stairs. Her steps were studied and careful, though. I could see she was hurting. I rose to my feet, moved up three steps and gathered her into my arms. "I'll look for Brogan later, sweetheart," I said. "He's probably in the basement," she said. "Good, you killed Linda, too. She was a bad woman." ------- Basement! That's how I'd missed Brogan and Carson. I'd cast my mind out horizontally to search for new mental signatures, not up or down. "Cover me," I said to Ruben, "while I carry..." I didn't know why, but I felt a need to personalize my relationship with the girl. "What's your name, sweetheart?" "Lorraine, but you can call me Lori." "You're a brave girl, Lori." She clung to my neck. "I know," she said, matter-of-factly. With his pistol in hand, Ruben staggered behind us. He was hurting. "Does Brogan have more children in the basement with him?" I asked Lori. "Uh-huh. You can kill him if you want. He's the baddest man here. He killed Tony. Tony wouldn't stop crying, and Mr. Brogan kept hitting him, telling him to stop crying until finally..." Her little body shuddered in my arms. "How old are you, Lori?" "I'm eight years old." Eight going on eighty after the ordeals she's been through, I thought. Heather had her weapon leveled on me as I entered the bathhouse. She looked relieved to see me, and even more relieved when Ruben walked in behind me. She dropped her pistol to her side. "Lori, this is Heather. She's a friend of mine. She'll take care of you and protect you while I go find Mr. Brogan. Okay?" She shook her head. "Uh-uh. I want to stay with you." Like with Maggie when I'd rescued her from her abductors, Lori had made me her security blanket. She clung to me as if I was a lifeline and she was in an angry sea. "Brogan's here?" Heather said, looking alarmed. "Basement," Ruben said. "That house has a basement." "What happened to you?" Heather asked Ruben. "Did you get hit?" "Vest, and then I cracked my head on the stairs. I'm still pretty woozy." He staggered to a bench and sat down heavily, dropping his head between his knees. "Your head's bleeding," Heather said. "Lori," I said. "I need a favor from you." "What?" she said. "Would you stay here and take care of my friend?" I don't want to... but... "'kay." I set her down, and she walked to Ruben. "Lemmee see the cut," she said as she climbed up on the bench. What an amazing little girl! Heather thought. That's for sure, I thought. "I'll dampen a towel, Lori, and you can wipe the blood away to see how bad it is," Heather said. "And I'll bring a damp towel for you so you can wipe her face." "'kay." "Where are the stairs to the basement, Lori?" I asked. "From the room ah..." She looked at her hands, which she'd held out in front of her. "... left of the front door. If you're facing the front door, not coming through it. I looked at my hands cause I get left and right mixed up. I'm dyslexic. The stairs are behind a door in that room." I turned and left the bathhouse. I'm dyslexic, she says. I tell her that she's brave, and she says she knows. Lemmee see the cut, she says to Ruben as if she were an ER nurse. I think I'm falling in love with a bruised and battered eight-year-old girl, I thought as I moved back into the house. As it turned out, I didn't need the location of the stairs to the basement to find Brogan. He was bending over Linda Carson at the base the stairs. When he spun toward me with a machine pistol in his hand, I shot him dead and left him lying where he fell. I didn't shoot him once, either. I emptied the full clip in my XD-9 before I stopped pulling the trigger. I cast my eyes toward the heavens and said, "Mr. Bart, I just did something about it." I received no answer, but in my mind I felt certain that Mr. Bart felt more at peace with the universe that he occupied. Sifu, Brogan's dead. Have the medical teams arrived? No, but I see lights off in the distance. They'll be here in ten minutes, or less. Guide them in. Remember to pull down your mask. I sensed a laugh. You do the same. ------- The basement didn't look like a torture chamber. I didn't see any whips or chains, but the expressions on the faces of the children testified to the tortures they had endured. Like walking wounded, two boys and one girl followed me as I ascended the stairs. I carried another boy. He'd tried to walk but couldn't. His name was Gerald, and yes, he knew Lori. "She's very brave," he said. Morgan, the medical personnel are here, Sifu said silently. "Heather, would you go down and open the gates?" I said. She nodded and hurried away. I wrapped the boy in a blanket and set him on a lounge-chair cushion. "A doctor will be here soon to help you," I said. He nodded. "Thank you for saving us." An