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  ROAD KILL

  The Blackmore Agency: Book Sixteen

  Carolina Mac

  Copyright © 2018 by Carolina Mac

  ROAD KILL - 1st ed.

  IBSN – 978-1-988850-70-2

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

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  To: Road Warriors, past and present.

  You do not need a therapist if you own a motorcycle, any kind of motorcycle.

  ―DAN AYKROYD

  CHAPTER ONE

  Monday, September 24th.

  Austin. Texas.

  THE BIKE HATED RAIN.

  He’d saved every cent for three years to get his first bike—a ten year-old Sportster with a few stone chips in the paint and worn duct tape over a tear in the leather seat. The points of the flames were stubbed down like somebody had butted them out. The tires needed to be replaced, and the saddle bags were frayed, but the worst thing about it—Thunder hated rain.

  They called him ‘Red Ryder’ like the cowboy in the old movies because of his long auburn hair and his bike named ‘Thunder.’ He rolled with it. Friends in the club were better than no friends. Could he trust them?

  My Daddy always said, trust no one.

  No warning. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, one roll of thunder overhead and down it came. His eyes scanned the highway up ahead searching for an overpass and there was none in sight. He rode on, his long auburn hair tied back in a blue bandana soaking wet and dripping, the icy rain running down inside the collar of his leather Harley jacket making him shiver. September was torture hot in Texas, and the rain was freezing cold on his hot skin.

  Austin was a big city and Red still had a long way to go to get to his sister’s birthday party. He hadn’t been a great brother to Tara Lynn like he should have. Too busy with the club, working to pay his dues and hanging with his friends.

  Who wants to hang around with a sixteen year old kid when you’re nineteen and you can ride with your club?

  This question and a lot of others had been answered during the last six months while he’d sat on his bunk in jail serving time for the glassine bags of meth the cops had found in his saddlebags. His eyes had been opened and he’d vowed to turn himself around.

  Released from Travis State Jail today and he was heading straight home. No more trouble for his mother or his sister. He’d get a decent job and help out like he should have done before he got mixed up with the club.

  Another clap of thunder and the rain came down harder. Through rain-spotted goggles as he rode west on route 71, Red thought he could see the interstate in the distance. He’d stop under the bridge and dig out his rain gear. Only about a mile to go.

  Almost there, he slowed the bike, signaled and pulled into the right hand lane.

  The sky lit up like the Fourth, the flash of lightning followed instantly by a huge crash of thunder. The noise was deafening.

  Red felt the sting high in his chest followed by instant dizziness. He couldn’t hold Thunder steady.

  Couldn’t see.

  Thunder wobbled.

  Horns honked.

  Thunder dumped and he rolled off.

  Lights out.

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE held a mug of coffee in his hand as he stared out the alcove window into the yard wondering if the Koi liked the rain. Did they even notice? One of those things you could wonder about your whole life and never get the answer to. Why did he feel so down? Was it the weather or something else?

  “How’s your back today, Beb?” Misty floated up behind him and stroked his long ebony hair. “You have a checkup tomorrow.”

  “Hope the doc says I can go back to work.”

  Misty smiled. “You haven’t been working? I didn’t notice that.”

  “Okay, I’ve been working a little bit on the attempted hit on the AG. I’m trying to help Jesse, but I haven’t dug up too much yet. Whatever motive the would-be killers had isn’t obvious but maybe Jesse can get it out of them. He’s interrogating all three of them today.”

  “The funeral will be tomorrow,” said Misty. “Hope it isn’t pouring rain.”

  “Supposed to rain for three days straight,” said Farrell. “The weather assholes are predicting floods.”

  “Robberies all over the city,” mumbled Blaine. “That’s what will happen.”

  “Is that part of your bullshit data, bro?”

  “Could be.”

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  JESSE HAD THREE interviews to do in the city and didn’t feel like doing any of them. He was worried. Worse than worried. More like panic stricken. He’d heard the forecast on the drive to Austin and two more days of rain were coming to this part of southeast Texas.

  Pouring down rain on the bone dry Quantrall pasture was turning it into churning pools of muck. Ty, Paulie and the hands were busting their asses to keep the cattle away from the deepest holes, but he should be there helping them. His ranch. His problem.

  I told Marnie to stay in the house when I was leaving. Hope she listened to me.

  Trying to put the flooding out of his mind, he stepped into room one where the first of the Carpenter brothers was cuffed to the metal table.

  Who were these jerks and what did they have against Brad Madill, the Attorney General for Texas?

  “Morning, Mr. Carpenter. I see somebody got you a coffee.”

  Dark haired guy in his mid-thirties. Might clean up okay. Looked just like his brother. Twins?

  “Yeah. Unfuckin drinkable. I let it go cold. I been sitting here for a fuckin hour waiting for you to get here.”

