Of Wolves & Sheep

  Of wolves

  & sheep

  WRITTEN by

  s.e. meyer

  Copyright © 2017 S. E. Meyer

  All rights reserved.

  ASIN: 1B07MTP2VBV

  ISBN: 9781793925299

  Cover art provided by Erica Petit

  All rights reserved.

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter X11

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Epilogue

  DEDICATION

  For Kathy,

  My best and only medicine

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to take the time to thank the following individuals, who without their contributions and support, the completion of this book would not have been possible. I would like to thank my illustrator, Erica Pettit, for her work on creating such a striking cover. Thank you to my friends at Amazon Publishing. A special thanks to my English teacher, Gary Cameron, for teaching me to believe in myself and my work. Finally I would like to thank my best friend in the entire world for more than two decades, my wonderful and amazing wife. Thank you for the sacrifices, your understanding, and your endless unwavering support over the years.

  What shall we use to fill the empty spaces

  Where waves of hunger roar?

  Shall we set out across the sea of faces

  In search of more and more applause?

  Shall we buy a new guitar?

  Shall we drive a more powerful car?

  Shall we work straight through the night?

  Shall we get into fights?

  Leave the lights on?

  Drop bombs?

  Do tours of the east?

  Contract disease?

  Bury bones?

  Break up homes?

  Send flowers by phone?

  Take to drink? Go to shrinks?

  Give up meat? Rarely sleep?

  Keep people as pets?

  Train dogs? Race rats?

  Fill the attic with cash?

  Bury treasure?

  Store up leisure?

  But never relax at all,

  With our backs to the wall.

  - Roger Waters

  Prologue

  Battleship-gray skies swirled overhead as a woman dressed in black accomplished the concrete steps in front of her, two at a time.

  Cold, she thought, fighting a shiver.

  Too cold for early November.

  The woman crawled further inside the wool coat that clung to her shoulders and tried to brush the hair from her face.

  Arriving at the apartment building’s entrance, she pried the natural curls from her blue-gray eyes. Eyes that matched the day’s forecast. Eyes that contradicted her portrayal of innocence. Eyes that would change from a sky-blue to a piercing silver, depending on her mood. At times they were the color of leaden-blue, appearing at first light on any given cloudless morning.

  That’s how Billy would describe them, settling into the blankets to enjoy a few moments of pillow talk.

  ‘My Anna, with heavenly blue eyes,’ she recalled.

  Anna was what he called her, along with almost everyone she knew. Anna remembered how Billy would gaze deep into her eyes, how he would get lost in them; a lone ship, adrift in morning sky-blue waters.

  But not today...

  Not since…

  Struggling with the door, along with her thoughts of Billy, Anna's hands trembled on the cold metal handle. She gave the door a forceful tug as the smell of late autumn filled her senses.

  I have to stay focused.

  Succeeding at overcoming both obstacles, Anna entered the building with a sigh.

  Mother Nature replied, slamming the door behind her with the contempt of a spoiled child.

  Anna jumped, clutching her chest.

  Deep in her bones she knew the smell of decaying foliage was not alone. The autumn gusts had a companion; a dark passenger riding the untamed wind.

  Something is coming.

  A sense of foreboding oozed into her psyche like a bitter marmalade.

  It made Anna want to run to her bed and the safety of her covers. The warm folds of her blankets calling out to her, pleading, begging to caress her smooth skin as they often did while she dressed in the morning.

  Tugging her coat up around her neck she pushed the feelings aside.

  Shake it off. You have a job to do.

  Anna scanned her ID at the second set of doors. She made her way through the doorway and on to the seventh floor, via the elevator. Halfway down the hall she met a thirty-something, portly officer, standing in front of an open door. Yellow police tape crisscrossed the doorway that read ‘Crime Scene Do Not Cross’ in large black letters.

  “Agent Wool,” Anna said, flashing her badge in front of the man.

  The officer leaned in closer and inspected her credentials. “Go on in,” he replied. “No one else has been here since the cleaning company called the police this morning. The stiff is inside. The scene should be untouched, and the coroner is on his way with forensics,” he explained.

  Anna nodded while making her way through the doorway, ducking under the yellow and black tape as the officer held it above her head.

  “Thanks,” she responded, reading the name tag on the officer’s uniform, “um, Gregorson. You can head out if it’s the end of your shift.”

  Gregorson tilted his head to one side as though considering Anna’s suggestion. “Believe me, I would love nothing more than to get back home, to my family,” he announced through reddened eyes. “But I have to stay until I’m relieved by someone on my opposite shift,” he shrugged.

  “Suit yourself,” Anna replied.

  Anna moved deeper into the living quarters, studying her surroundings. Someone had flipped over the lavish furniture that littered the living room and piles of debris peppered the antique rug at her feet.

  I don’t understand how some people make enough money to live on their own like this and have such expensive things. I work my tail off and I’m still living with a house full of people.

