Undercurrent: A P.I. Munro Crane Romantic Suspense Thriller Page 9

  “I’ll see you out.” Kaz walked with him to the front door. The bodyguard was nowhere to be seen.

  Outside, Kaz said to him, “I’ve been thinking. I may have something for you after all. It’s a specific type of job, one particularly suited to your skillset. Why don’t you come back tomorrow morning and we’ll discuss it? Say ten o’clock?”

  “Works for me.” Crane shook hands with his client, soon to be employer. “See you tomorrow.” Then he crunched across the gravel to his car.

  Kaz watched as he reversed, swung the car round and hugged the lake back to the road. It was only when he got back home that he pulled out his phone and fired off a text message to Doug. Two words.

  I’m in.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nothing’s that easy.

  When Crane arrived at Kaz’s lake house the following morning, the businessman made him an espresso and then sat him down in his study and proceeded to give him a grilling.

  “I’ve checked you out,” he stated, studying a piece of paper in front of him on his desk.

  Crane didn’t ask how he got his information, but he had to assume it was thorough. Luckily, none of the investigative work he’d done for the government was on record, so all Kaz would have access to would be his private clients and his military record.

  “You were in the Special Forces.” Kaz looked at him with a mixture of respect and suspicion.

  “Yes, reconnaissance mostly.” He met Kaz’s eye across the desk.

  “I didn’t realise,” Kaz said softly. “So that day…”

  Crane nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’d been tracking the Taliban for weeks when I was captured, feeding intel back to base. I’d just discovered their cave network. That attack was thanks to my intel.” Ironically, it was also the one which had ended his career.

  Kaz pursed his lips. “That was a significant victory for us. So I guess we’ve got you to thank.”

  “Not just me. But yes, that was my job. The only thing I was any good at.” He looked at his hands. It was true. He’d excelled at field work, he could survive for days on end off the land and what was in his pack, he loved sleeping under the stars, at one with the elements. That was his thing. Even the long distances and isolation didn’t bother him. He was built for endurance. Doug used to call him a machine, he kept going long after others succumbed to exhaustion and mental fatigue. Besides, he liked his own company.

  “How did they capture you?”

  “I decided to take a closer look at the network of caves they’d built in the mountain when I was ambushed. Those caves were way more populated than anyone expected. It was like a beehive in there.”

  “Fascinating. So that’s where you were held? In the caves.”

  Crane nodded. “When you found me I was badly injured. My leg had been crushed by the falling rocks and I was fucked from the opium they’d been shooting me up with for weeks.”

  “Opium?” Kaz sat forward. This was his territory. Crane didn’t miss the glint in his eye. Doug was right. Kaz was their guy. Crane knew it, right then in that moment. Still, he had to feed him a story, and the truth was as good as anything he could make up. Except it was harder than he thought. He swallowed, but held Kaz’s gaze.

  “Yeah. I was like a zombie. Everyday they’d inject me with the stuff to keep me docile. I couldn’t even think straight let alone plan an escape.” Just talking about it was hard. Harder than he’d thought. “It’s a brilliant tactic, if you think about it. They were probably going to ransom me at some point, or use me as leverage when they needed to, but until then…” He shrugged. The rest was self-explanatory.

  “Shit, man. That’s harsh.”

  “It was no walk in the park, I can tell you.”

  “So, when I found you…?”

  Crane leant back in his chair. “I wouldn’t have been able to walk out of there on my own anyway, even without the messed up leg.”

  Kaz nodded. “I’m glad I came along when I did.”

  Crane acknowledged that fact with a little nod of his head. “Someone was obviously looking out for me.”

  Kaz scoffed. “So why’d you quit?” He glanced down at the paper. “They awarded you the Medal of Honour. That’s quite an achievement.”

