The Savior: COLTER (Cover Six Security Book 6) Read online

  He'd grown up in a neighborhood not much different from this one. No matter how far he stretched his imagination, he couldn't think of a single reason why Allison would be in this neighborhood. Hell, there wasn't a reason for anyone to be in this neighborhood, not unless they lived here with no options to get out.

  So what the hell was Allison doing here? Boomer would have said something if he knew she was in town. Maybe not to purposely let Colter know but he would have said something, at least in passing conversation, especially since he was married to Allison's best friend. But the last time Boomer had talked about his sister, he'd said she was in the Southwest—Arizona, maybe—working with another volunteer organization that assisted women and children who had found themselves without resources. Before that, she'd been down in Florida somewhere, helping rebuild homes that had been damaged by last year's hurricane. That's what Allison did: she was a professional volunteer, always helping others.

  She shouldn't be here in Baltimore. She shouldn't be in this neighborhood. And she especially shouldn't be here without Boomer knowing about it.

  So what the hell was going on?

  Colter stopped at the traffic light and stared straight ahead, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as his mind came up with a hundred different scenarios. None of them satisfied the curiosity burning in his chest. In fact, more than a few caused a knot of impending doom to settle deep in his gut.

  The light changed and he made a right, heading for the exit to I-83 North instead of south toward the small house he was renting a few blocks from where Wolf lived in Fell's Point. If Allison was in town, Colter needed to know why and he couldn't come right out and ask Boomer. First, the man would want to know why the hell Colter was asking. Second, he'd get pissed—and then worried—if Allison being here was news to him. But he didn't need to ask Boomer, not when Chaos could dig up the information without anyone finding out about it. And if Derrick "Chaos" Biggs couldn't do it, his better half Lidiya could.

  Except Chaos would balk and give him hell if Colter called and asked for the favor. It was better to show up at his place unannounced and ask in person. Chaos would still balk and give him hell but Colter could be especially persuasive when he needed to be.

  He had a feeling this was going to be one of those times but it didn't matter. Colter needed to know what the hell was going on because no matter why Allison was here, he was convinced nothing good could come of it.

  Chapter Two

  Noise from the lobby area and hallway drifted back to Colter's office. The voices were muted for the most part, nothing more than a low baritone drone interrupted by a brief laugh or a profane exclamation coming from Flare and Ox. Colter was aware of it mostly on a subconscious level, registering it as nothing more than background noise. Not annoying—if it was, he'd get off his ass and close the door—but something that was simply there.

  He leaned back in the chair and propped one booted foot on the corner of his desk, then used the other foot to roll the chair in a small circle. Back and forth, back and forth, the wheels a whispered hum against the heavy rubber pad under his desk.

  He stared down at the small pile of postcards in his hand, studying the front of one before turning it over and reading the brief message. He placed the first one behind the others then read the second. The third. The fourth.

  Then started all over again, looking for some hidden clue that didn't exist. Reading between the lines for some secret message that wasn't there.

  Four postcards in fourteen months, addressed to him at his old apartment instead of the offices here at CSS. Yeah, Colter could just imagine the hell that would have rained down if Boomer had seen the postcards—and he would have because no way in hell would they have been kept a secret. Everyone would have seen them. They were damn postcards, not exactly private, personal mail.

  And the one or two lines scribbled on the back of each weren't exactly personal messages, either.

  The first one was an aerial view of a small chain of lush islands surrounded by clear blue water. He'd received that one two weeks after seeing Allison for the last time, the day she'd brought Hannah back to surprise her after Boomer had dragged them all down to the island to finish the school. Colter had seen Allison for three hours that day, had barely acknowledged her with a small nod and low grunt. Had he even talked to her? He didn't think so.

  It had been the first time he'd seen her since they left the island two months before. He'd known he hurt her—well, maybe not hurt, but definitely confused. Hell, he'd confused himself and made things so much worse by kissing her and pulling away then pretending nothing had happened. By pretending he wasn't interested when he was. But she was Boomer's kid sister, he couldn't be interested. And he sure as hell couldn't do anything about it.

  So no, he hadn't said anything to her during those few short hours that last day on the island. Two weeks later, he'd received the postcard.

  Thanks for helping Ryder with the school, Hannah appreciated it. And so did I.

  The card was signed Al, a reminder of the way he'd shortened her name.

  A month later, the second postcard arrived. This one featured a collage of different monuments in Washington DC and the message, So much to see and do! Need a private tour to take it all in!

  He'd almost called her, had briefly considered offering to be her private tour guide. Then he noticed the postmark date and realized she was probably gone already. He ignored the quiet regret the realization brought, telling himself it was probably for the best as he tucked the postcard into his bag with the other one.

  The third postcard arrived two months later, this one from Florida. A magical castle framed by fireworks covered the front and the message on the back was even shorter.

  Crowded and hot. Would be great to come back in the offseason with a friend or two. Al.

  The not-so-subtle hint was ruthlessly ignored as he placed the card in his bag with the others.

