Cain’s Cross E-Book

Mayer Dale

• Herausgeber: Valley Publishing Ltd.
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Cain—hearing a killer’s last words, “You’re next,”—knows his time is running out, not only for him but for his entire team. As members of his team search for the still missing Bullard in the ocean, Cain has focused on tracking the killer’s history, hopefully to lead to the madman after them all. A trip to Sicily brings more information to light but also more puzzles to sort out. And an unexpected light in Cain’s life.

When Petra picks up the two men at the airport, she has no idea how fast her personal life is about to unravel. Not only do these men bring up old terrible memories but they also shine a light on an ugly corner of town. People she avoids at all costs.

Still she can’t afford to dwell on the past, as her present blows up. With Cain and Eton at her side, they’re all trying to stay alive, as the bodies drop around them.

Leseprobe

Cain’s Cross

Bullard’s BattleBook #2

Dale Mayer

Books in This Series:

Ryland’s Reach, Book 1

Cain’s Cross, Book 2

Eton’s Escape, Book 3

Garret’s Gambit, Book 4

Kano’s Keep, Book 5

Fallon’s Flaw, Book 6

Quinn’s Quest, Book 7

Bullard’s Beauty, Book 8

Bullard’s Best, Book 9

Bullard’s Battle, Books 1–2

Bullard’s Battle, Books 3–4

Bullard’s Battle, Books 5–6

Bullard’s Battle, Books 7–8

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About This Book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

About Eton’s Escape

Excerpt from Damon’s Deal

Author’s Note

Complimentary Download

About the Author

Copyright Page

About This Book

Welcome to a new stand-alone but interconnected series from Dale Mayer. This is Bullard’s story—and that of his team’s. All raw, rough, incredibly capable men who have one goal: to find out who was behind the attack on their leader, before the attacker, or attackers, return to finish the job.

Stay tuned for more nonstop action as the men narrow down their suspects … and find a way to let love back into their own empty lives.

Cain—hearing a killer’s last words, “You’re next,”—knows his time is running out, not only for him but for his entire team. As members of his team search for the still missing Bullard in the ocean, Cain has focused on tracking the killer’s history, hopefully to lead to the madman after them all. A trip to Sicily brings more information to light but also more puzzles to sort out. And an unexpected light in Cain’s life.

When Petra picks up the two men at the airport, she has no idea how fast her personal life is about to unravel. Not only do these men bring up old terrible memories but they also shine a light on an ugly corner of town. People she avoids at all costs.

Still she can’t afford to dwell on the past, as her present blows up. With Cain and Eton at her side, they’re all trying to stay alive, as the bodies drop around them.

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Chapter 1

It had been several weeks since the shooting at the museum that had sent Ryland back to the hospital. Now that he was safely out at sea with Tabi and enjoying his life, Eton Duram and Cain Bestrow had gone dark, hiding, while they figured out what in the hell they would do next. They knew it was all about gathering intel at this point, and, since they had a solid plan, it was time to make a move.

But just because Cain had plans in mind didn’t mean their opponents didn’t have plans of their own. Cain couldn’t forget the last words of one of the gunmen they’d taken out at the art gallery with Ryland.

“Cain, you’re next.”

So not only had Green’s goons known who Ryland was, they’d also known who Cain was, and the gunmen had made it very clear that killing Bullard was part of their plan. So, taking him out—along with the rest of the team—was all part and parcel of the same deal. Cain still had no word on Bullard, after his plane had been downed, dumping him and Ryland and Garret in the ocean. It ate at Cain to think of that strong and majestic man out there suffering.

Bullard would deal with it in his usual stoic way, but he would also know that his team would be looking for him. Even now four of them still went up and down the coast, checking the small islands, speaking to the local fishermen and talking to the natives to ensure that nobody had seen Bullard or had picked him up accidentally. Or picked him up and helped him but hadn’t told the authorities, for whatever reason. Cain had absolutely no proof that Bullard had been picked up and knew it was all too likely he’d become fish food, but that was something impossible to reconcile with a six-foot-six 260-pound powerhouse.

But everybody died sometime, even Bullard.