amazing little boy, too, I thought. I looked around the room. Colleen, I said silently, we're finished here. We saved eight children, four girls and four boys. One little girl is hurt badly. She's still unconscious. One boy is too banged up to walk, but he's conscious and lucid. One boy lies dead wrapped in a Mexican blanket next to a shallow grave back by the barn. Mathew Bailand is lying dead in that grave. Glen Brogan, Joel Hall and Linda Carson are dead. Senator Conner James, Chief Brett Knott, and Sheriff Canton are trussed, blindfolded and gagged. We had to kill three of the five bodyguards, but everyone else at the ranch is alive but incapacitated. Linda Carson shot Ruben, but the bullet struck his vest, and when he fell he hit his head. If I were to guess, he has some cracked ribs and a slight concussion. He's conscious and lucid, but I'll want our doctor in Vegas to meet us at the airport when we land to check him out. You have the doctor's name and number. Call him. When we're in the air, I'll contact you, and Maggie can make the call to Dorothy Mayfield." I took a deep breath and continued, "Sweet thing, Brogan has been doing this for over fifteen years, so tell Maggie to let Dorothy know that Johnson should look for other buried children in and around the stronghold. I shuddered with dread while imagining what Johnson would uncover during that search. I felt her sigh of relief. You did well, cowboy. Heather, Ruben and I are a good team. That's for sure. Please, connect Ruben with Robyn. She needs to know he's all right. Ruben, Robyn wants to talk to you, I said and connected them, but tamped down their thoughts as they moved through my mind so I wouldn't be distracted, and then amplifying them again as they left my mind so they could communicate. With practice, I'd learned the technique so that now I did it without conscious effort. I heard vehicles coming up the driveway, so I pulled the mask down over my face. Ruben noticed and did the same. "Why did you do that?" Lori asked. "What?" I asked her. "Cover your face." The situation reminded me that she knew my name. I'd need her promise to keep it a secret. I sat down, and without asking, she climbed onto my lap. She was still naked, but during my absence, she'd wrapped a beach towel around her. She'd also washed her face, and looking past her cuts and bruises, I saw goodness and beauty behind her physical and mental pain. I gave her a little hug and said, "I covered my face because the doctors and nurses who are just about here can't know what I look like. They also can't know my name." "Why?" "Because if the police find out I've been here tonight, they'll arrest me." "That's dumb. You're a hero, not a criminal." My hero, she thought and hugged me tighter. I chuckled. "I agree about not being a criminal, but trust me on this, Lori. That's what will happen. You know my name, don't you?" "Yes. It's..." She looked around to see if anyone could hear her. Feeling safe from prying ears, she whispered, "It's Morgan." "That's right. I need your solemn promise that you won't tell anyone my name. Okay?" "'kay, I promise." She giggled. "I also know Heather's name. Should I keep her name a secret, too?" "Yes." "Heather called the other man Ruben. I betcha his name has to be a secret, too." "I won't bet you because you'd win. All our names must be secrets. Do any of the other boys and girls know our names?" "I don't know. Lemmee check." She hopped off my lap and moved from child to child. "Nope," she said as she climbed back on my lap. Heather walked into the bathhouse. Some men and women wearing white smocks followed her. When I tried to stand, Lori clung to me, so I lifted her with me, settling her against my hip. "Time to go," Heather said. "You're going?" Lori said, looking frightened. Her small body trembled in my arms. "Yes. We must. Soon, the police will be here, and we must be gone before they arrive." "Take me with you." "I can't, Lori. What about your mother and father? The police will take you back to them." "I'm an orphan." I looked at Heather and realized I was looking at her for permission to take Lori with me. I didn't need Heather's permission, but I did need Colleen's. Colleen, what would you say if I told you I wanted to bring one of the captive children with me, a little girl? She's eight-years-old, very brave, and... oh, yes, she's dyslexic. She's also an orphan, and she's become quite attached to me. Is he out of his mind? was her first thought, and then she responded as if we were having a conversation. She'll be missed, cowboy. Johnson will come looking for her. Remember when you looked up at me at your father's house and asked me to give you a future? I sensed