  “Honourable discharge, I think is the official term.” He didn’t bother to keep the bitterness from his voice. His gaze narrowed. “I was useless to them after my imprisonment. My ankle would never be what it was, that ruled out long missions and mentally I was a wreck, thanks to the drugs. It took six months of rehab to clean out my system.” He didn’t go into detail. Those six months were arguably the hardest of his life. Worse than basic training, worse than any mission he’d ever been on, and worse than anything he’d experienced since. “I was a liability.”

  “And that made you angry?”

  Crane clenched his jaw. He didn’t have to pretend. “Of course, I was angry. The military was my life. It was all I knew how to do. When they kicked me out, I had nothing.”

  “So you became a private investigator.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  Crane shrugged. “Yeah, isn’t that what we do? Investigations or security? There’s not much else out there for people with our skillset. It was either that or flipping burgers at Burger King.”

  Kaz shrugged. Crane knew the same didn’t apply to him. University educated, he’d set up a business based on the contacts he’d made in Afghanistan. He wasn’t a trained soldier. He’d had to learn those skills.

  “You clean now?”

  It was a question he’d expected. Kaz wouldn’t want anyone on his team using his merchandise. He needed someone he could trust.

  “Ever since I came out of rehab, five years ago. Haven’t touched it since.”

  The truth was he’d hated being drugged. He prided himself on his focus, his clarity of thought, his control. It was what got him through weeks on end, on his own in hostile territory, it was his strength of mind that spurred him on when others fell. It was all he had. To compromise that had been the most terrifying thing, and never again would he ever touch the stuff. Once the cravings had stopped and he’d regained his strength, there was no way in hell he’d succumb again. That wasn’t his problem. As his therapist had pointed out, it wasn’t the drugs he was addicted to, it was the adrenalin of being out in the field, on a mission, and it was that addiction which was proving harder to beat.

  Kaz studied him, contemplating, deliberating. Eventually he came to a decision. “Okay, I get it. Maybe we can work together. I’ve got a special job which needs doing, something that requires balls and a strong nerve, which I think you have.”

  Crane nodded. He was here, wasn’t he? “I’m all ears.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was a test. Or a suicide mission. Or both. Either way Crane looked at it, he was screwed.

  If he went along with it, he’d be a murderer, no better than the scum he worked for. If he refused, he’d lose face and Kaz would never hire him again, effectively putting an end to his chances of busting the drug smuggling operation. And he hated drugs far more than he hated losing face.

  He also wasn’t entirely convinced Kaz’s bodyguard wasn’t going to kill him once the job was done. The black looks he’d been receiving would make a lesser man tremble in his boots. Perhaps his boss had instructed him to take care of Crane once the job was done. No loose ends. Crane wouldn’t put it past him.

  What kind of man plotted to take out his wife’s lover? An obsessed one? Insane, even? Sure, Sarah was beautiful and sexy, but this was taking revenge a bit far, except he couldn’t think of any other reason why Kaz would want Copeland dead?

  Perhaps he should have mentioned Copeland wasn’t Sarah’s lover, that he was a friend, someone she went to talk to about the boating accident. Except instinct told him Kaz already knew. Even if he didn’t, the outcome would have been worse. Maybe not for Copeland, but definitely for Sarah.

  “We’re nearly there,” said the bodyguard, who was driving. H
is name was Aneez and as far as Crane could make out he was Serbian. Not ex-forces though – he didn’t have a military bearing – but definitely experienced in warfare. Rebel army, maybe, or self-styled mercenary. Either way he was big and dangerous.

  Crane slumped in the passenger seat. He was tense but tried not to show it. His brain was working in overdrive. How was he going to handle the task ahead.

  It was two a.m. The road to Astoria was pitch dark, no lights on this section. The SUV’s headlights picked up the worn asphalt and faded dotted white line that ran down the centre. Crane recalled following Sarah out here the previous week. Same route. Same destination. Very different outcome.

  “How do you want to handle it?” Crane asked, studying Aneez’s ruthless profile. His face was scarred and rugged, the nose bumpy and skew from frequent breaks. The man hadn’t had an easy life, that much was obvious. “You know, when we get there?”