  Jesse pointed a finger. “Hey, buddy, you weren’t out driving in the pissing down rain like I was and if you weren’t sitting here in this cozy room you’d be sitting in your fuckin cell staring at the bars.”

  Carpenter stared at the cold coffee.

  Jesse glanced at his notes to see which brother this guy was and set up the interview on the recorder. “Okay, Dustin let’s hear it. Why in hell did you want to shoot the AG in a public place like the Governor’s Mansion?”

  “I didn’t shoot nobody.”

  “Not personally, but Jeff Turkovich did and y’all hired him. Same thing. Because you weren’t there don’t make you innocent.”

  “I ain’t ready to talk about this. Can you get me my lawyer?”

  “Sure can,” said Jesse. “You have the right to an attorney.”

  “Think I’ll talk to him first before I talk to the cops.”

  Jesse nodded. “I’ll have you taken back to your cell and one of the deputies will call your lawyer for you.”

  “You can keep your fuckin coffee.”

  Yeah, thanks.

  JESSE made the arrangements for Dustin Carpenter and moved on to his brother in room two. He repeated the procedure and sat down a
cross from Milo. “Morning, sir. I’m going to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Ginette Romley and Jeff Turkovich.”

  Milo shrugged, said nothing and appeared fascinated by the chain attached to his wrist.

  “How do you know Ginette Romley?”

  “Cousin. She’s my cousin.”

  “Okay, and she set you up with Jeff Turkovich?”

  “What do you mean by ‘set me up?” asked Milo.

  “Let me explain it.” Jesse was usually more patient but the situation at the ranch was grating on his nerves. “Jeff Turkovich was a hired killer. That’s fact number one. Ginette Romley said she wasn’t going to jail for you and your brother. That’s fact number two. To me that says, she put you in touch with Turkovich and Jeff Turkovich tried his damndest to kill the Attorney General of Texas. That, sir, is fact number three.”

  Milo smiled. “You can’t prove any of that can you?”

  “Hell yeah,” Jesse hollered, “I can prove a huge part of it, and just to give you a little heads up—you, your brother and Miss Ginette are all going down for murder.”

  “Bullshit we are. Jeff missed Madill. He ain’t dead.”

  “But somebody else is dead, Mr. Carpenter, and do you know who that is?”

  “Nope, and I don’t give a shit. I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Jeff Turkovich fired a second shot and he killed the Governor’s husband at their fucking wedding reception.”

  A hint of surprise registered on Milo’s face.

  Jesse stood up and pointed at Milo. “You’re going down for that, mister. You’re going straight from your trial at Austin courthouse to death row in Huntsville—do not pass ‘go.”

  Carpenter shook his head. “No, I ain’t.”

  THE BEST was saved for last. Jesse didn’t like Ginette Romley from the first day he met her at Paul and Wendy’s wedding and nothing had changed. He despised her for her underhanded ways and the lies she told. She’d hurt both him and his brother Brian in the brief time they’d known her, and he wasn’t looking forward to talking to her face to face.

  She was sitting quietly in the interrogation room with her hands folded in front of her. No makeup on, but a pretty girl none the less. Lovely long curly hair and nice features. The outside belied the inside.

  “Miss Romley,” said Jesse. He set up the interview and glanced at his notes. “Tell me about your cousins, Dustin and Milo Carpenter.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know why they would hire Jeff Turkovich to kill the attorney general of Texas?”

  “He isn’t dead.”

  “Luckily, no. He isn’t. But Randy Callaghan is dead, and just because Turkovich wasn’t aiming at Mr. Callaghan doesn’t take you or your cousins off the hook. All three of you are guilty of murder.”

  “Jeff must have had his own reasons for what he did,” said Ginette. “It had nothing to do with me or my cousins.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I will prove it, Miss Ginette, and until I do, you’ll be waiting in your cell.”

  “My bail hearing is tomorrow, and I’ll be out of here,” she said with a smirk.

  “Wrong,” said Jesse. “You are an expert liar, Miss Ginette, but there comes a time when people see through the lies. When that happens, you’ve got trouble you can’t lie your way out of.”

  Governor Campbell’s Residence. West Austin.

  CATHERINE sat sipping hot tea while she finalized the arrangements for Randy for the following day. Life wasn’t fair. She’d had great plans for the two of them and some idiots snatched everything away in the blink of an eye. She’d make sure they paid with their lives.

  She set her tea cup down, picked up her cell and scrolled to a familiar contact. She pressed ‘call’ and Blaine answered on the first ring.

  “Blackmore.”

  “Hey,” she fought back the lump in her throat when she heard his voice. They’d once been so close, and she’d ruined it. Too much booze and too much power. She’d torn their relationship in two.

  “Are you alright, Governor?”

  He didn’t call her Cat anymore and she tried not to cry when he sounded concerned. She didn’t deserve it. Not a bit. “I was wondering if or how the investigation was going.”

