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  REVENGE CODE

  Copyright © 2020 by Paul Knox. All rights reserved.

  Revenge Code is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please write to the author at [email protected]

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition, 2020

  ISBN:

  REVENGE CODE

  A Reece Cannon Thriller

  Volume 2

  PAUL KNOX

  One

  You’re not alone.

  Before falling into a deep slumber only a few hours earlier, Shanahan remembered his wife promising that.

  Don’t slip away from me, she’d said. I need you. We all need you.

  Shanahan had finished another liter of whiskey, still grasping the bottle, when she’d found him outside staring at the stars. Frozen in place, he’d been somewhere distant—in a place betwixt the ancient twinkling lights.

  Shanahan had thought his wife was sleeping soundly. He’d been surprised, even slightly ashamed, at being caught in a vacant moment.

  But his wife, Jessie, wasn’t mad or disappointed like he’d expected her to be. She wasn’t even surprised. She admired him for a moment before moving toward him, saying those things.

  Indeed, Shanahan was slipping away.

  And in this moment, more than ever.

  One minute ago, death came to Shanahan’s door.

  When his eyes flipped open, upon hearing the front door of his home being broken into, he briefly remembered Jessie’s words before the glowing red numbers on the clock registered within his mind. It was 3:30 AM.

  Jessie began to stir as Shanahan ripped the covers away.

  “Get under the bed!” he commanded to his wife, who lay naked beside him. Over a nearby reading chair she had a white robe draped, which he hoped she could silently pull on.

  Also unclothed, Lieutenant Tommy Shanahan jumped from the fading warmth and went to his cold, metal safe. Thirty seconds later, he held a gun with his flannel robe half-on, half-not.

  He ran into the living room, headed for his baby boy’s room, eyes scanning the surrounding darkness.

  A lone figure stood, watching him, pointing in his direction.

  Shanahan recognized something the figure held. Something shaped very similarly to what Shanahan also held. A weapon.

  The intruder didn’t hesitate. He fired.

  ◆◆◆

  Lucky stood in front of a large TV with the news on, but muted. He looked at the two men, sizing them up. “The plan is quick and clean, correct?”

  The skinny, lanky white guy answered, “No sweat. I’m a pro. I do murders all the time.”

  “You ‘do murders all the time?’” Lucky asked.

  The skinny guy glanced towards the TV. “Well, not all the time. Some of the time.”

  “What the hell does ‘some of the time’ mean?”

  “It means sometimes I murder. Kill people. Dig graves. That’s what it means.”

  “I’d know if you were digging graves around here.” Lucky squinted at the man. “Let me ask you another question. And this time, I’d advise you think about your answer very carefully—and not because of what Shanahan might do to you. Can you pull this off?”

  Lucky took a step closer to the duo, and they inched backwards.

  The slightly pudgy Italian-looking guy with strange hands interrupted. “Don’t worry, Lucky, if you got the money, we’ll do the job. We’ll handle him.”

  “I hope so—for your sake.” Lucky glimpsed the time on his wrist. He needed to sleep soon. The morning was already calling, and the night had barely begun.

  Watching the two thugs leave his secret safe house, Lucky hoped he’d come too far for this to get botched. The skinny guy tripped in the doorway on his way out. The pudgy Italian pushed him the rest of the way through.

  My name’s Lucky for a reason. It’ll work.

  Shanahan dies tonight.

  ◆◆◆

  Shanahan dodged left when he recognized the gun, his robe spinning around like a ballroom dancer’s dress. The bullet put a tiny rip in the fabric and a finger-sized hole in the wall.

  Shanahan didn’t hesitate either. He fired his weapon mid-spin, striking the intruder in the arm who yelped in pain.

  The intruder popped a couple more rounds, but off balance, missed the rapidly approaching Lieutenant.

  Shanahan rushed forward and tackled the intruder. “Who are you!” he screamed.

  The sounds of his baby boy, Zaki, now awake and crying could be heard from his bedroom crib.

  “Don’t hurt me, please, I’m a nobody. I just…”

  Suddenly, Shanahan heard the sound of the backdoor being kicked in. The door that connected his master bedroom to their backyard.

  Jessie.

  The intruder took advantage of the distraction, scrambling for his gun and swinging it at the Lieutenant. Shanahan felt steel hammering the side of his face.

  As he shook the blow off, he discovered the muzzle being aimed directly between his eyes.

  There was no time for plans or careful calculations. No time to tie the intruder up, to keep him from getting Zaki or Jessie. Shanahan was about to die and his family would be next.

  Without a second thought, fire burned in Shanahan, fiercer than the flames of the arid desert’s scalding sun that surrounded his home, his community, his world.

  Shanahan took the only moment separating this life and the next. He pulled the trigger.

  Death called.

  Then he ran towards the bedroom. His feet barely touched the ground, his robe still untied, trailing his body like a cape.

  He burst through the door. But something caught him, hard. A smashing blow to his head brought him down to the ground.

  Shanahan fought the blackness threatening his consciousness, and lifted the side of his bleeding face from the carpet.

  A broken lamp lay shattered beside him, the kiln-baked clay pieces cutting into his skin. His head pounded, throbbed. His vision doubled.

