A Shot in Darkness

By Lou Sylvre

Sure the danger that dogged their steps in Los Angeles has finally passed, Brian and Jackie seal their hopes for a new beginning with a New Year’s Eve kiss. Though Brian’s trauma at the hands of criminals has left its mark, they do their best to leave troubles behind and enjoy a Scotland honeymoon. The ancient city of Glasgow offers nightlife, historic sites, long walks through snowfall, great Scotch whisky, a cozy fireside -- and a blazing hot private encounter with a cool, cool ghost.

But every time somebody wins, someone else loses. When Brian helped State Department cop Jesse Douglas take down a crime ring, a rogue FBI agent lost everything. She blames Brian, and with the help of false identities and very good skills at disguise, tracking him and Jackie down in Scotland poses no problem. When a final encounter in the Highlands turns deadly, the key to keeping Brian alive lies in Jackie’s hands. With everything he loves at stake, can he call up love, courage and confidence in time to take that single, vital shot in darkness?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jan 15, 2021

Lou Sylvre

LOU SYLVRE hails from southern California but now lives and writes on the rainy side of Washington State. Her personal assistant is Boudreau, a large cat who never outgrew his kitten meow. She loves her family, her friends, the felines Boudreau, Nibbles and The Lady George, a little dog named Joe, and (in random order) coffee, chocolate, sunshine, and wild roses, among other things.

Book preview

Prologue

Los Angeles, California; December 30

The .22 caliber bullet that had lodged near Brian’s kidney was gone. A small bit of copper alloy, it had almost slain him before he even realized it was there. Now only a small surgical scar remained as outward proof he’d been shot. The blood he’d lost had been replaced, his torn inner flesh was stitched and on the mend, and the fever he’d developed almost instantly had disappeared a day ago.

After three days, he was more than ready to walk out of the hospital, but not in handcuffs with a police escort. So when attorney Rich Miller stood in the open door shaking hands with the US Marshal who’d been guarding his room, Brian practically held his breath.

The Marshal walked away from the door and nobody replaced him, and Miller turned to Brian with a slightly snide-looking smile.

Charges dropped? Brian asked.

No charges filed. Miller poured Brian a cup of ice water from the pitcher on the tray table, probably to give him a moment to breathe. You’re twice lucky, Mr. Harrison. You’ve got some friends in medium-high places -- or at least one, Jesse Douglas -- and then the various law enforcement agencies have their own corruption to deal with.

Brian had to snicker. That’s putting it mildly. Were there actually judges involved -- revoking the warrants and all?

I don’t know, honestly, and with you free, it’s unlikely the public will ever know, unless some watchdog agency gets a sniff of the mess. We pointed out to people at the departments involved how your court case would entail a whole lot of investigation, and of course there’s a lot to be said for discovery and disclosure in a case like this. Ultimately all agreed it would be best not to go forward with charges.

Brian nodded, and then shook his head, which meant something more like fuck, that’s a relief than no.

Thank you, he said.

Miller nodded and smiled less snidely. The custody hold is removed, and you’re free to go as soon as you’ve got your medical walking papers. He turned to go, but turned back. Oh, by the way, the State Department has your medical bills covered for this… fiasco.

He opened the door, walked out, and left it open. Even though Brian treasured privacy in general, that open door felt nice, and in momentary high spirits, he smiled. But as soon as the first flush of relief at his release from custody passed, he sobered.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to make any jarring movements. He might be on the mend, but his body was still tender in a number of places. After making sure his ass was covered -- literally -- he took the single step needed to get to the broad window overlooking miles of pavement, cars, and buildings.

It would almost be easy to forget that what I’m looking at is a hive of people. More than seven million of them in this metropolis, so many of them hurting in one way or another. But humans seem unimportant, even invisible, when all you can see is bricks and metal and asphalt.

He didn’t wonder why his thoughts had taken that melancholy turn. He had a lot to think about. The mess he’d just survived had been about money, on the one hand. Greed as god -- the most common religion in the world as far as he could see. But the shine of riches only hid the true ugliness.

Human trafficking. Real people caught in a web, stolen, sold, enslaved. Like Jackie’s friend Esi and her young sister. She’d written to him, perhaps with Dr. Holland’s help, to thank him for his part in freeing them and the few others who’d been rescued. But what of all the others?