  Anna noticed whoever ransacked the apartment carried all the drawers in the house to this room and emptied them onto the floor. They left the barren drawers themselves lying in a disheveled heap in the room's middle atop their pillaged contents.

  It was the rug however that caught Anna’s attention.

  Well, that’s interesting.

  She pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and studied the floor covering. Anna put the gloves on and inspected a disfigured hand protruding from the mounds of drawer contents, visible from the edge of the rug.

  Anna bent over and moved a stack of magazines to reveal the man that owned the maimed appendage.

  There you are.

  “Minus two fingers and a thumb,” she said out loud. Anna bent down on one knee, disturbing the rug. The must of the antique tapestry filled the air. She waved her hand in front of her nose to ease the smell, and to dislodge the fly that had landed there. “Let’s see what else we’ve got here,” she said as she brushed more debris from the man’s face.

  Dried blood covered the man’s left cheek and his jaw was hanging open, disclosing a truant tongue. Anna turned up her nose at the sight.

  “So who have you been talking to? Or were about to talk to?” Anna asked the corpse in a low whisper. A message notification from Anna‘s phone broke the silence with the roar of
an artillery shell.

  Anna jolted.

  What is wrong with you? Stop being so jittery, she scolded.

  Anna tore the glove off her right hand and fished the phone from her pocket. She read the screen.

  ‘Your paycheck has been deposited.’

  Anna took in a deep breath.

  See? Nothing to worry about, she soothed.

  Checking the balance Anna smiled. “Damn! Finally broke ten-thousand.”

  She slipped the phone back into her pocket and stretched another glove onto her right hand. I have enough, she thought, a rare sparkle in her eyes.

  After four years of saving, I’ll be able to get my own place.

  The phone chimed again. Anna growled while pulling the glove off her hand a second time.

  ‘Get out of there.’ she read.

  Anna wrinkled her brow, not recognizing the sender’s number.

  The phoned chimed a third time.

  ‘You need to get out of there. Now. But first you need to do something. Someone is coming. I’ll call you.’

  A lump formed in her throat. As she hit the reply button her phone rang. She pressed the talk button. “Who is this?”

  “That’s not important,” replied a gruff, elderly voice. The man’s tone held a familiar accent that Anna couldn’t place.

  “Get a knife from the kitchen. You need to cut something out of the dead man’s thigh.”

  “What? No, I’m not doing anything with the body.”

  “We have little time,” the man yelled. He paused before continuing. “Listen Anna, you need to do what I say or people will get hurt.”

  Anna stiffened.

  She rose from the rug, waving her free hand in the air. “Are you threatening me?” she challenged.

  Gregorson stepped across the threshold from outside the doorway. “Are you okay in there?” he inquired. “Do you need any help?”

  Anna ignored the officer, her attention focused on the words trickling into her head.

  “Look out the window and see for yourself,” the mysterious voice urged.

  Anna pressed the phone hard against her skull. Her ear turned white from the lack of blood flow as she peered out the dining-room window, scanning the view below.

  Anna watched two black vehicles pull up behind her car and three men step out.

  “See, I told you. They’re coming. They’re coming for it and they’ll kill anyone who stands in their way.”

  The hair on the back of Anna’s neck stood up.

  Sucking in a breath through pursed lips, Anna turned from the window. “Who are you? And how do you know my name?” she demanded, firing off the questions with the rapid succession of a semi-automatic weapon.

  “They’ll be at your door any second Anna. Quick, get a knife from the kitchen and cut open the dead man’s right thigh. You’re running out of time. It won’t be hard to find what you’re looking for. You should feel a slight bump under the skin where it’s located.”

  “Where what‘s located?”, Anna asked, wringing her phone through white knuckles.

  “The wireless smart drive.”

  “Um, are you sure you’re okay?” the officer repeated from the entryway.

  Waving the officer off, Anna turned to take a second glance out the window and scowled. “I’m not tampering with a crime scene. Who the hell are you?” she yelled into the phone., heart hammering her chest.

  “It’s too late, they’re already there,” the stranger replied into her ear.

  Three men shoved past the officer outside the door and entered the apartment. Their expensive suits matched the opulence of the room, but the drab color of their garments blended with the gray undertones of the ambiance outside.

  One man pulled a gun, pointing it at Anna. He seemed to be the one in charge and spoke first. “Where is it? No one will get hurt If you cooperate.” The man’s lips formed into a contemptuous smile.

  Anna swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing with adrenaline.

  “What the hell is going on?” she asked, while studying his face with her ice-blue eyes. “What are you doing barging in on my crime scene?”

  Anna’s nostrils flared, a subconscious effort to block out the sting of the man’s overpriced cologne.

  Officer Gregorsson pulled his gun and pointed it towards the men. “Hold it right there. Who are you guys?” he demanded.

  Anna emptied her lungs.

  Glad someone has my back.

  “Let’s see some ID here-,” Gregorsson continued.

