Silent Death (Cryptid Assassin Book 2) Read online

  Taylor nodded. "We can teach someone who has a mind to work and learn. We can't teach someone if they don't want to work, no matter how smart they are."

  "Agreed. I've already emailed you the resumes. Why don't you give them a look while I start on the suits and let me know if you like any of them?"

  "Okay, that sounds like a plan A." He picked up his coffee and a couple of donuts from the box and headed to his living area. After a quick wash and breakfast, he looked through the resumes he had been sent.

  He could hear his friend’s Latin music playing in the shop where he was working. That man would listen to anything.

  And like it.

  Bobby had made sure Taylor knew he wasn't vouching for any of the names that were presented, and he could see why. None of the group looked overly promising. They were all mechanics who had some time in the field, but the group had no experience working with the mech suits.

  That wasn't too surprising, but the fact that none of them had a single reference to their name was a little alarming.

  Admittedly, he didn't actually have high expectations for the first people they looked at. Those who were readily available would never be the first choices, although they were likely to be employed. They were skilled labor, after all, and there were businesses in the area that could afford to take the risks involved with hiring people they didn't know based on corporate needs.

  Well, he assumed so, anyway.

  Still, if he had to choose one of them, it would be the youngest of the list. Mark Rollins, age twenty-four, had gone to a couple of vocational schools and had degrees from both of them. This at least showed that he was capable of starting something and sticking it out to the end. It also meant he had the kind of credentials they could build on.

  Most people experienced in working on the suits tended to already be snapped up by the larger companies that manufactured them. Helping Rollins to learn the trade would mean lucrative job offers for him down the line.

  Mech production and repair was a growing industry that would go only one way and that was up.

  Having set the kid's resume aside, he headed to the shop where Bungees had already started work on one of the suits that had been sent in for repair. The man turned and lowered the volume a little when he heard his approach.

  "So, did find anyone you liked?" Bobby asked.

  "Well, they were slim pickings."

  "I know. It was the best I could do on short notice." The man shrugged and turned back to the mech. "I have put feelers out for a couple of the guys I know better and can actually vouch for, though, and should hopefully hear from them in a couple of days."

  "Thanks for the effort, though, and let me know." It didn't need to be said that he was ready to trust anyone his friend was willing to vouch for. "In the meantime, I found one kid who might be interesting. Mark Rollins. He doesn't have much experience, but he has a couple of vocational school degrees and that's at least something in his favor. He clearly has the brains for this kind of work, so there's nothing to say we can't try him and see if he's a good fit."

  "That sounds good to me. Do you want to give him a call?"

  "Sure, but I'd like you to be in on it since you know the kid."

  "To say I know the kid is a little strong," Bobby glanced at him for a moment. "We worked in the same shop for a couple of months and that was it. You should also know it's actually the same place you hunted me from, so…keep that in mind, I guess."

  "Sure, but still." The other man shrugged again as Taylor punched the number on the resume into his phone and let it dial.

  It took about twenty seconds of ringing before a voice answered.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, is this Mark Rollins?" he asked.

  "Speaking."

  "Hi, I'm Taylor McFadden. You don't know me, but your resume was given to me by a mutual acquaintance, Bobby Zhang? He told me you might be looking for a job and I'm actually looking to fill a couple of vacancies at my shop."

  "I…hey, sounds cool, man," Rollins said. "Do you want me to come in for an interview or whatever?"

  He narrowed his eyes and the two men exchanged glances. It appeared as though both had come to the same conclusion at the same time. The sluggish tone and the drawn-out vowels of the kid’s speech indicated that he was as high as a damn kite. While weed was legal in the state of Nevada and had been for decades, being baked this early on a Wednesday did strongly suggest a habit that could bite them in the ass later on.

  "Ah…yes," he said but suddenly regretted having made this call. "When do you think you would be available to come in?"

  "I only need a…like, give me a couple of days? Maybe more if you do like…random drug testing or whatever. I think some of my stuff was laced, you know?"

  "All right, then. Let us know when you're available," Taylor said before he hung up.

  "Let us know when you're available?" Bobby asked with a chuckle.

  "The guy's baked to the point where I doubt he'll even remember we had this conversation. And if he does, we might actually be able to use someone with that kind of mental acuity.” He grinned. “You know, man?"

  The other man laughed and shook his head. "Well…you win some, you lose some. At least we found out what the guy was like upfront. Anyway, I'll keep looking."

  "Yeah, me too. The problem is that many of the folks I studied with were potheads too, so the chances are we won’t do much better than Rollins."

  "It’s truly good to see you keep your hopes up in situations like these," his friend told him with a small grin as he returned to work on the mech suit they had inspected the night before.

  It would require a fair amount of work, but if anyone knew what they were doing, it was Bobby. He was already pulling pieces out and laying them on a nearby table in the order in which he would need them.

  Say what you wanted about the man, he was a methodical worker and when he fell into a rhythm, he could go through repairs at an astonishing speed. Taylor had seen it happen.