Cain stood here, staring out the window of the Swiss chalet high up in the Alps; not a place most people expected him to go, but he needed to go underground, and here he was. Garret was at least awake now; not necessarily doing very well, but he was awake and aware. It had taken him days, but, once he’d come out of the coma, everything had seemed to go so much easier in Garret’s recovery. He’d started healing much faster too. It would be at least a couple weeks before he was well enough to join the fight, but he was eager, willing, and actually pissed off at being held back. Yet he had agreed to recuperate, as was Ryland, for the time being.

In the meantime, Garret was in the hospital, waiting for the swelling on his brain to stabilize. He had also suffered several other fractures, and they needed to heal up as well. A few more days and he could leave the hospital and recuperate elsewhere. So, while Garret and Ryland recovered from their injuries, Cain had Eton at his side.

He turned to see his old friend with spreadsheets all over the place. “You and your spreadsheets,” Cain said, shaking his head.

“I could say the same about you and your blueprints, you know?” Eton shook his head.

“At least my paperwork gets us in and out of buildings.”

“And mine is getting us in and out of bank accounts,” Eton said, laughing.

“Have to give you that one,” Cain muttered because that’s what Eton was doing—sorting money, seeing who was moving money where.

They had tracked down as many of the gunmen involved in Ryland’s case as they could. Then they had tracked the money trail. And definitely money had been flowing. When Green—the guy who set up the big finale in the museum–went down, his life had become an open book, and the team had gone through it with a fine-tooth comb, looking at every account and connection to see how he was hired, who did it, and why.

It was the why that kept poking at the team because, without a why, none of the rest of it made any sense. They were just so close but couldn’t find anything they could hold on to. They had plenty of old cases that gave them a big list of suspects. They had again sorted through the initial nineteen cases with the most likely perps—minus the five dead and the one in a coma—where they thought someone might have viable reasons, resources, and the means to come after Bullard and his team. Now they’d whittled those thirteen cases down to seven.

The father who’d lost his daughter on one of Bullard’s missions was one of the possible suspects. Particularly since two of his men had come to work for Bullard for a time and then went back to working with the father—as if checking out Bullard’s team for its weaknesses and strengths, collecting intel for their boss. So, there was always a chance the mastermind behind this attack on Bullard and his team was this father, who sought vengeance for the death of his daughter by kidnappers. Unfortunately Bullard’s team had arrived too late to save her. Cain and Eton had finally located the father, named Groner, and he currently lived just outside of Dubai.

But where was he at any other time? Who knew? His face was a permanent fixture associated with the media company he handled. The problem was the timing. It just didn’t make a whole lot of sense why he would do this now. It was one thing to wait for an opportunity, but it was another thing to choose an opportunity this far down the road. It had been at least one year ago since his daughter had died in captivity. Maybe even longer than that. It was amazing how time flew by when you were having fun. And since when did visiting Ice and Levi constitute a weakness or provide the opportunity for an attack?

Because Bullard flew all over the place. Or did someone just happen to have contacts in Houston that Groner could pull from? Or even anywhere in America actually because Houston was just another one of a zillion mega-airports around the world.

But small private planes didn’t go in through the same areas as the big planes even in the same airports. The small planes always had their separate hangars and small runways to get in and out, making it a little easier for people to come and sabotage a seemingly innocuous flight. It also made these smaller planes easier to find, as often less security was involved, and that was one of the things that blew Cain away. If someone would spend that kind of money on a private plane, wouldn’t it make sense to have sufficient security around to protect it? But typically there wasn’t. The big airports were always looking for terrorists and people smuggling drugs in and out. But, for the small private planes, it just wasn’t the same, and that fact was a reality Cain and his team had come to accept. Now, as Cain sat here in the chalet, overlooking the mountains all around him, he awaited answers.

Answers that weren’t coming.

“Are you ready to leave?” Eton asked.

“I was ready to leave two days ago,” Cain bit off. “You know we’re waiting for answers.”

“I don’t think we’ll find them here,” Eton said casually.

“We’re obviously not finding them at all,” Cain said and turned to glare at his buddy. “Anytime you think you have a better idea, let me know.”

“I think we should go on the offensive,” Eton said.

“And how will we do that?” he asked, his stance spread slightly wider.

“Not sure, but I still think it’s time. We need to move.”

“As soon as we get the answers.”

“They won’t tell us anything,” Eton said easily. He got up, stretched his arms, reaching toward the massive beams above.

“Sicily?”