her sharp gasp. She needs a leg up on life, sweet thing. Bring her with you. ------- "You can't take that girl with you," Ruben said. We were walking toward the idling SUV that would drive us away. "I can and will," I said. "She's an orphan. I just adopted her." "That's not how adoptions work," he said. "Don't care." "What about Colleen?" he pressed. I have her concurrence, I said to Ruben silently as I opened the rear door of the SUV. I lifted Lori in and moved inside behind her. She promptly crawled back on my lap. Sifu sat behind the wheel. He looked over his shoulder, shook his head, and said, "You'll need to buckle up, young lady." "'kay," she said, took the seat to my left and buckled up. "Drive to the machinery shed, Sifu, so we can pick up the launcher and pulley," Heather said. Five minutes later we drove through the gates of the G-Bar-B Ranch. "Mission accomplished," I said. "That girl is a complication," Ruben said. "Her name is Lorraine. If she gives you permission, you may call her Lori. Please don't refer to her as 'that girl' again." Sifu chuckled. Heather laughed. "Lorraine, may I call you Lori?" "Yes. That would please me, Ms. Heather, and Mr. Ruben, you may call me Lori, too." Heather said, "You'd better call Colleen, Morgan. Lori will need clothes when we land in Henderson." I sure would like to be a fly on the wall in Las Vegas when Colleen answers that call, she thought. "Who's Colleen?" Lori asked me. I grinned at her. "Colleen is my sidekick and mate." I pulled out my cell phone, hit the soft key to encrypt the call, and pushed speed dial number one. Mate, huh, Lori thought. He's married. That's good. I'll have a mother, too. Colleen said hello as we moved off the ranch road onto a paved road, State Road 379, if memory served. We'd be flying out of the Currant Ranch Airport, which paralleled Highway 6 just south of Currant, a small Nevada town. It was a dirt runway, and night operations were discouraged, but the pilot had assured me that we'd be safe. Jasper had arranged for a man to drive the SUV back to Vegas. "It's Morgan, Colleen," I said into the telephone. "Are you in the air?" "No, but we're not far from the airport. Listen, I'm bringing a girl with me. She'll need some clothes. Right now she's wearing a beach towel. Her name is Lorraine, but she might let you call her Lori. Would you speak with her, find out her sizes and buy the bare essentials before we land in Henderson?" Colleen laughed gaily. "Cowboy, I love you to pieces, but you are a trial. Nothing's open." "Wal-Mart never closes, sweet thing. I'll bet you a dollar to a donut that Henderson has a Wal-Mart. We're talking bare essentials, not designer wear." "Oh, okay. Hand her the phone." I let them talk without listening or connecting with either of them. Ruben, I noticed, was also on the phone, probably telling Robyn I was a crazy man. I didn't care. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Tired. Sleepy. We were driving through Currant when Lori nudged me and handed me the phone. I yawned and ran my fingers through my hair. "Did Lori tell you enough for you to buy the bare essentials?" I asked Colleen. "Yes, but prepare yourself for some serious shopping soon. She's a delight, cowboy. I can see why you were so taken with her. Gotta run, or you'll land in Henderson, and I won't be there to greet you." I hung up, and Lori reached over and took my hand. "I like your... ah, mate, Mr. Morgan. She's a nice lady." "The best," I said. That's for sure, Heather thought and sighed. I need some loving. I need some time with Bill. "Morgan, I won't be staying at the Bellagio. I'm taking some downtime to spend with my husband." "All right. When the limo drops us off at the hotel, you can pick up your luggage and use the limo to drive you to the airport. Call Eileen. She'll book your flight." ------- After using some wet-wipes and a towel to clean the camouflage paint off my face and neck, I opened the bag Colleen had packed for me with a change of clothes so I could deplane in Henderson without looking like I'd been through a war. Ruben and Heather had already changed. Colleen had given the bags to the pilot before he flew to the airport in Currant to pick us up. I changed clothes in the small aircraft without putting on the t-shirt she'd packed for me. I didn't need it. I had a shirt. "Lori, honey, it won't fit very well, but would you like to wear my t-shirt until you can put on the proper clothes that Colleen will have for you when we land?" "Yes, I'd like that," she said, discarded the beach towel, and slipped the t-shirt over her head. Five minutes later, she was asleep on my lap. I slid her over onto the seat next to me and wrapped her in a