  “Jesse is conducting the interviews,” said Blaine. “He’s at headquarters now and it will take a while to get the proof we need. I know you want them locked down for the death sentence and I do too. We’re working on it.”

  “I know you won’t quit until you get what Leighton needs. I guess I wanted to hear you say it.”

  “They’ll be arraigned tomorrow and there won’t be any bail,” said Blaine. “I’ll be at the courthouse in the morning.”

  “Will you come to Randy’s funeral?”

  “What time?”

  “Two.”

  “I’ll be there and so will half of Texas.”

  “I’m afraid of the media.”

  “Don’t be, they’re all on your side now.”

  “I loved him, you know. We used to live together when we were in college.”

  “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. He seemed like a nice guy, and I told the boys I saw his picture at the U in some team shots.”

  “Did you?”

  “Uh huh. I did.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE ENDED the call and had to admit to himself that he did feel bad for her. Maybe she did love the guy and they would have been happy together. Nobody would ever find out. A day of sadness and more to come tomorrow. He stared out at the rain and felt the dampness and the melancholy seep right through his broken body into his most vulnerable spot—his back.

  Jesus. I’m old at twenty-two.

  His cell rang, and he had no more time to lament his age. “Chief?”

  “Yeah, this just came in. There was a fuckin sniper on the bridge where I-35 crosses over route 71.”

  “In the rain?”

  “In the pouring rain and he shot a kid off his bike.”

  “Fuck that. Is the kid dead?”

  “Nope, he’s in Saint Michaels. Can you go?”

  “Who has the scene?”

  “Rocky. Nothing to see. A dumped bike. Looked like he was slowing down to stop under the bridge.”

  “Probably going to get his rain gear on. Anything up top on the bridge?”

  “Nothing. All washed away. No brass.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “Nope.”

  “Aces. Farrell will drive me.”

  “Keep me in the loop.”

  Farrell glanced up from his phone on the other side of the kitchen. “Where am I driving you in the goddam torrential rain?”

  “Some asshole stood on a bridge in the goddam torrential rain and shot a kid off his Harley.”

  “Fuck that.”

  Saint Michael’s Hospital. Austin.

  JAMES WAINWRIGHT was asleep when they arrived. The bullet had been removed and he was in intensive care. While Blaine and Farrell waited for him to wake up, they examined his bag of personal belongings.

  “Don’t recognize this cut,” said Farrell.

  “Might be a small club that just rides together. Lots of legitimate clubs like that. Don’t mean he’s a ganger.”

  “Guess not,” said Farrell.

  They drank two cups of poison in the waiting area before the nurse beckoned to them. “Five minutes. He’s still groggy.”

  “We’ll be quick,” said Blaine.

  She escorted them to the kid’s bedside and his eyes were closed.

  “Hi, James, I’m Blaine Blackmore from Violent Crime. Can you talk to me for a minute?”

  The kid’s eyelids fluttered, and he opened a pair of blue eyes.

  “I understand you’re a little out of it, but can you remember what happened as you were approaching the bridge?”

  He tried to move, groaned and seemed to
struggle keeping his eyes open. His weak voice came out in barely a whisper. Blaine leaned down to hear him.

  “Raining hard. I slowed down.” He stared at the ceiling. “Nothing. Sorry.”

  “Any reason somebody would shoot you?” asked Farrell.

  “No. Been in Travis State last six months. Got out today. I got to get home for my sister’s birthday.”

  “We’ll call your folks,” said Farrell. “They might want to come check on you.”

  “Thanks.”

  On the way home Farrell said, “Don’t tell me this is fuckin random.”

  “Could be,” said Blaine. “Hope to hell it’s the only one.”

  “No chance of that,” said Farrell. “It’s a new game for somebody. I can fuckin feel it right in my gut.”

  Blaine’s lip curled. Why did Farrell always have to be right? “Take Carlos and go talk to his club.”

  “Yep. I’ll get the address.”

  Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.

  JESSE rushed home to see about the flooding situation on the ranch and Molly told him the boys were moving the cattle to the Winston pasture. Higher ground with more grass roots to hold onto the soil. The land sloped down towards Paul and Wendy’s house and that was another worry.

  He rushed upstairs to change his clothes and gave a shout out for Marnie. “Hey, are you up here?”

  No answer and he’d passed Charity’s room and she was sleeping in her crib with Molly keeping an eye on her.

  Where’s Marnie? I told her not to go out in this weather. She’s only a beginning rider.

  At the barn, Jesse saddled Corky and took stock of the stalls that were empty. “Glitter Girl isn’t in her stall. Shit. Does anybody ever listen to me?”

  He grabbed a yellow slicker from the hook in the tack room and winced as he shoved his half-healed left arm in the sleeve. “Be glad when that fucker is healed.” He took Corky by the reins and opened the barn door. Corky nickered and back peddled away from the driving rain. “Yeah, it’s a bitch, boy, but we gotta go out.”