Seeds of Iniquity

  SEEDS

  OF

  INIQUITY

  Book Four

  In the Company of Killers

  J.A. REDMERSKI

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, or locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 J.A. Redmerski

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part and in any form.

  Cover Photo & Art by Michelle Monique Photography

  Model – Corrie J

  Makeup/Hair – Shiree Collier

  Spanish translations credited to Katy Evans

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  READER QUESTIONS…

  -ALSO BY J.A. REDMERSKI-

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  1

  Izabel

  Twenty-four hours ago…

  I burst through the door first with Victor and Niklas behind me. Tears of rage and vengeance fill my eyes. The house is pitch dark except for a small light somewhere in the hallway, the smell of scorched coffee lingers heavily on the air. There was a struggle here; two of the chairs around the kitchen table have been knocked over, the tablecloth pulled from the table along with the centerpiece basket of real fruit. Bananas, apples and oranges litter the caramel-colored tile floor.

  “Dina!” I scream and rush through the rest of the house with my gun in my hands and my finger on the trigger. “Dina, are you here?!”

  No answer.

  “She’s not here, Izzy,” Niklas says behind me.

  “Dina!”

  “Izabel—”

  “Shut up!” I turn swiftly in the hallway, but then I stop and calm myself when I realize it had been Victor who called out my name the second time.

  Niklas leaves us alone and disappears through the den entrance to check out the rest of the house.

  Victor steps up to me, a small LED nightlight plugged into the wall at the end of the hall glowing faintly against one side of his body; a shadow covers the rest.

  “Listen to me,” he says cupping his hand about one side of my neck, “she’s not dead, so get your head on straight. This is the kind of emotion that will get you killed. Look at me, Izabel.” He rips the word out.

  My eyes shoot up from the floor and I do as he says, tears rolling down my cheeks. I wipe underneath my nose with the side of my gun hand.

  “How do you know she’s not dead?” I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  “Because she’s not here,” Victor says. “Whoever took her wants something from us and won’t kill her. She’s leverage.”

  I remember when I was leverage once. When Sarai was leverage back in Mexico.

  I wipe my tears again, but that rage and vengeance is ever-growing inside of me and these aren’t tears of sadness. Not even close. Whoever did this, whoever found Dina, the only mother I’ve ever really known, and took her from this safe-house in New Jersey, I’ll kill them. I’ll fucking kill them!

  A bright light spills out into the hallway coming from the den, following the clicking on of a lamp.

  “There’s another note,” Niklas calls out.

  I push my way past Victor and hurry into the den, snatching a 3x5 white index card from Niklas’ hand. It’s written in pencil. I read it to myself first and then out loud.

  Meet me at the vacant red brick building on 66th and Town St. in New Brunswick at 2:00 a.m. Oh, and tell Dorian Flynn to give his ex-wife a call.

  Victor and Niklas exchange a look. I look back and forth between them, the card bending between my tightening fingers. I notice from the corner of my eye, a body lying on the floor behind the sofa, a black boot on the end of a long leg sticks out into the floor. But I don’t say anything because Niklas and Victor have already seen him. They know that it’s the guard they sent here to watch over Dina and there’s nothing that needs to be said other than the obvious—whoever kidnapped Dina killed him when they broke in and took her.

  “So it’s Dorian’s ex-wife?” I say. “She did this?” I look to Victor. “Who is she and where does she live?”

  Victor takes his cell phone from his suit jacket pocket and runs his index finger over the glass screen.

  “Victor!”

  He puts up his hand to me as whoever is on the other end of the phone answers—probably Dorian—and gets his attention.

  I grit my teeth behind closed lips and wait impatiently.

  “Yes, there was another note,” Victor says into the phone and then reads the note back to Dorian having remembered it word for word. “Is your ex-wife capable of—”

  “Put him on speaker,” I cut in urgently, stepping up closer to Victor.

  Without hesitation, Victor slides his thumb over the speaker icon and Dorian’s voice funnels into the room.

  “Tessa couldn’t fight off a Chihuahua,” Dorian says. “There’s no way she can be invol—.” He seems to have stunned himself into silence.

  Victor, Niklas and I look to and from each other.

  “Dorian?” I speak up.

  It takes him a moment, but he finally says, “Let me call you right back,” and immediately hangs up, not even giving Victor time to say anything if he’d intended to.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Niklas says absently.

  He steps around the sofa in his black leather biker boots and crouches down beside the dead man, his gun poking out of the back of his pants. Then he lights up a cigarette.

  “What are you doing, asshole?” I march over and slap the cigarette out of his hand. It hits the hardwood floor; flecks of burning embers spark from the end and burn themselves out when they touch the wood. “This is Dina’s house, Niklas! She doesn’t smoke and you won’t smoke in her house!”

  Victor’s hands collapse around my upper-arms from behind and he pulls me away carefully.