blanket. Ruben, may I connect? I said silently. Yes. You're upset about the girl. Why? The plausible deniability we all worked so hard to achieve went down the shitter when you took her with us. The other children know her. She was their leader, their rock, for crissake. They'll tell Johnson about her. He'll come looking for her and find her - easily. That puts you at Brogan's ranch. Johnson will arrest you. You're right and you're wrong, Ruben. Yes, my plausible deniability is kaput, but Johnson won't arrest me. Michelle would crucify him. She'd make me a bigger hero than John Wayne, and Hitler's villainy would pale compared to Johnson's. We did his job for him, and we did it well. We saved eight abused children and took down a ring of predator pedophiles, including a senator in the state legislator, the state's top cop, and a county sheriff. When he looks, Johnson will find some small bodies buried on that ranch. I don't know how many, but it won't be just one or two. Brogan has been abducting, abusing, trafficking in, and killing children for over fifteen years. I took a deep breath and continued. The media will go nuts over this story, Ruben. It'll go national, and Johnson craves the spotlight. You saw his television interview when he talked about Lieutenant Delgado's arrest as if he alone had initiated the successful investigation into the corrupt Las Vegas Police Department that had precipitated Delgado's arrest. He'll end up with Knott's job. He'll become the top cop for the State of Nevada, a job he's coveted for years. If he arrests me, I'll take him down public-relations wise. He knows this, so he'll make a deal with me. He'll say he won't arrest me if I promise to keep Protect & Serve's and my involvement at the G-Bar-B Ranch a secret, and I'll reluctantly cave in and give him the solemn promise he asks for. About the girl, Ruben. I told him about the beautiful blond boy I left looking forlorn and rejected in a playground at an orphanage. I told him about Mr. Bart and me, about how Mr. Bart had taken me by the hand and given me a leg up on life. I told him about Colleen and me, about how Colleen had asked me to give her a future. I couldn't resist Colleen's entreaty, Ruben, any more than I could walk away from Lori. I didn't have it in me to leave Lori at that ranch looking forlorn and rejected. She's so very brave, Ruben, and she's smart. They raped her. She's only eight years old, and they raped her, and while they were abusing her sexually, they abused her physically, and through it all, she came out the other end knowing right from wrong, good from evil, and Lori is good clean through, Ruben. Her young mind is a treasure trove of good and right thinking. She amazed me, and I fell in love with her. I love her like a father loves a daughter. I know that sounds cockeyed. I've only known her a few hours, but that's how I feel about her. In my mind, I adopted her at the ranch. I'm rich. With the money I'll throw at that orphanage where she lived, they'll fall all over themselves helping me make the adoption legal. Lori is my daughter, Ruben. Get used to it. He chuckled. She won my heart, too, Morgan. I was just worried about you. Congratulations on becoming a father. Question. Is Colleen ready to become a mother? I didn't know, not for sure, but I'd know soon. ------- I let the water from the showerhead beat on me without worrying if I'd run out all the hot water and be yelled at by the other boys in the orphanage. The Bellagio didn't run out of hot water. I'd slept long, through the morning into early afternoon, and had awakened feeling drugged. It would take a few days for me to recapture my normal sleep cycle. When we landed in Henderson, Colleen and Robyn were waiting for us, and Doctor Wilkins was there. He examined Ruben and made the same diagnosis I'd made: cracked ribs and a mild concussion. The doctor advised Ruben to stay in a hospital overnight for observation, but Ruben told the doctor that Robyn would be doing the observing that night. I also asked the doctor to examine Lori. I knew what he'd find. I also knew, unless her physical condition demanded otherwise, that Lori needed to stay with Colleen and me that night. If possible, she shouldn't be alone in a hospital where she'd be a stranger among strangers. She should be with Colleen and me. When the doctor finished his examination, I took him aside. "How bad is she, Doc?" "She's been beaten but apparently no bones were broken. She's also been repeatedly raped, Morgan. Her little vagina and rectum are torn and bleeding, not excessively, but infection is probable. She'll need to be checked for STDs and the AIDS virus. Whoever abused her like that should be taken