He didn’t bother himself with any deep thoughts about Vintner and Lieb and their lot. They were criminals. They’d probably go to prison -- at least for a while -- and that was how it should go. What honestly hadn’t come out right -- even though it was partially responsible for his freedom -- was about the cops and agents and maybe even judges who’d been involved. The horror of the criminal scheme, from Brian’s viewpoint, didn’t hang on theft, or even the corruption itself, as bad as that was. The people, the victims, that’s what made these crimes unspeakably ugly. And crooked cops and at least one federal agent, and maybe a judge or two had all helped make it happen, presumably for a share of the take. And now -- what? Apparently, officialdom could ignore those crimes and call it justice.

But, he said aloud to the city outside his empty room, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Except tell the story. Let it be known.

Someday. Somehow.

Maybe.

Safely?

A flurry of activity behind him alerted him that he was no longer alone. He turned, expecting a nurse, but found a strange, youngish woman with almost-burgundy dyed hair standing just inside his door, staring as if assessing him.

Are you Brian Harrison?

Uh… Who wants to know?

At that, her all-business expression broke into a smile. I’m sorry. She dropped something into the huge bag she carried to free up a hand and held it out as if for a shake. I’m Dierdre White, from KRTA News. I see the cop’s gone from your door, and I’m hoping that means you’re open for an interview.

Chapter One

Mojave Desert; December 30

Alexandra had made her way out of Los Angeles the same night Vintner’s operation went down. It had been a week since, and she still couldn’t decide if Farnsworth had been unable to catch her or had let her go -- for old time’s sake. They’d once been lovers, and more than that, partnered agents. FBI. They’d had each other’s backs, and they’d traded sweat in the night. Those bonds didn’t break easily.

But Farnsworth was the best agent she’d ever known… and she, Alexandra Heylens, had gone rogue.

She was sorry, but she was still rogue. She often wished that after the agency she’d given fifteen years of dedicated service to had betrayed her, she’d simply walked quietly away. But… she was still rogue. And no amount of wishing would change what she had done instead: vowed revenge and ventured too far into darkness in an effort to get it.

Vintner.

Another mistake.

She’d tied her fate to his, gone all in. It would have been vengeance -- not perfect, but enough, with a big payoff. She would have used the cash to trade in her crazy life for an easy one, made herself untouchable and gloated in her success.

She’d stood in the shadow of that Danish asshole, acted as his secret weapon. Protected him from threats, guarded his merchandise, removed every obstacle. She knew he might flake, but she also knew she could handle him. And Lieb, his partner-slash-minion who provided him with contacts and services, was laughable as a threat to her. She’d worried some when Vintner dropped veiled threats about someone he called Blackjack, but she’d figured she was as much a badass as most strongarms out there -- especially with a gun in her hand, and she had one most of the time.

But she’d never guessed Blackjack was David Farnsworth. She hadn’t found that out until everything was already going wrong. Even then, she hadn’t known if he was undercover for the FBI, or if maybe he’d gone rogue too. But when she saw him rescuing that snitch Harrison, she figured he was on the side of the law. She ran then, but with little hope. It felt like a miracle when she made it out of the tunnels alive. Or a gift, maybe. Because if Farns had wanted to catch her, he would have, one way or another.

Still, though Vintner should have been her greatest success, and even though she’d done what she could to protect herself, his failure had been spectacular enough to blow all her plans right off the road.

Her campaign for ultimate revenge was stalled, but she wouldn’t let go. She’d get there -- she’d started down that path years ago, and though stops along the way -- planned and unplanned -- may have been added, she could only keep going forward. Couldn’t turn around, left, or right, couldn’t even change lanes. Her road to vengeance was a rut, but she’d dug it for herself. Once she got moving again, she’d kick it up a notch.

She’d accepted that she might not live long. If she got caught, if she didn’t get killed in the process, she’d end it herself. She’d added a new target to her list of those who would taste her revenge. The man most responsible for her present circumstances. The one who masterminded Vintner’s fall -- and consequently her own -- and with that addition, her revenge list had become a kill list, because for him, she wouldn’t settle for less.

Truly alone now, she’d holed up in a Mojave Desert adobe so long abandoned she could watch the stars overhead move across heaven as she lay on her blankets by the living room hearth. She didn’t mind. Rain was unlikely, and she had a sleeping bag, an old woven rug she’d whacked the dust out of, and some thermal wear. It kept the hard cold of the winter desert at bay. She’d never really liked the desert, mostly because she hated snakes. But now, she wasn’t even worried about that. She’d checked for rattler dens nearby and found none. And on frigid nights, cold-blooded serpents tended to stay home.