  The intruder stared as though he was trying to decide what to do next. He had a gun pointed at Shanahan, but hadn’t taken the shot.

  His mistake.

  Shanahan still clutched his own gun and didn’t need to decide anything. He fired, but in the blurred haze, missed the intruder.

  Shanahan tried to stand but couldn’t.

  Then the intruder grabbed Jessie, who had just crawled out from under the bed, reaching towards her fallen husband.

  “Tommy!” Jessie screamed, before Shanahan watched the intruder hit the back of her head with the butt of a strange-looking gun.

  Shanahan had to stand. He had to. He had no choice.

  Unable to see straight, his eyes seemed stuck in a kaleidoscope. Was there something strange about the man’s hands?

  “No,” Shanahan tried to yell, but no sound came from his mouth.

  Somehow managing to rise up, he raised his gun, wobbling, wanting to shoot, desperately wanting to, to murder this man who was dragging Jessie across the room.

  But Shanahan couldn’t see. He couldn’t risk hitting Jessie.

  The intruder disappeared with Jessie’s unconscious body out the back door.

  Shanahan tried to run after them but stumbled forward and fell again.

  Blackout.

  Two

  Detective Reece Cannon shivered in her short-sleeve shirt. Summer had tried clinging to the Arizona air, forgetting it was already Fall. Yet the warmth had begun to lose its grasp, ending a long stay.

  The October morning’s sun had taken time to awake, and Reece kaya
ked over the glassy waters of Lake Patagonia, waiting for its brilliance.

  In the predawn, newly chilly moments, darkness still filled the skies and Reece’s mind drifted like her kayak.

  I see you.

  Those were the words mouthed by Don Rico, as the shackled man had first been led from an interrogation room back to his jail cell months prior. He’d been looking through the one-way mirror—somehow directly at Reece—with a menacing stare, his hands cuffed but far from innocuous.

  It had taken months, but Reece and Shanahan were close to cracking a huge drug smuggling operation, stretching all the way from Columbia to Arizona.

  Reece had been investigating Don Rico for months. After discovering when and where his next deal would be, Shanahan had been the eyes in position to see Don Rico’s final cocaine handoff.

  Shanahan was now an important witness in the case.

  During the investigation, Reece had discovered that Don Rico wasn’t the head honcho. But he had connections with the big bosses. Thus far, getting him to talk hadn’t been very productive.

  The paddles dipped into the pristine waters, lifting translucent drops into the first rays, reflecting the glittering light.

  A new dawn, a new day, a new adventure in life waited. Sometimes a body had to feel nature’s presence, connecting to it. On this particular Saturday, Reece did just that.

  As the sun peeked over the horizon, blazing yellows, oranges and pinks, Reece instinctively dug her hand into her pocket, reaching for her cell, thinking she’d snap a picture of the beauty. Remembering she deliberately left it in her Jeep, she beamed with the sun, reassured in her purposeful adventure.

  Recently, the entire criminal investigations team at the sheriff’s department had a backyard barbeque to celebrate Zaki’s first birthday. Informal and fun, all of Reece’s coworkers and friends were there.

  Shanahan and his wife held their birthday boy, often in their own little world of family. Giddy and gleeful, Reece’s neighbor Jaxson and his fiancée Maisie—Reece’s very best friend—also seemed to exist in their own happy universe.

  It was at that party, amongst families and friends, that Reece had decided to make this solo trip back to Lake Patagonia. Now she sailed over the same waters she once traversed with her brother, before he died in a car accident almost seven years ago.

  Remembering her past stung. So many aspects of it were dotted with loved ones dying or leaving. But Reece moved on with life, like how she moved over the lake waters. It had been six years since joining the sheriff’s department, and each year was better than the last.

  On the lake, alone, Reece connected with something. Something that could only be described as divine. And once again, she felt content.

  Less than an hour later, she crunched the gravel back to her lean, mean, green Jeep Wrangler, which didn’t exactly blend in with the brown and cactus colored desert background. It glistened like an emerald. An emerald she called her own.

  Sliding into the driver’s seat, she took one last look around at the peaceful wilderness before cranking the engine.

  Her personal phone, nonchalantly hanging out in the passenger seat where she’d tossed it for the morning’s reprieve, began ringing.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Reece! It’s Maisie. Guess what? Jaxson and I are going camping tonight, up on Mount Lemmon. Totally spontaneous! We were inspired by your kayaking on the lake. Oh, by the way, did you do that?”

  “I just finished. Headed back now.”

  “That sounds so awesome! I’m glad you’re finally taking a morning off from saving the world. Wish us luck. Just wanted to let someone know where we’re going in case bears get us or we vanish in the forest.”

  “Have fun. Talk to you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, we’ll be back tomorrow. Just a short and fun trip!”

  Reece hung up and looked at her home screen. Something very peculiar caught her eye.

  Fourteen missed calls.

  Reece recognized the numbers. The sheriff’s department had called thirteen times. Shanahan had called once. She also had fourteen messages. Reece immediately dialed the department.

  One ring.