out and shot." "That's been taken care of, Doc." He chuckled. "That figures." "Question," I said. "Is she well enough to be an outpatient? The reason I'm asking relates to her psychological well-being. I've become her security blanket, a role I won't abrogate unless you tell me her life is in jeopardy if she isn't admitted into a hospital tonight." Doc Wilkins looked at Lori and saw the same look of fear I was seeing, and he was an old, wise doctor, so he understood the fear that lurked behind Lori's eyes. Her largest fear was being taken away from me. "I'll shoot her with a cocktail of vitamins and antibiotics tonight. Watch her carefully. If she starts bleeding excessively or a fever develops, call me. Otherwise, bring her to my clinic tomorrow." "Thanks, Doc." One hurdle leapt. Would Colleen present another, a higher obstacle I couldn't go over or around? Hah! Colleen crouched in the aisle of the small aircraft to put her at eyelevel with Lori. "They raped you, didn't they?" Colleen said. Lori nodded. "They were bad people." "I know about being raped. I was raped when I was a little girl like you. I was older than you, but not by much, so I know what you're going through right now." Lori nodded again and tears filled her eyes, the first tears I'd seen from her since I'd met her. Colleen continued. "A doctor just checked you physically, Lori. In a few days, Morgan and I will introduce you to another doctor, a doctor who will help you cope mentally with what's happened to you. The main thing for you to focus on right now is the fact that you're safe. Morgan and I will make sure of that. Okay?" "'kay." Then they fell into each other's arms and cried together, but not for long. My ladies were brave. ------- The sun set and sent its light to the heavens, but a bank of clouds on the horizon reached out and gathered in the sunshine, transforming its yellow-white hue to infinite shades of orange and pink. The distant mountains softened to a flat purple, and nearby cholla cactus glowed golden as the day started to die. I sat on the deck off the master bedroom in my home in Carefree and enjoyed the glorious sunset until the clouds gave up the sun's light and the stars started to sprinkle the sky. I held in my hand the sealed envelope Marna Crispin left me. The courts, with their typical bureaucratic attitude, had tried to find a reason why the envelope should remain in their possession until probate closed, but in the end, no real reason prevented the transfer of the apparently worthless asset. The $10,000,000 was another matter entirely. I suspected it would be years before I received that bequest, and the possibility that the amount would be eroded during the wait was very real. After turning on a light in the bedroom so I could read, I slipped the blade of a silver letter opener under the flap and cut the top of the envelope. Inside I found an old photograph and a personal, handwritten letter. I set the photo aside and picked up the letter. My Dear Luke, If you are reading this, I am dead, and with my death I no longer feel obligated to remain silent on some issues that relate to you. I knew your mother, Luke. She died in childbirth, giving you life as hers slipped away. When Crystal told her father she was pregnant and refused to name the father, he disowned her and put her on the street. She came to me, her best friend, and my parents took her in - for a while. Somehow, Spencer Upton, Crystal's father, applied pressure or paid off my parents, probably both, and once again Crystal was cast adrift with no support. I tried to help her, Luke, but I was young, fifteen at the time, the same age as our mother. Spencer Upton was a cruel, vindictive man. To his mind, your mother becoming pregnant at such a young age without benefit of wedlock was the same as being disloyal or disobedient, and he set out to punish her. Crystal moved from friend to friend, but Spencer Upton intervened each time. Finally Crystal entered a home for unwed mothers. I thought surely they would protect her, but after a visit by Spencer Upton, the administrator trumped up some theft charges against Crystal, and once again, my dearest friend found herself without a roof over her head. I lost track of her then, so I can't tell you what happened to her from that night until I received a call from her begging for my help. She was in labor. I went to her, of course. I'd just turned sixteen, so I could drive, and I drove her to the hospital. During a long and very painful labor, I held her hand in mine. Deep down, she knew that she wouldn't live through the night, so she asked for some promises, which willingly I gave her. She asked me to make sure her father never learned of