  The fourth and final postcard had arrived six months ago. The front showed an aerial picture of the Grand Canyon and the message on the back was brief and impersonal.

  Gorgeous scenery. Having fun.

  Allison hadn't even bothered to sign it, just scribbled her first initial at the bottom: A. That was it.

  He'd known, as he added the card to the pathetic stack in his bag, that he wouldn't hear from Allison again—and he hadn't. That didn't stop him from thinking about her. Didn't stop him from wondering where she was or what she was doing. Didn't stop him from carefully listening to Boomer, trying to pick up a tidbit here and there about Allison. But Boomer rarely talked about his sister and Colter had quietly put her from his mind.

  Until last night, when he'd seen her on that street corner. And it had been her, he was positive of it. He didn't need Chaos to confirm it—which was a damn good thing because Chaos still hadn't gotten back to him. The only thing he'd gotten from the other man so far was a brief Still working on it when he poked his head into Colter's office on the way to his own an hour ago.

  Colter placed the postcards into a neat stack, tapped the edges against the desk, then tucked them under several files in the middle drawer. He was edgy, restless; he needed to do something to get his mind off Allison and what she might be doing here.

  He pushed away from the desk and grabbed his small duffel bag. There was a small gym in the back of the warehouse that served as headquarters for CSS. Colter didn't use it as much as some of the other guys did but he needed a distraction right now. Going through some of the martial arts exercises would help him refocus and center himself. And, hopefully, help him discover the reason for the edginess. It was from more than just seeing Allison last night. There was a deep-seated certainty that something was wrong. That something big was ready to happen.

  He just didn't know what and he couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom lodged beneath his breastbone. That wasn't like him, never had been, and that more than anything else was leaving him feeling unsettled.

  An ho
ur later, his body was coated with sweat and his muscles were stretched and warmed from exertion, but none of the exercise had managed to settle his mind. He swore beneath his breath and stared at the punching bag, briefly wondered if beating the living hell out of it might work better to settle the edginess that was growing sharper. He moved toward it then stopped and glanced over his shoulder when the door to the workout area opened.

  Chaos strode in, looked around to make sure they were alone, then closed the door behind him. Colter held his breath, waited for the other man to drop a bombshell of bad news.

  "No idea who you thought you saw last night but it probably wasn't her." Chaos leaned against the door and folded his arms in front of him. At first glance, he appeared calm. Sedate. Maybe even a little annoyed. "According to everything I've found, she should be in Arizona, doing whatever the hell it is she does to save the world."

  The first thing Colter picked up on was the other man's annoyance. The second thing was his use of the words probably and should be. Not is. Not was.

  Should be.

  Meaning...Colter wasn't sure exactly what it meant, but whatever it was had to be the source of Chaos's annoyance.

  He grabbed a towel from the rack and quickly ran it over his face, mopping up the sweat. "Are you going to elaborate on that?"

  "Nothing to elaborate on. Everything I could find points to her being in Arizona. Online activity. Credit card and banking activity. Everything."

  "But you said should be, which means you're not positive."

  Derrick hesitated then shrugged. "She probably is. And whoever you saw last night probably just resembled her."

  "But?"

  "But...the online activity is too neat. Too scheduled. At first glance, it appears normal. Anyone who happened to do a search would see just enough to think there was nothing out of the ordinary."

  "So what did you find that made you think otherwise?"

  "Who said I think that?"

  "Don't bullshit me, Biggs. You found something. What is it?"

  Chaos pushed away from the door and lowered himself to the weight bench. He stretched his legs in front of him, crossed his feet at the ankles, then leaned back. "I didn't find anything out of the ordinary. Neither did Lee. And that's the problem. Everything is too neat and tidy. And when you look closer, it all fits a pattern."

  "What kind of pattern?"

  "A very scheduled pattern, at least for the last four months. Every Monday, she purchases ten dollars' worth of gas. Every Wednesday, she spends thirty dollars at a grocery store. And every Friday, there's a purchase for a movie ticket."

  Colter absorbed the information, processed it then compared it to what he knew of Allison, to what he remembered. Allison was intelligent and, for the most part, levelheaded. Maybe a little impulsive. She had a big heart and put others first. One thing she wasn't was neatly organized and habitual. Granted, he'd only spent a week with her on that island and the situation had been anything but normal, but he still didn't see her as someone who adhered to such a precise schedule. Yes, there were people out there who did—

  But Allison wasn't one of them.

  He draped the towel around his neck, fisted one hand around each end, then studied Derrick for a long minute. "You think someone else is using her card."

  The other man shrugged. "Could be. Or it could be that she's a creature of habit."

  "Not like that, she's not."

  "You sure about that? Because from what you've told me, and what I've heard from Boomer, you don't really know her that well."

  Colter ignored the silent question hidden in the words. "I'm sure. Did you find anything else?"

  "There was large cash withdrawal a little over four months ago, then absolutely no activity other than what I told you."

  "How large?"

  "Twenty-eight hundred dollars."

  "You keep saying four months. What about before then?"