She was worried about what she was going to do next, though. She had enough food for a couple more days, but she couldn’t stay there indefinitely. There was a town not too far away, if one could call Amboy a town. She had a Ninja parked in the brush out back, with enough gas to get her there. She could pick up supplies at Roy’s if it was safe to do so.

But was it? She had no news source, the only tech she had being a single burner phone she’d never yet used, but she’d designated it for that one call she really needed to make. When she’d set it aside for that purpose, she didn’t know what that need might be, but now she did. She had to find out how hot she was, whether it would be safe for her to make a move. She’d racked her brain trying to think of various alternatives, but she’d drawn all blanks except for one probably dangerous idea.

Call Farnsworth.

He picked up almost immediately, and she told him what she needed.

After a heavy silence, he agreed,

But I don’t like this, Alex. And I won’t help you again.

Alexandra said nothing for a minute, seething quietly. Had he forgotten what she’d done for him? Had he forgotten…Farns, I still know what I know about you. Never told a soul.

She heard Farnsworth strike a light and inhale deeply. He blew out the smoke, creating the sound of wind over the phone, but he said nothing.

Never told a soul, she said again, and added, yet.

He chuckled. I’m going to help you, Alex. But you’ve reached the limit. Threatening me is… unwise.

The call ended, which was no more or less than Alexandra expected. She appreciated his help at this juncture -- she needed someone to be there for her, and lord knew she couldn’t count on anyone else. Especially not her family, who had been only too willing to betray her before. The last time she’d spoken to her father, he’d taken about twenty seconds from his golf game to tell her not to call again.Dead to us, he’d said.

Alex and Farns understood each other. When she’d made the choice to cover the criminal tracks of a desperate agent who’d ended up dead, when she’d decided the man’s family shouldn’t lose everything because of his rash choices, he’d stuck by her. Maybe because they were partners. Maybe because they were lovers.

But most likely because she knew what Farns had done when he’d been the reckless one. Life was tough on FBI agents; not uncommon for the pressure to get to a person. Even a staunch lawman like Farnsworth.

He told a lie on her behalf, protecting her. She kept a truth to herself, protecting him. She’d kept that silence even under interrogation. The Bureau couldn’t prove anything against either of them, but they knew. And they’d punished her for it, demoting her and giving her the shittiest assignment they could find. She’d lost her position, her pay grade, and somehow in the shuffle, she’d lost Farnsworth’s regard too.

But she’d promised to stay silent about his transgressions, and she’d proven that she could and would. Still, he had to know that she could still use that information as a bargaining point.

Would he throw away the safeguard of mutual silence?

Hard to know, but if she played her cards right, they’d never have to test their friendship. She hoped so, because she didn’t have much faith that it would hold up. After all, they’d built it on shared deceit. Hardly a basis for trust.

Well, her life for the last seven years had been one mistake after another, each next worse than the last. So now she was rogue, wanted, and fugitive, with no resources she could call on but one. Farnsworth.

Trust she must.

* * *

Oak Flats, Nebraska; December 31

To most people, it might not seem possible that a month could go by while a newlywed couple hardly spoke to each other. But as Jackie sat in his great-uncle Kaholo’s Nebraska living room staring out the bay window while, outside, December shed snow all over its last abbreviated afternoon, he reflected that this was exactly what had happened to Brian and him.

That truth didn’t surprise him in the least. The last crazy weeks had only been a continuation of the chaos that had started long before their wedding. The events they’d begun by calling the Espen case and ended up calling the mess with that asshole Vintner had started weaving its sticky web in and around Jackie and Brian’s lives almost a full year earlier. The day Brian walked into Vasquez Security, Incorporated’s Los Angeles office to take on the role of branch manager, he’d walked into the first ropy but invisible strands of disaster.

If only Brian had known what was to come, maybe he would have turned back around and walked out.

No. He wouldn’t have.

Jackie almost laughed at the notion as soon as he thought it. Brian had been hired by Jackie’s uncle Luki, who owned the company, to do a job. He just wasn’t the kind of guy to renege on a commitment once he’d made it.

Probably why he stayed with me.

Yeah. Their love story hadn’t been a bed of roses either, even though Brian had a funny habit of bringing the fragrant blossoms home and sticking them all over their apartment in vases in an effort to romance Jackie, his chosen lover and submissive. And now… husband. He’d tried so hard to get Jackie to take his marriage proposal seriously, but Jackie had artfully dodged it for