  The man with the gun turned towards the officer and fired his weapon. Gregorsson fell backward, cut off by a bullet entering above his left eyebrow.

  Anna’s eyes widened as her stomach cinched into a painful knot. She stood frozen as a tsunami of panic crashed down onto her chest, blurring her peripheral vision.

  “Run,” the stranger’s voice commanded into Anna’s ear.

  Anna winced, watching the inside of Gregorsson’s head slide down the wall behind him.

  “Run!” the voice in her ear repeated, as the man with the gun took aim.

  With a fresh wave of adrenaline washing over her extremities Anna bolted to the kitchen. She pulled the gun from her holster with her right hand while still pressing the phone to her ear with the other. Ducking through the open doorway as a bullet splintered the wood trim next to her cheek. Anna spun her torso. She aimed her weapon around the corner and fired three rounds through the doorway.

  Anna blinked and the color of her eyes changed from blue, to a piercing gun-metal gray.

  ◆◆◆

  “Shall I bring you another, sir?” A thin butler asked from the shadows as the bald man sitting before him drained his glass. The old man finished with a slurp from between two perfect cubes of ice. He dropped the glass onto the serving tray next to his high-backed chair.

  “Indeed,” the elderly man grunted in response through one vocal cord. The other had collapsed years ago, turning his voice into a thin, hoarse whisper.

  “Your guest has arrived. Should I bring him in along with your drink, sir?” The butler asked.

  He received an uttering through the man’s hollow cheeks that only years of service allowed him to translate. The servant took the tray and exited the drawing room through a set of ten-foot high oak doors.

  The man slid a cigarette from its silver case with age-spotted hands. Forcing a swallow, he lit the end with a match and inhaled as a middle-aged, well-dressed man entered the room, followed by the butler.

  “Is it done, Damarion?” the bald man squeaked through a smoke-filled exhalation.

  “Right to business Cornelius?” Damarion replied, wringing his smooth, callous-free hands. He raised a waxed eyebrow. “My men are taking care of it as we speak.”

  “Your incompetent men should have taken care of it last night.”

  “I told you, they searched the apartment all night and found nothing. Even torture proved unsuccessful.”

  “Everything is going according to plan. It’s not in his apartment, it’s in his leg.”

  Damarion’s eyes widened. “His leg? That information would have been more useful last night,” he replied. Damarion waited for a response while flicking the manicured nails of his third finger and thumb.

  The butler placed a fresh glass of brandy next to Cornelius.

  “That’s because you do not understand what’s happening here Damarion. The temptation of a wounded rabbit pinched in a snare, is enough to draw a wolf from the safety of its lair.”

  “What are you saying Cornelius? I’m not following you. Is there something you‘re not telling me?”

  “I could not inform you of the change in plans over the phone. Our communications are compromised. That’s why I called you here this morning. I set the trap. The Wolf will be there.”

  “At the scene? How do you know?”

  “Because what’s most precious to him is in danger of being lost.”

  “The smart drive?” Damarion asked.

  Cornelius smil
ed through yellowed teeth. “He’ll be there. Bring me the Wolf, Damarion, and I will see you get what you want. What you’ve wanted all this time, as promised,” Cornelius rattled. He took another deep drag from the dried tobacco leaves pinched between his bony fingers.

  “As I said, my men are dealing with it as we speak,” Damarion continued.

  “And as I told you on the phone, my inside man said Agent Wool has already arrived at the scene.”

  “Yes, and you also said she was alone. Her partner wasn’t with her.”

  “You’re underestimating her,” Cornelius said through a throaty whisper. “She’s not just any agent.”

  “I sent five men,” Damarion replied. He paused, staring into the old man’s blood-shot eyes. Damarion displayed a charming smile that had led many women astray. “I’m sure they can handle one little girl,” he scoffed.

  Cornelius rolled the cigarette between his thumb and index finger. “No, your men are already dead.”

  Damarion’s eyebrows shot skyward. “How do you mean?” he asked.

  “If Anna Wool doesn’t kill them, the blast will,” Cornelius explained.

  “Blast?” Damarion asked, his eyebrows getting further acquainted with his widow's peak.

  “Yes Damarion. You will need to send more men. I want the Wolf. I would have preferred to take him alive and put him in the Chamber, but now I don't care. This has to stop. So either alive, or in bits. I don't care, damn it! Bring him to me.”

  “And what about the smart drive?”

  “Forget the smart drive, the explosion will incinerate any information on it. The Wolf will die, and any rebellion left from within the walls will die with him. He's the last one.” Cornelius leaned closer to Damarion. “Whoever removes that smart drive from the dead reporters leg will detonate the charges my men set this morning.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Now what?” Anna asked the man on the phone. “If you’re trying to help me, what do I do now?”

  “I told you. You need to get the smart drive from the dead man’s leg.”

  Anna shook her head. “What’s so important about the smart drive?” she asked.