  The giant Serb didn’t turn his head. “We break in, you take care of the man, then we burn the place down, just like the boss said.”

  “What about his family? You know, if he has one?” Crane had checked. Copeland had a wife and two teenage daughters.

  “Collateral damage.” There wasn’t a hint of remorse on the Serb’s face. Not even the flicker of an eyelid at the thought of a wife and kids burning in their beds.

  Christ, what a mission.

  If he’d known what the target was before they’d left, he could have called Doug to get the family out of there. It might have rung an alarm bell, though, if the day before the arson attack the whole family went away. No, he’d just have to wing it. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d figure something out. He had to.

  They turned into the street where Copeland lived. It was well lit, despite there being no moon. Crane could see the attractive double-storey with its mustard yellow paint and well-tended window boxes. It looked like a happy family home. Well lived in. Memories had been made there. It would be a tragedy to burn it down.

  Aneez pulled over in exactly the same place as Crane had parked the week before, under a maple tree with lots of drooping branches heavy with yellow autumn leaves. It offered a modicum of protection from the street lights. Crane glanced up and down the street. All the windows were in darkness.

  “You ready?” Aneez glanced at Kaz, his eyes hard. In his hand was a container of gasoline.

  Perhaps he was a psychopath? Crane didn’t think he’d seen any emotion on the guy’s face since he’d met him. He was like a pre-programmed cyborg, doing his job no matter what the consequences. He wondered briefly what turned a man into that, then decided he didn’t care. Everybody had their shit to deal with.

  “Sure, I’m ready.”

  They climbed out of the car, careful not to make a sound when they closed the doors, and crouching low, ran down the road until they were in front of the Copeland house.

  Every nerve in Crane’s body was on high alert. Everything about what he was doing felt wrong. It went against the grain. He tried to fight his natural aversion to the task so it didn’t cloud his judgement. He needed a clear mind for this. Besides, he trusted Aneez about as far as he could throw him, which given the Serb’s size, wasn’t far. Aneez moved to the side of the house, looking for a way in. Crane followed, hot on his heels.

  What he needed was a plan.

  Aneez slid a long, flat tool under one of the side windows and pried it open. It gave with a soft creak, not loud enough to wake anybody. When the gap was large enough Crane crawled through followed by his partner in crime. They stood in the living room and listened carefully. The house was silent. No creaking floorboards, or light emanating from upstairs. The unsuspecting family were fast asleep.

  Crane pointed upwards and headed off to find the stairs. His job was to take care of Copeland, while Aneez doused the place in gasoline.

  “Make it look like an accident,” Kaz had said. A bump on the head would be the best course of action. Then it would look like Copeland had died in the fire. Except he wouldn’t.

  A semblance of a plan began to form in Crane’s mind.

  Copeland was a heavy sleeper. He lay on his back, snoring gently, oblivious to the danger about to befall him. The first thing Crane noticed was the man slept alone. Where was his wife? Did they have separate bedrooms?

  Crane checked the other rooms off the landing. Also empty. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Thank God. No collateral damage.

  Aneez emerged from the shadows, making him jump. “There’s no one else here,” Crane whispered, pointing to the two empty bedrooms. Aneez frowned and poked his head in each room to be sure, then he shrugged. It didn’t matter to him; they weren’t the target. Copeland was.

  Crane went into the master bedroom, gun in hand. He stood over the sleeping man like some sort of avenging angel and muttered a short apology under his breath before he bought the butt of the gun down hard on his head. Copeland didn’t even change position.

  The blow wasn’t hard enough to kill him, but it would render him unconscious for a good while – and probably give him a concussion. Crane turned around to find Aneez at the bedroom door, watching.

  “It’s done,” Crane said as he breezed past. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Aneez stared at the unconscious man for a long moment. “Why don’t you kill him?”

  “Why bother? He’s going to burn, isn’t he? It’ll look more like an accident this way.”

  The Serb grunted, then turned on his heel and ran down the stairs two at a time. In the living room, he took out a zippo lighter and held it to the edge of the curtains. The place reeked of gasoline.