  Chaos straightened then pushed off the bench. His gaze was carefully blank when he looked at Colter, his expression giving nothing away. "Before then, her activity was all over the place, just like you'd expect."

  "And yet you seem to think there aren't any red flags. That she's probably in Arizona and everything is as it should be."

  "I didn't say that's what I think, I said that's what it looks like."

  "Then what do you think?"

  "What I think is that you should get off your ass and talk to Boomer. She's his sister. He probably knows more than you think he does. And if he doesn't, he needs to."

  "I'm not talking to Boomer. Not yet, anyway. Not until I find out what the hell is going on."

  "And how do you plan on doing that?"

  "How?" Colter tossed the towel into the small hamper in the corner then grabbed his duffel bag. "By going back to that corner and waiting for her to show up again."

  "You think she's going to do that?"

  "Yeah, I do."

  And if she didn't, Colter would start asking questions and not stop until he got some answers. It didn't matter how long it took, he was a patient man when he needed to be.

  He just wondered how long that patience would last when it came to Allison.

  Chapter Three

  Colter's patience was nearing an end. Three days had gone by since that conversation with Chaos and he was no closer to figuring out what was going on now than he had been that day.

  Daryl "Zeus" Anderson—the official head of Cover Six Security—had called a few times, wondering where the hell he was and what the hell he was up to. Colter had no idea what the other man might have heard in his voice, but Zeus didn't push when Colter told him he was working on personal business. At least, he didn't push much, just paused before asking if Colter needed help with anything, then offered assistance if it was needed when Colter told him no.

  Boomer had even called the night before last, inviting him for dinner and a few beers and to catch the Banners playing hockey on television. Colter had almost said yes, had even asked—in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone of voice—who was going to be there. He hadn't realized he'd been hoping to hear Allison's name until disappointment swept over him when Boomer mentioned a few of the other guys and nobody else.

  He'd almost given in right then and there, had thought about going over to Boomer's and coming right out and asking him if he'd heard from his sister at all. But he hadn't because there was no way in hell he could come up with a reasonable excuse for asking.

  Hey, Boomer, have you seen your sister lately?

  No. Why are you asking? Why do you even care?

  It wouldn't just be the way Boomer asked the follow-up questions, it would be the curious look in his eyes as he pinned Colter in place. It would be the clear suspicion on his face as he studied Colter, once again wondering what, exactly, had happened between Allison and him on that island. Colter had evaded the question a handful of times already, in the months after they first left. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to evade them now.

  Oh, nothing much. Just told her she deserved to be treasured, then had a brief make-out session with her that left me harder than a fucking rock. Then, you know, pissed her off and hurt her when she flat out propositioned me and I turned her down when all I wanted to do was throw her on her back and sink my cock into her.

  Yeah, that would go over really well. Colter was big, but so was Boomer. He had no doubt the other man would do his best to take him down if Colter was stupid enough to tell him any of that.

  Who knows? Boomer might even succeed. Anything was possible.

  But Colter had made up some excuse to skip the dinner and drinks and game, and returned to the corner to watch. To wait.

  To wonder, not for the first time, if he was on a fool's errand and needed his fucking head examined.

  He shifted in the seat and stretched his legs as well as he could, ignoring the fact that his ass was falling asleep. He'd done more than his fair share of stretching out in a rocky outcropping or a copse of scraggly ass brush over
in the sandbox, just lying and waiting. Sitting in his truck on a street corner in Baltimore, his ass cushioned by soft leather seats while he was safely tucked behind dark tinted windows, should be infinitely more comfortable. He had a few bottles of water in the soft cooler on the passenger seat. Some beef jerky and trail mix. A somewhat fresh cup of coffee sat in the cup holder beside him. Hell, he could even watch a movie on his phone if he wanted to. It was all the comforts of home—except he was fucking miserable.

  He couldn't stretch out. He couldn't get comfortable. He couldn't relax because nobody was covering his six and his back felt exposed.

  He couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow missing something. And he couldn't shake the feeling that this was nothing more than a fool's errand. That he hadn't seen Allison and he was wasting his time.

  And his damn bladder was full. One more sip of anything and he'd explode. At this point, he wasn't even sure he'd be able to move in a hurry without pissing himself. It wouldn't be a problem out in the field, not when he could just roll to the side, whip it out, and relieve himself. He couldn't do that here, on the street corner. Never mind that people did—hell, he'd even witnessed it at least twice in the last three days.

  Colter shifted once more, trying to ignore the urgency of his bladder. Swearing beneath his breath, he looked up the street then darted a quick glance in his rearview mirror. Only a handful of people were walking around, their heads down, gazes focused on their feet as they hurried along the sidewalk. A lone man leaned against the corner of the rowhome up ahead, swaying and motioning wildly as he carried on a conversation with someone only he could see. A grimy winter hat covered his head and his clothes were ratty and torn. He looked older, maybe late fifties or early sixties, but he had the forward lean that spoke of heavy drug use. Knowing how prevalent heroin was in Baltimore, Colter figured the guy was probably in his thirties and had been aged by a combination of drugs and life on the street.