  “Control your girl, brother,” Niklas says, his German accent always bleeding through his perfect English, but I’m so used to it now that I hardly notice anymore. He growls and takes the cigarette back into his fingers. Then he turns his head at an angle to see me and says, “I know you’re pissed right now, Izzy, but don’t take it out on me.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  Victor whispers near my ear, “Fighting with Niklas isn’t going to help find Mrs. Gregory. Calm yourself, or I’ll take you back to Boston and leave you there.”

  “You wouldn’t do that,” I say under my breath and without turning to face him—I know he would.

  “I will, Izabel,” he says calmly and his hands slide away from my arms. “If you’re too emotionally invested in this, it could be you that gets Mrs. Gregory killed. Set your hatred for my brother aside and focus on what’s important.”

  I glare at Niklas still crouched in front of the body.

  He puts the cigarette out on the side of his boot, turns away from me and begins checking the pockets of the dead man.

  “You’ve gone soft, brother,” Niklas says with his back to us. “Letting a woman tell you what to do.”

  He rises to his feet and looks right at Victor.

  “This isn’t the kind of thing we do,” he goes on. “Saving little old ladies. Rescuing smart mout
h bitches from Mexican drug lords. What’s next—cats in trees? Puppies in drainpipes?”

  I round my chin, but say nothing. Victor easily keeps his cool because Niklas is his brother and he’s beyond used to his behavior by now.

  Niklas walks past us. “Izabel’s not the only one too emotionally invested, Victor,” he adds with accusation. He slips around the corner and out of sight. Moments later I hear the sound of the back door opening and closing as he steps outside.

  I turn around to face Victor.

  “This isn’t the time,” he says, already knowing the kinds of things I’d like to say in retaliation.

  But he’s right and I focus on Dina and this mysterious person or people who took her.

  “What do you think they want?” I ask, my eyes scanning the rest of the den for anything else out of place.

  “It could be a lot of things,” Victor answers.

  He steps around me to check out the body himself, crouching down beside it just as Niklas did.

  “We are not short on enemies, I’m afraid.”

  That’s an understatement.

  I swallow nervously and go over to the coffee table. Dina’s favorite glass candy bowl sits on top of it filled with chocolates. She’s had that bowl since before I met her, and always kept it full of my favorite candy—Sweet Tarts when I was younger and then mini Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups as I got older. I sit down on the coffee table beside it, propping my elbows on the tops of my legs and resting my head in my hands exhaustively.

  Victor stands up and turns to face me, the light from his cell phone screen glowing in his hand.

  He answers it and puts Dorian on speaker again.

  “Tessa isn’t picking up,” Dorian says, his words filled with concern. “I’m going to her house. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know something.”

  They hang up.

  We’re all thinking the same thing, even Niklas who just re-entered the den after coming in through the back door.

  “I guess we’re making that two kidnappings then?” Niklas asks, having overheard.

  Victor nods and then slips his phone back inside his jacket.

  “Whoever it is,” Victor says, “they’re not amateurs.” He sighs. “They knew where to find Mrs. Gregory even though we’ve moved her three times in the past year.” He points at the dead man. “And I doubt he had anything to do with it.”

  “But why take Dina and Dorian’s ex-wife?” I ask.

  “The connection is,” Victor says, “that you and Dorian are both part of this organization. So, whatever they want has to do with the organization.”

  “Do you think they’ll take anyone else?” I stand from the coffee table.

  “It’s a possibility,” Victor says. “I suppose it depends on how many of us still have people in our outside lives who we care about, but hopefully it doesn’t go that far.”

  I look between Victor and Niklas, an obvious question on my face.

  Niklas shakes his head, manipulating his lips on one side of his mouth. “I think you both know by now that I don’t do giving a shit about anyone else. The only person I care about is my brother.” He looks right at me when he says this.

  I smirk at him and turn to Victor.

  But Victor doesn’t chime in because like Niklas, Victor has no other ties to the outside world, either.

  “What about Fredrik?” I ask, but feel stupid after doing so.

  Niklas laughs lightly, shaking his head. “Really, Izabel?” he says with sarcasm and leaves it at that.

  I can’t argue with that, or lash out him for being a dick—Fredrik lost the only person in the outside world that he loved, months ago. Killed her with his own hands, forced to put her down like a rabid dog. Fredrik Gustavsson is the least emotionally attached person in our entire organization. And probably always will be.

  Three hours later, while waiting in our hotel room in New Brunswick, New Jersey, Victor gets the call from Dorian.

  “She’s gone,” Dorian says, trying to contain the trepidation in his voice. “The fucking house was ransacked. They fucking took her, Faust.”

  I’ve never seen or heard Dorian react this way. Not to anything. I never even knew he had an ex-wife. He doesn’t seem the wife type.

  “There was no note this time. No more bread crumbs.”

  “Good,” Victor says. “How quickly can you be here?”

  “I can be there before 2:00 a.m.,” he answers, “bet your ass on that.”

