Vigilante Mine (35 page)

"Leave Amanda out of this." Ryan scrambled to his feet and shoved into Zach's face before the rest of his brother's words sank in. He balled his hands into fists. "Look, I'm not sharing your secrets with Brennan. I'd never betray you like that. Either of you."

Jay closed in from the left. "Then what was the folder on your desk about? The one covered in our ancestors marks."

"The one you didn't want to talk about," Zach added, his eyes hardened bronze to Jay's tempered steel.

"Me, okay?" Ryan growled. "Just some shit prophecy about me!"

Interest burned at him from matching glares and footsteps caught at his ears. Great. He'd yelled.

Ryan stepped back in a rush. "Guards converging on this position. Split up, head 'em off to the north and west. They can only see one of us at a time."

"Cameras are still up," Jay warned as he scooted up the metal rungs of a ladder built in to the outer warehouse wall.

"Then keep your heads down. Let Tor and Drak screw with those," Ryan said.

Zach had vanished without a word. Guards rushed Ryan from either side. He slammed his fist into the first man's nose.

Blood flew, and Ryan channeled his fury. Kick. Punch. Punch harder. A radio crackled somewhere to his right. Shift change would come early. None of these men
—
or their companions
—
could get away.

His ears caught the slick movement of an automatic weapon strap sliding off of a shoulder. Ryan hauled ass to the wall as bullets sprayed between the buildings. For once, the weather would work to his advantage. Sleet and shadows obscured him from view. Metal panels dinged, buzzing with fine tuned vibrations against his augmented hearing. One thug, two, three, went down to their own friendly fire.

No hiding Klepto's presence now.

The bullets stopped, and Ryan flung himself at the last unarmed guard. He aimed his toes at the back of the man's knee, connected, and dodged back to the wall.

"Come on out!" The click and snap of the guard reloading his weapon.

Ryan waited. The guard had yet to fire again, which meant he was waiting for Ryan to tip him off to his position.
Idiot.

Ryan's foot nudged a flat piece of wood and he slid down the wall to pick it up. He crept close enough to hear the man murmuring curses under his breath. With one hand, he threw the block of wood across the walkway. Bullets spit into the empty darkness. Ryan's other hand plowed into his foe's ear.

The big man fought like a bear. Open, giant palms swatted at Ryan's head when the gun spun out of reach. Ryan found himself face-down in the gravel.

"So this is the infamous Klepto. You and your new partner think you can take this city?"

"News travels fast." Ryan twisted, the sleeves of his trench coat ripping at the seams.

They grappled again, and Ryan snagged the strap of the automatic weapon with his foot. He kicked, and it slid along the ground to meet his hand. Ryan shoved the barrel of the gun under the other man's ear and pinned him to the ground.

"I think we're done here," Ryan growled.

"Go ahead. Kill me." The man struggled, but he wasn't going anywhere. "Shaw Family will reign no matter what you do, Klepto."

"I'd rather see how well my competition fares in prison," Ryan said.

The criminal laughed. "When I get out in a couple days, I'm gonna finish what you started."

The war?
Ryan drove his elbow into the back of the meaty thug's head. Twice.

Ryan buried his frustration as a check for pulses found two of Shaw's men dead. Every death was a lost answer. It served no purpose. Unless one counted giving guilty men an easy way out. He brushed mud from his cargo pants and adjusted his hood before tapping on his earpiece.

"Reinforcements are down," Zach said, beating him to the victory.

"Clear here, too," Ryan added. "When the big one wakes up, I'd say he's due for one of your nice chats. Seems to know a great deal about the plan for that shipment."

Maybe Shaw Family intended to dominate the city in one fell swoop. The plan lined up with how much the syndicate boss had poured out of his bank account.

Ryan bent beside the big guy again. He checked around his neck and every pocket for a security card. Nothing. He shrugged as he stood. Maybe Shaw didn't let his hirelings into the warehouses.

"Coming?" Jay asked. "I'm betting it'll be warmer inside one of these buildings."

Leaving Zach to round up the survivors, Ryan helped his youngest brother crack the locks around the compound. They'd begun digging through crates by the time Zach called for Jay to take the wheel. Only one of them could make the delivery, and Jay's eyes made him the obvious choice to navigate their truck to the drop point, through the dark, the weather, and the ruined roads.

Zach ripped open the crate to Ryan's right.

Ryan sighed. "Are you waiting for me to ask how it went?"

"They think Klepto's the zealot," Zach said.

"They wouldn't be the first." Ryan yanked a small metal clasp off of the illegal, modified gun in his hands. "Is it the masks?"

Zach shrugged. "I didn't bother to set them straight. Seems they'd rather get a healthy prison sentence than meet me on a cold, dark night."

"The big one said he was going to finish what we'd started. But if he thinks Klepto's the zealot, was he talking about the war, or the serial murders?" Ryan asked.

"He didn't seem smart enough to play copy-cat killer. Unless he was, and you damaged him when you knocked him out."

Ryan eyed him, hoping for humor, but Zach's expression stayed grim, and he was focused on the contents of a nearby plastic bin. Probably drooling. Shaw had amassed quite a collection, and not all of it pocket-size.

"Do we have a bead on their boss?" Ryan asked.

"If we did, I wouldn't be here." Zach pulled his sidearm out of his holster and fired into the container. "We might follow up on a few leads, but we won't take Shaw tonight."

Ryan peered over the edge of the plastic case. Zach had drilled a bullet through the firing mechanism on a grenade launcher. "Having fun?"

"Yep. Though . . . probably should have checked to see if that grenade was viable first," Zach said.