your birth. I've kept that promise. She also asked me to keep track of you. I've kept that promise, as well. Then she asked me not to tell you about her. I'm breaking that promise with this letter. I asked her why I couldn't tell you about her, and she said she wasn't worthy enough to be a mother, not with what she'd had to do to survive on the streets. I knew even while you were still a boy that you were wise and compassionate enough to accept whatever she did, but a promise is a promise, so I maintained my silence all these years. Accordingly, once again, only this time from the other side, I ask for your forgiveness. Because I promised to keep track of you, I met Bart when he took you under his wing, and the happiness we shared until his mind started to fail were the best years of my life. I loved Bartholomew Q. Craven with all my heart. About your mother. She was a beautiful girl, lithe and strong of body, very athletic and so smart I often felt a little dimwitted when with her. A picture is better than a thousand words, so I'm enclosing the only photograph I had of her. She was fourteen years old when the snapshot was taken, about six months before she became pregnant. When Crystal was twelve, her mother, Olivia, died from a fall down a flight of stairs. Crystal and her mother were very close, and Crystal took her mother's death hard. I've always suspected Spencer Upton pushed Olivia down those stairs. The Uptons were wealthy, but most of the money came from Olivia's side of the family. If you have a desire to learn more about your ancestry, Olivia's maiden name was Bresson. I'm sorry but I can't tell you anything about your biological father. Crystal didn't know the father's name. She was gang raped, which made her ashamed, one of the reasons she didn't want me to tell you about her. That she was raped and what she did to survive so she could give birth to a beautiful baby boy doesn't matter. You can be proud of your mother, Luke. She loved you dearly. As do I. Yes, I love you. I've loved you from the moment of your birth, and I'm so very, very proud of you, Luke. You've developed into an amazing young man. I was a plain girl and a homely woman, but because I made a promise to your mother to keep track of you I found love, Luke. I found my true love when I met your Mr. Bart, and I found love again when I realized that you loved me, not as a mother, but as a friend. I'm leaving you the money Bart left for me. I didn't need it. My needs were simple, and deep down I didn't feel worthy of the bequest because I'd forsaken the lovely man who left it to me. I reveled in his forgiveness, as I did with yours, but as hard as I tried, I was never able to forgive myself. I loved only three individuals during my life: Crystal Upton, Bartholomew Q. Craven, and you, dear Luke. I was fortunate because all of you returned my love. Perhaps Bart and Crystal will be waiting for me on the other side. I hope so. Be happy. Marna Crispin. With tears in my eyes, I handed the letter to Colleen and picked up a picture of my courageous mother. "Beautiful," I breathed. ------- It was two weeks after our siege at the G-Bar-B Ranch before Captain Johnson came calling. He rang the buzzer in front of the gates at my Carefree home. I opened them without using the intercom to acknowledge him, but I did greet him warmly at the front door. I gestured for him to climb the stairs. "From the way I'm dressed, you can see we were swimming. Join us outside on the patio, Keith. It's cool enough to be pleasant. Do you prefer sun tea or lemonade? We have both." Wearing a bikini that would give a dead man raging tumescence, Colleen gave Keith a welcome hug, sat him at the patio table and fixed him a glass of iced tea. He noticed the sparkling diamond I'd given Colleen when I'd asked her to marry me, but he didn't say anything about it. Lori walked up the steps and out of the pool. The Arizona sun shined into the drops of water dotting her little body, briefly giving her an iridescent aura. She quickly dried off with a fluffy, green towel. God, she was beautiful. She walked up to Keith, pushed out her hand and said, "Hi, mister. I'm Lorraine, but you can call me Lori." Keith shook her hand. "I'm Major Johnson," he said. "Mom and Dad have been teaching me how to swim. I'm getting pretty good at it." She looked at Colleen. "May I have some lemonade, please?" "Sure," Colleen said and poured her a glass. "Major?" Lori said and scrunched up her pretty face, punctuating her question. "Are you in the army?" Keith chuckled. "No. I'm a police officer." Lori's eyes widened, and she gave me a frightened look. "It's okay, Lori," I said. She relaxed. "Good. Major Johnson, I was afraid you'd