  He was about to join him when his phone buzzed in his pocket again. The initial suspicion that it might be Rollins calling him back was quickly put to rest when the caller ID told him it was Banks. He wondered why she would try to get hold of him and hoped like hell they didn’t have another fucking monster that needed to be eliminated.

  "Give me a second. I'll be right with you," he told Bobby, who nodded. "I have the FBI on the line."

  "Take your time." The man waved dismissively over his shoulder and made no effort to look away from his work.

  Taylor took a couple of steps away from the work area before he accepted the call but put it on speakerphone. "Special Agent Banks, to what do I owe the pleasure? Do you have another job for me so soon?"

  "Not really, no," she replied and sounded less passive-aggressive than usual. "I hate to say this—and I know you will probably love to hear it—but…uh, I need a favor."

  "Look, I know we've talked about this and we might have joked around about it too." He grinned. "I knew this day would come, but not this soon. Anyway, as long as we skip all the foreplay and you do all the work, I'll throw you a bone, no problem."

  "What?" she demanded and suddenly sounded annoyed. "No, you asshole. Dammit. I now have that image stuck in my head and, in case you wanted to ask, the mind can indeed vomit."

  "Well, if that’s how it’ll be, I'll accept you returning the favor in the form of a blowjob. No teeth, though."

  "Will Zhang perform it?" she snarked.

  "No! " Bungees answered quickly.

  Taylor smiled.

  "Well then, I invite you to quite literally fuck yourself," Banks said. "But I still need the favor. Do you mind if I come over in a couple of hours?"

  "Wait, I thought you would be in DC, talking to a huddle of bean counters."

  "I'm afraid an emergency arose that required my attention," she replied. Given the favor she needed, he could only assume it was a personal emergency and that left him a little uneasy. He much preferred to a
void anything personal in his professional relationships, despite the jokes. They were, in fact, his way to avoid any kind of non-superficial engagement.

  "I've had some of my people do the presentation, so all should be well,” she continued. “Back to the topic at hand, do you mind if I come over and discuss this with you—and maybe Zhang too—in person?"

  "I don't suppose this emergency that required your attention has anything to do with the favor you want to ask of us?"

  "It does," she confirmed. "It's put me in something of a bind, and…well, I know you don't owe me anything, but I could still use a solid."

  She was wrong on that, at least by his count. He did owe her a fair amount, even if he would never admit it.

  "I guess you can't tell me what the issue is over the phone?" he asked.

  "Sorry, no,"

  "Then come on over," he agreed. "We’ll see you in a couple of hours."

  The click when she hung up was, thankfully, much more her style. The real Banks still lurked in there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Taylor really thought about the call from Banks, it unsettled him considerably. He’d known right away that it was far from usual for her to call this soon after a job was completed and his first worry had been another clusterfuck that needed his skills to resolve. If she made contact, it usually meant she had another job in the pipeline for him, but she had other freelancers to feed this kind of work to as well so it would have to be something exceptional for her to call.

  Still, in retrospect, another job might have been preferable. It would probably have been a damn sight better than the even more unusual impossibility that she’d asked him for a favor. For all his teasing, she did appear to be the kind of woman who could handle herself in most situations. She was tough, rugged, and hard to keep down and could come up with solutions to virtually any problem that was thrown her way. That the solution sometimes involved getting someone with more expertise to deal with it in no way diminished her competence.

  What niggled at him most was that he knew she wasn't the kind of person who asked for favors, especially from the likes of him. She trusted him to get the jobs she sent his way done, and he trusted her to be on his side when it came to releasing the money into his account. He’d had some doubts about her in the beginning, but she’d largely allayed those when she sided with him and avoided a possible dispute involving the serial killer in Georgia.

  Now, she broke the mold and turned to him for a favor?

  That seemed like the kind of shit she would involve friends in—people she trusted to keep secrets and be understanding and all that crap. Admittedly, she didn't seem like the kind of person who had too many friends, but she would, without doubt, trust those she did have with her life.

  What really annoyed him, he realized, was that Banks might actually consider him a friend or at least a confidant. He didn't like it when people trusted him to do things for which he didn't want to be held accountable. Favors simply felt like they would ruin the professional relationship the two of them shared.

  It was a nagging pickle that remained on Taylor’s mind even though he tried to put it aside while he worked alongside Bungees. He'd hired the man as a specialist in repairs, while he mostly ran support. Bobby focused on taking the suit apart and identifying the issues that needed to be fixed while most of what he currently did was to prepare the pieces to be replaced in the suit. The work itself was merely fixing what needed fixing and cleaning the parts while he thought of ways to make it better.

  More complicated repairs would come later when they had to examine what might have been damaged in the electronics. Bobby would also list the possible upgrades they could install and everything they would need to perform those. He’d give his boss a list that he, in turn, would send to one of the nearby manufacturers to ship to them post-haste.