  “We’ll see you then,” Victor says, but just before they end the call he adds, “Bring Fredrik with you.”

  “Fredrik? But I don’t even know where to find him.” Dorian sounds more worried than before, as if forced to waste time by looking for Fredrik is going to cause him to miss the 2:00 a.m. meeting.

  “Just try to find him first,” Victor says. “If you can’t within the next hour, come alone and we’ll figure it out.”

  Dorian and Fredrik, although no longer partners, still reside in Baltimore. And the partner Dorian was assigned to after Fredrik, Evelyn Stiles, former CIA, Victor relocated her somewhere in France.

  Niklas isn’t used to seeing Victor be so lenient—he stands there with a you’ve-got-to-be-shittin’-me look on his face, his arms covered by a long-sleeved black shirt, crossed loosely over his chest, untucked over a pair of black jeans held up by a black belt with a silver buckle, which is the only part of the belt that shows. Niklas always wears dark colors and the same motorcycle boots; a rugged kind of man who always has facial stubble and doesn’t care to style his brown hair. He doesn’t care about much, really, certainly not about impressing anyone. Funny thing is though, he seems to attract women like shit attracts flies, much like Dorian. The two have more in common than any of us. But the difference with me is that Dorian I can tolerate—he’s never tried to kill me.

  “I guess it turned out to be a bad idea telling Fredrik he can lay low for a while,” Niklas speaks up.

  “I suppose it was,” Victor says, slipping the phone back into his jacket, “but we couldn’t have known something like this would happen. We may not need him. Let’s hope we don’t.”

  I look over at the clock on the nightstand between the double beds.

  “Well, he has four hours to find him,” I say. “And somehow I don’t think he’s going to have much luck.”

  “Neither do I,” Victor agrees. “We’ll work with what we have.” He looks to me. “You could try calling Fredrik. He might answer for you.”

  I shake my head. “Victor, he doesn’t talk to me anymore. Not since Seraphina. I’ve told you that, more than once. Hell, it’s starting to make me feel—”

  “You’re right, I apologize,” he says—Niklas’ eyes roll upward into his head. “This isn’t about trust, Izabel. I know you’re not lying to me about it. But the fact remains, I still think he’d talk to you.”

  “No. He won’t,” I say icily, standing firm on the issue because I’ve already tried talking to Fredrik and he shut me down. And it hurts. “And besides, if he doesn’t answer for you, even when you’ve given him some time off, that’s something you should be concerned about.”

  “I hate to say it,” Niklas chimes in, “but I agree with her.”

  “Like I said,” Victor responds, “we’ll figure it out when we come to it. We may not even need Fredrik.”

  If we do, we’ll probably be screwed.

  Fredrik, although still very much a vital member of our organization—one of the most vital members—is also the most unstable. Not with his work—no, Fredrik is frighteningly good at what he does—but emotionally…he has no emotions anymore. Since losing Seraphina, the only woman he’s ever loved and who understood him, apparently the woman who helped him control his urges, he’s not been the same since. He is now the epitome of darkness; a dangerous, gorgeous man with a beast that lives inside of him so frightening that he scares me. And I don’t scare easily.

  I never could’ve imagined it before, never would’ve given it a second though
t, but I feel like Fredrik could kill me. Not that he would target me, or risk his place under Victor, but that if he had to kill me, or torture me for whatever reasons, he would do it without question or protest.

  The Fredrik I once knew is dead.

  Niklas leaves a short time later and goes to his room down the hall.

  “Izabel,” Victor says from the table in front of the window, “you need to be prepared for what might happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I get up from the end of the bed closest to the door and walk over to him, sitting across from him in the empty chair. He’s dressed in his dress pants and a white button-up shirt. The veins running along his wrists come from beneath the sleeves and move along the tops of his strong hands as they rest against the table.

  I already know what he’s going to say, but I listen anyway, and my concern for Dina grows that much more.

  “I know that you care for Mrs. Gregory,” he says, “but we cannot, under any circumstances, give information about our organization to whoever has taken her.”

  “No negotiating with terrorists,” I say with sarcasm. “Yeah, I get it. But I won’t let Dina die, either.”

  “You may not have a choice,” Victor says calmly.

  I clench my jaw.

  “Izabel,” he says, “you knew this. You’ve known this since the day you were officially recruited.”

  I sigh and lower my head, trying to hold back the tears.

  “I know,” I say softly and with insurmountable regret. I feel his hands collapse atop mine on the table, but I don’t look up.

  “We’ll do everything we can to keep her safe,” he says, “but if it comes down to Mrs. Gregory and Dorian’s ex-wife and whoever else they might’ve taken, and the secrecy of our organization and its members, then we have to let them go. Are you prepared for this, Izabel?”

  I raise my head and meet his eyes; a tear tumbles down my cheek. I nod reluctantly and swallow hard, but I can’t find it in me to give him more of an answer than that.