come here to arrest my daddy." "Why would you think that?" Keith said. "Don't go there, Keith, or I'll be obligated to escort you from my home," I said, my voice flat, unthreatening but forceful. Lori cocked her head. "I know you. I saw you on television. You..." Colleen said, "Lori, I need some help in the kitchen. Bring your lemonade. Major Johnson and your dad need to talk privately." Lori looked at me. I smiled at her and nodded. She grinned, hopped from the chair and said, "It was nice to meet you, Major Johnson." She took Colleen's outstretched hand, and they walked toward the patio doors with Lori being careful not to spill her lemonade. "What kind of help?" Lori asked Colleen as Colleen opened the patio door. "We're going to make a flour-less chocolate cake." Colleen looked over her shoulder at me and gave me a dazzling smile. "It's to die for." When we were alone, Keith said, "You never cease to surprise me, Morgan. I'd expected subterfuge." "This is my Luke Upton house, as you know, or you wouldn't have found me. You can and should call me Luke in this house, and why did you expect subterfuge from me?" "Are you admitting that you entered Glen Brogan's ranch illegally, murdered him and others, and then abducted that little girl who just called you daddy?" I laughed with gusto. "Keith, that's pitiful." He laughed with me. "I agree." He nodded toward the house. "The girl, will you adopt her legally?" "That's in the works," I said. "How's Diane Keeny? Are the two of you still a couple?" "Yes." "That's good. A woman in a man's life keeps a man humble. Next time you visit bring her with you. I mistreated her. I owe her an apology, but unlike now, subterfuge was necessary then. You've been promoted. Did the governor offer you the top slot?" "Yes." "That pleases me, Keith. You deserve it." He shook his head. "What am I going to do about you? That's the question I need to answer today." "Ah, hell, Keith, you answered that question weeks ago when you didn't give my name to the media. You aren't going to do anything about me." He gave me a hard look. "You stayed out of it until now. Will that change?" "No. I much prefer anonymity to notoriety." I'd just made the promise I'd told Ruben I'd make. Johnson laughed. "Friends?" he said. "Sure. We go back a lot of years. I respect your commitment to protect and serve, and I respect you as a man. Besides, as much as it would disturb you to admit it, we're colleagues." "Humph, I suppose so." "I've completely ignored the media feeding frenzy, so I have some questions. What happened to Nick Martin, Karsh's youngest adopted son? He wasn't at the ranch, which surprised me." "Oh, he was at the ranch, Luke. He was in one of the shallow graves we dug up. His step-sister killed him when he insisted that Brogan had to be stopped." I nodded. "What about the woman in the main house who moved from Karsh's compound to Brogan's ranch with Hall and Carson? We assumed she was one of Karsh's assassins but didn't really know anything about her." He chortled. "I don't know much about her either. She has a lawyer, isn't talking, and she's not in the system. She goes by the name of Bea Wilson, but that's an alias. I arrested her. She'll do some time, but probably not much. She knew about what was happening at the ranch, but she wasn't directly involved with the kids." "What about the senator, your boss and the sheriff? Will any of them skate?" He gave me a shocked look. "You really haven't been watching television. Luke, somebody used a shank on Sheriff Canton in his own jail. He's dead. We've got Conner James in lockdown, but if I were to guess, he'll be dead before he comes to trial. Prison populations don't treat pedophiles kindly. When Brett Knott is released from the prison hospital, he won't survive as long as James. He's not just a pedophile. He was a cop, and some serious, deadly enemies will soon be his neighbors. Right now, he's in traction. Someone shattered the bones in both of his legs." He raised one eyebrow, silently asking me if I'd broken the bones. I said nothing. He said, "Regardless, if Knott or James live to face a jury of their peers, they'll be prosecuted and punished to the fullest extent of the law." Whatever that is, I thought but kept the thought to myself. "How many small bodies have you found buried at that ranch?" "Two dozen and counting." "Goddammit!" I stood up and walked away a few steps. The red furies behind my eyes flared. I took a few deep, cleansing breaths and turned back to him. "I knew what he was doing, Keith. I did something about it." ------- The End ------- Posted: 2005-11-08 Last Modified: 2006-10-10 / 10:15:44 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------