"There's no
—
" Ryan jerked his head up and caught a hint of the smile fighting its way over his brother's lips. "It's good to have you back, jackass."

"I know."

Contained fires and small-scale explosions rigged with Shaw's own equipment took care of each of the warehouses in short order.

"Klepto just left the key to the shipping container with OC," Jay reported.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "He did, did he?"

"They didn't see me. Left some of our audio, too. I know it won't hold up in court, but . . . " Jay trailed off as if he'd ended on a shrug.

Zach smiled. "No, but I bet the detectives'll use it as a nice conversation starter."

"Swinging by to pick you losers up," Jay said.

Mission complete. Even if the goons had opportunity to compare notes in jail, each would say a masked man came out of the shadows and attacked, then dumped them off in the shipping container along the shoreline. Klepto's reputation revolved as much around his combat and thieving skills as it did around the mystery man behind the mask. Man. Not men. There was only one Klepto.

Ryan shook his head as he slammed the lid on the last crate on the stack. "Trussing up the bad guys like presents and leaving the evidence for the cops to find. Pretty close to what our friendly neighborhood zealot gets up to."

Zach reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Klepto is nothing like the zealot. For one, we don't kill."

"I've got two bodies on the south side that tell a different story."

"You didn't pull that trigger." He frowned. "We don't even steal much anymore, not since the war started."

Ryan gave him a sidelong look. "Yeah, Klepto did our city a great service there."

Zach laughed. "How much longer would our funds have held the truce together?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does." Zach scrubbed his hand over his face. "I know you don't want to hear this, but Lilah had a point about forgiveness, apologies. Just maybe, well, maybe it's not Amanda you should be asking forgiveness from. Maybe you should, I don't know. Forgive yourself, first. God knows you've apologized to the whole damn city long enough."

Ryan stared at his brother's back as Zach headed off to catch their ride. Getting weapons and criminals off the streets was a better solution than their father's truce-keeping efforts, sure, but until it was over, he couldn't believe he'd done enough to atone for his part in escalating the turf war.

Until then, he'd continue to do the right thing.

Every step he took down this gray path of vigilante justice was another step out of the shadow of the past. He'd gone beyond filling his father's shoes
—
and combat boots. He'd made his own marks on both worlds. He'd pulled Klepto deeper undercover to protect the ones he loved and he'd donned his public mask to see them thrive.

The right thing. Was that so bad, if the city and the people in it survived to meet another sunrise?

Ryan snapped off the light in the warehouse then shoved his hands into his trench coat pockets. He wasn't the all-out criminal he'd led Amanda to believe. What he, Romeo, Jay, Torpedo, Zach, and Drak had set out to do . . . they were on the same side, despite Klepto's unconventional methods. He had to see her again. It wasn't the safe thing to do, but it was the right thing. Even if she didn't share his views, even if she never forgave him, he owed her an explanation and an apology. But would "I'm sorry" get him in the front door long enough to share the truths she deserved?

Amanda disabled her
alarm on her way in the front door and headed straight for a finger of whiskey to celebrate the end of a successful day of research and back-tracking. Between a long, refreshing night of sleep and her mother's databases, her case had been rejuvenated. She had a new direction. If she'd finished her maps before following Klepto around town, Amanda would have learned sooner that, rather than a certain syndicate funding the properties where the bodies had been placed, the tax bills were being funded through a low-ranking politician's office.

None other than victim number one.

Not great news, but it was a start.

Amanda fished the envelope of data from Charlie out of her nightstand drawer and dialed the physical therapist's desk phone from her landline as she began to fill in the few remaining blanks. She'd already identified locations for other possible body drops. Now all that remained to complete her canvas was to trace the best transport routes and pinpoint the zealot's most likely hidey-holes.

Her friend picked up the phone without greeting. "I pulled a favor with the lab on that blood sample you squirreled to me."

"Hey to you too." The whiskey turned to acid in her stomach. She'd forgotten. Casually, she asked, "Any idea when they'll be done?"

"They ran it through local PD."

"That was fast." Amanda downed the rest of her glass in one go.

"No match to our people though. Would've been too much to ask, wouldn't it?" Charlie asked.

She gave an uneasy laugh. No match in the state-run system, where the police officers were all tagged for security purposes, wasn't a surprise. Klepto wasn't a cop. "My hunch was wrong, Charlie."

"You? Never. Dale is, about the inside job, but you? I don't believe it."

"Believe it." Amanda bit back frustration. Days she'd wasted going after the wrong man. Didn't Ryan care there was a killer running free, that without him leading her in circles she could have found the right man? "Pull this one from the lab techs before they waste time and resources running it through the full crime database."

"Can do. Anything else, while I'm burning through favors?" His tone held a smile, and more than the question he'd actually asked.

"Don't worry. If he asks, I'm close to something. Just working another angle. Thanks, but
—
" Amanda reached the end of the stack of papers he'd brought her from the office and rummaged through them again. She straightened on the couch. "Wait. Charlie, you remember the kid they pulled in with the body Ryan and I found? The report's not with the copies you gave me. I need it. I want to know what he knows."

"A witness?" There was a long pause. "Yeah. I'll see what I can do."

She didn't get far winnowing down her notes when her phone rang again.

Charlie hummed in the back of his throat. "I hate to break this to you
—
there's no file."

"What?" Amanda's eyes widened and she leaned her elbows on her knees.

"Paperwork shuffle. He's out, never got interviewed past the crime scene."

Amanda twisted her fingers in her pants leg. "Did anyone speak to him off-record? Or, hey, get me a name. I'll go ask him myself."

"No problem. Consider it handled."

"Thanks, Charlie. And be careful, will you?"