  The work was what he could usually count on to keep him distracted in these kinds of situations, but his mind couldn't help but wander back to Banks. What kind of favor would she ask for? And what could be so compelling that it had prevented her from heading to DC to handle the task force she spent so much time taking care of?

  He might as well call it her baby.

  It seemed like she cared about it about as much as he cared about his business, even if he couldn't think of a name for it.

  The only reason he could think of for leaving something like that to trusted co-workers would be a family emergency or something along those lines. But that personal emergency now required a favor from someone she could only tolerate in a work environment. That told him it was more than your average emergency.

  He had already decided to help her. But if she expected it to be met without at least some form of mockery on his part, she was in for a rude awakening.

  It was almost midday and around the time when both men began to wonder whether lunch would be early or late when Taylor's phone buzzed.

  It alerted him that someone had tripped the security system. Bobby had turned it off, of course, but that didn't mean he wouldn’t be warned about anyone who might arrive.

  He'd learned his lesson before. There were many dangers involved in living in this neck of the woods, and while he had taught the folks who wanted to extort him for living in the area a lesson, he wasn't the type to give career criminals too much credit for their ongoing long-term memory and learning capabilities.

  They would probably be back at least once if not twice more before they realized he had the FBI on his side. There were many people whom organized criminals were willing to take on, but everyone knew that you left the feds and the IRS alone—for separate yet interestingly similar reasons.

  "We have visitors," Taylor said and wiped the grease from his hands.

  "Banks?" Bobby asked, his head still buried inside the mech's chest.

  "If not her, then probably those extortionists back for another can of whoop-ass." He tossed the dirty rag on a bench. "There isn’t really much reason for anyone else to visit at this time or day of the week."

  "Is there reason any other time or day of the week?" His friend twisted to peer at him.

  "I assume there are probably teens or local college kids who like to party in abandoned buildings. But I think that's mostly my bias against college kids and teenagers."

  "Whatever you say."

  His phone buzzed again, and a quick look told him Banks had texted him that she was outside. The press of a button opened the doors of the shop to allow the special agent to drive her SUV into the converted garage.

  A few things about her arrival immediately attracted Taylor's attention.

  The fact that the SUV, while dark and tinted, did not have the usual federal plates meant this was a private vehicle. He also noticed someone in the passenger seat. It was hard to make the person out, but he could assume it was a younger woman from the build of the shadow cast against the tinted windows.

  Banks stepped out of the car, told the person inside to remain there for the moment, and waved at the two men as she moved away from her vehicle. She walked quickly and purposefully toward them as if she’d made up her mind that this was something she had to do and so had best get it over with as soon as possible.

  "Hey," she said with a small, embarrassed smile. "Thanks for talking to me. How are you doing?"

  "Never better." Taylor nodded toward the SUV. "Who's riding shotgun?"

  "That's Victoria Madison or Vickie," she explained. "And I'm sure you've already guessed that she's the one this whole favor thing is about."

  Vickie looked like she had no desire to wait around for Banks to finish as she slid out of the vehicle and stretched. She looked a little older than what he would normally call a girl but not quite a woman yet, although that opinion was challenged by her dark hair being cut short and the horde of metal on her ears, as well as a nose stud and a lip ring.

  She resembled a character straight out of a Stieg Larsson novel, and from the looks of the tattoos, the Swedish author did appear to be an inspirat
ion for her style of choice.

  "Fucking…dammit." Banks took a deep breath to calm herself and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Anyway, that's Vickie."

  "Is she a family relative?" Taylor asked.

  "Yes. Not that close but still close enough to get me uninvited from the family Thanksgiving dinner if I don't bail her ass out of trouble, which is kind of what I had to do."

  "Hence the emergency, I take it." He nodded. Vickie did look like she was the kind to get into trouble but again, that was based more on the bias her personal image created. For all he knew, she could be a PhD and had simply chosen that look because she was in the middle of an identity crisis.

  "Anyway," the agent continued, moving right along, “she has something of an Attitude problem—with a capital A—and the kind of personality that regularly puts her at odds with people in positions of authority over her."

  He’d guessed that much already.

  "As a result, she landed herself in trouble and while people like her are generally given the option to either serve hard time or be shipped to the Zoo, I was able to use what little clout I have to get her on probation."

  That immediately dragged his attention away from his ongoing anxiety over the favor. "Wait, that's what they're doing these days?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

  "Unfortunately for some, yes, depending on the crime," she confirmed. "There are some shady practices run by the companies that need numbers boosted in the Zoo. I’ve even heard a rumor of someone being shipped out because their contract was bought out by the State Department, but that's a whole other issue. The point is… Well, I need to get her involved in some kind of job to keep her probation officer happy. I was alerted to the fact that you're looking for someone to work for you here, so…that would be the favor."

  Taylor raised an eyebrow. "You want me to hire a member of your family who has committed a crime that you don't appear to be willing to expound on because her probation requires her to have a job? I merely wonder if I have all the details you're willing to share with me. Not that it appears to be all that much, to begin with."