  Aneez was all efficiency now. It took less than twenty seconds for the material to catch alight. Within a minute, thick, grey smoke had enveloped a good part of the room and both curtains and the sofa were on fire, including some neat, hand-knitted scatter cushions. Crane felt a pang in his chest at the loss. It wouldn’t take long for the blaze to spread through the house.

  Crane knew he had to act fast. Before long the fumes would overpower him and he wouldn’t have time to get Copeland out, but first he had to deal with Aneez.

  The Serbian strode towards the front door. Before he could get there, Crane stole up behind him and bashed him on the head with his gun. The six-foot four bodyguard collapsed like a ragdoll. Without wasting any time, Crane dashed upstairs, two at a time. Smoke had filled the living room and was wafting up the stairs. He didn’t have much time. He hoisted Copeland out of the bed and onto his shoulder, grunting under the strain. The man was overweight, which didn’t help. Crane turned to go back downstairs. He was half way down when Aneez stirred. Christ, the guy must have a head made of stone. He’d hit him harder than Copeland, who was still out cold.

  The next sequence of events happened in slow motion. Aneez shook his head to clear it, spotted Crane on the stairs and went for his gun. Crane froze. There was no time to reach for his weapon, besides, his arms were full of Copeland. Aneez lifted his arm and fired off a shot. The bullet scraped Crane’s arm, causing him to drop Copeland unceremoniously to the floor. It stung, but was only a flesh wound. Turning his head, he realised the bullet had struck Copeland in the head. It hadn’t impacted, rather nicked the side, but left a deep furrow which was bleeding profusely. Shit.

  Luckily, the Serbian was too groggy from the thump on his head to aim straight, but that didn’t stop him trying again. Blinking furiously, he pointed his gun at Crane, but this time Crane was faster. He fired two shots of his own in rapid succession. At this distance there was no chance of missing despite the smoke that was beginning to envelope them. Two neat, black holes appeared in Aneez’s forehead. The Serb’s head rolled back and hit the floor. There would be no getting up this time.

  Thick smoke clogged his lungs making it hard to breath. Flames licked at the stairs. Crane grabbed Copeland and pulled him rather than carried him down the stairs and across the hall towards the front door. The man’s trousers were burning. He put out the flames with his gloved hands. O
utside, he lay a deathly pale and bleeding Copeland on the driveway in front of the garage. He felt his vitals and they were strong, despite the bullet wound and concussion. He’d live until the ambulance got here. Then he dashed back inside to see if there was anything he could do to control the fire. There was no way. It was too far gone. It would take a team to douse the flames now and save the rest of the house.

  He ran outside again, coughing. People had come out of their houses to stare at the fire, shocked expressions on their faces. Crane grabbed his phone from his back pocket. First, he called the fire department. If they got here fast they might be able to save the house from total destruction.

  Then he called Doug.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Sarah, it’s Beth.” A sob followed the introduction. Sarah frowned. What was Rick’s wife calling her for? They hadn’t spoken for years, not since she’d left Chris.

  “Beth, are you okay?”

  Another sob, longer this time. “Oh, Sarah. Something awful has happened. Rick’s dead.”

  Sarah went cold. She leant back against the wall and closed her eyes. “What?” Had she heard Beth correctly?

  “He was killed last night, in the fire.” There was a hysterical note in Beth’s voice.

  “What fire? Beth, you’re not making any sense. What’s going on?”

  A pause. Beth sniffed and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but…Oh God, how did this happen?”

  Sarah was trying to follow what Beth was saying but the woman was too distraught to speak coherently.

  “Beth, is there anyone there with you? Are you with someone?”

  “Yes, there’s a police woman here, and my daughters. We’re at my mother’s in Montana.”

  “Can I speak to the police woman,” Sarah asked, keeping her voice steady. Perhaps this was all some terrible misunderstanding? Her heart pounded as the policewoman came on the line.