  “Reece, you’re gonna want to get to…” The deputy on the other end of the line gave her an address that Reece knew by heart.

  “What happened?” Reece asked.

  “Twenty-six zero six.”

  “Shanahan?”

  “His wife.”

  Reece didn’t respond. She smashed the red icon on her phone and dialed Shanahan. No answer. She listened to her voicemails. Shanahan’s message was the first one.

  “She’s gone, Reece.” The sound of a grown man—a powerful man—breaking down, almost sounded unreal. She’d never heard Shanahan so desperate before.

  The sound of Zaki’s crying in the background added to the madness and confusion of the message.

  Reece’s sense of urgency, her acute observation skills, her everything kicked into hyper drive as she zoned in to every nuance in every sound, analyzing it.

  Shanahan continued. “He took her. I couldn’t… It’s okay, Zaki, it’ll be okay… Reece, I couldn’t stop him.”

  The blood drained from Reece’s face. There was no analyzing that would discern this message better or clearer. There was no fixing this moment.

  “Why aren’t you answering, Reece? I need…” Shanahan paused.

  After a quiet, frustrated moan that sounded more desperate than Zaki’s background wails, the message ended.

  Reece peeled out of the parking area and onto the highway. It would be at least an hour before arriving at Shanahan’s home. Or what was left of it.

  I better find him first.

  Three

  “You look like hell,” a random stranger mumbled to Shanahan.

  It had been hours since the CSI team had arrived, and they now finished up at Shanahan’s home—without him. Like gunshot after gunshot, rounds of questions had been fired at him for longer than he could stand. Every I don’t know that he responded with left a larger and deeper hole in his psyche.

  But for now, he was left alone to tend to his boy.

  He’d had to get out of there. Anywhere. So he went to the grocery store.

  At this moment, Shanahan held his baby boy, eyeing an overpriced whisky bottle while the stranger offered good, albeit misconstrued advice. “They just unpacked some fresh apples. Try one.” The stranger hurried off.

  Shanahan stared in a daze. He held Zaki tight, never letting go.

  Apples. Right. That’s what Zaki needs.

  After picking a few of the Pink Lady’s and bagging them, he found some bananas and instant oatmeal. He didn’t need any oatmeal, but he bought some anyway.

  His legs felt like Jell-O and walking felt like floating. Nothing made sense. Except Zaki. He’d keep Zaki safe.

  I have to find her.

  He suppressed the all-consuming, ravenous voice in his head. Zaki needed him right now. But Shanahan needed to find Jessie.

  It was just a matter of time.

  I’ll find him.

  And when I do…

  Shanahan thought back to the barbeque he and Jessie had hosted for Zaki’s birthday. All of Reece’s friends from her otherworldly neighborhood, Nohpalli, attended. The ‘crew.’ Shanahan had no close friends, except maybe Reece.

  But, he told himself, I have Jessie.

  Or I did.

  Jessie was more important than anyone.

  “Except you,” he whispered. Shanahan kissed his baby boy on the head. But he couldn’t shake the intense feeling of being more alone than ever.

  He and Reece were old friends, all the way back from high school. But they had their own lives. Could she be there for him again, when he needed her the most?

  An hour or so later, his hand trembled, helping Zaki navigate a spoon around the microwaved oatmeal. Shanahan looked away from the kitchen walls. Bullet holes punctured the drywall like tiny little reminders where demons lurked. The home felt empty. />
  His home felt like a house.

  The CSI team finally left after scouring everything. They tried to find any scrap of evidence that could link something to anything and bring Jessie home. They took the dead man’s body. Others had taken blood samples. They fingerprinted. A cleanup crew scrubbed the floor clean.

  Mostly clean. Shanahan didn’t look at the tiles. He’d already seen the remnants. Most people wouldn’t notice, but they were his tiles. And now they were faintly tinted.

  “Everything’ll be okay. And everything’ll be okay.” Shanahan sing-song sang the words, thinking he’d comfort Zaki, without realizing he was subconsciously trying to comfort himself. Zaki didn’t know what had happened, didn’t even know his mother had been taken.

  And hit with a gun.

  Her body limp.

  It was good he didn’t know.

  After Zaki finished the oatmeal, Shanahan packed a bag full of supplies and set Zaki in his car seat. They left for the sheriff’s department.

  It was time.

  ◆◆◆

  Reece Cannon sat at her desk, mulling over everything her team had found. DNA from the blood was scheduled to be analyzed, but that would take days. The dead perpetrator had been fingerprinted, but the FBI didn’t have any identification on the man.

  Even the gun was untraceable—a ‘ghost’ gun. It had been made by an individual or black market team without any identification or serial number.

  The only lead so far was the bullets. They had been bought at an ammo store down in Green Valley, about a half-hour south on the freeway.

  Ninety percent of the population down there was over sixty-five. Why had he been in the land of retirees and the elderly? Maybe he’d had a grandparent buy them for him?

  Unlikely. This had all the makings of being premeditated.

  “Reece.”

  Snapping out of it, Reece almost jumped upon Shanahan’s approach. She hadn’t seen him sneak up behind her. But now he stood there holding his son, in the same office they’d worked together in for years, looking strangely like a visitor.