“It’s the last known place for this Green guy—or at least his two dead goons, Chico and that other guy,” Eton replied.

“And yet,” Cain said, “it doesn’t tell us anything.”

“We know nobody’s been seen around or going into Chico’s apartment lately. We know that the local authorities don’t have a criminal file on him. We know that he has family there. And in France.”

“So we’ll track down this Chico’s lifestyle?”

“We’ve done what we can online,” Eton said. “Now it’s time to pound on a few doors.” Just then Eton’s phone rang. “Bingo.” He picked it up, smiled, and said, “What have you got for me?” He knew that, on their team, everybody was pulling in as much information as they could.

The man on the phone replied, “Ticket info has been sent to you. Pedro will pick you up at the airport.”

“Fine. And then what?” Eton asked.

“You’ve been booked into a small bed-and-breakfast at the edge of town,” he said. “The family has connections to your target.” With that, he hung up.

“Good enough,” Eton said, turning to Cain. “We have a place to stay in Sicily, and it’s with a family related, well, connected to our target, Chico.”

At that, Cain raised his eyebrows. “Is that wise?”

“Depends on whether they know why we’re there or not,” he said cheerfully. “But being strangers is a good way to get to know the area, and the hosts of those B&B places always try to be friendly.”

“Until they find out you killed their family member,” Cain said.

Eton looked at him, laughed, and said, “Well, there is that.”

“And who’s this Pedro character?”

“No clue,” Eton said. “We’ll find out.”

Cain walked to where his bag was, ready to go as it had been every morning. While they flew out, the beds at the B&B would need to be changed, so their rooms wouldn’t be ready right away. Meanwhile Cain also had a stack of paperwork to deal with. He stood with his phone on Camera mode and quickly took photographs of everything he needed, then put the rest into the fireplace and lit a match to it.

“Hey, not everybody has your photographic memory, you know?” Eton grumbled.

“You can keep your spreadsheets and bring them with us,” he said, “but we can’t afford to have these blueprints found.”

“And yet, to a layperson, they’re just blueprints,” Eton said. “Nothing special.”

“But, to a pro, they would lead them straight to Chico’s apartment or his family’s home in Sicily and then to us. But I still like to have my hands on any building blueprints, to help with my photographic memory,” Cain said. As soon as all the paperwork had burned up, he turned toward Eton. “You ready?”

“Always,” he said. “Let’s go see who this Pedro is.”

*

Petra Mirkonoc stood at the edge of the airport with a sign in her hand, wondering how, once again, she’d been conned by her aunt into picking up strangers for the bed-and-breakfast. Ever since Airbnb had started, her aunt and uncle had the idea that they could make more money with a bed-and-breakfast than they did from her uncle’s job. And they were right; they probably could. But it should be one of them standing at the airport with this sign right now, not Petra.

She didn’t like picking up complete strangers, but thankfully this wasn’t something she did normally. She would much rather be at the hospital in the labs, where she belonged. Instead, here she was, standing at the airport with a stupid sign. She studied the names: Cain and Eton.

They were very strange names to her. These were American visitors, but these didn’t sound like any traditional American names she had ever heard of.

Just then the airport door opened, and a flood of people rushed out. She held up the sign and called out, “Cain and Eton.”

Nobody turned to look at her. She groaned. It was typical for her to have people who didn’t realize they had a ride ready and waiting. Just as she was about to call out again, two men appeared, one on either side of her, almost pinning her in place. Not really, not intentionally, but they were so big that she felt hemmed in. Both stared at her with an intensity that had her gasping.

“Did you call for Cain and Eton?” the first man asked quietly.

She sucked in her breath, straightened, and said, “Yes. I’m from Pedro’s B&B.”

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Cain. This is Eton.”

“Hi,” she said, feeling a little better. She opened the trunk of her car and put the sign inside. Then she turned and held out her hand. “I’m Petra.”

Cain stopped and cocked his head. “It’s your bed-and-breakfast?”

“No,” she said. “My uncle is Pedro. I am Petra—with a T.”

“Okay, good,” he said. He motioned at the car. “Do you want us in the back seat or—”

“Anywhere you like,” she said, with a smile. “Makes no difference to me. Anything to make you comfortable.”

Cain took the front seat, while Eton slipped into the back, both opting to retain their bags. Cain noticed her eyebrows raised at that; so clearly she was observant. The car was a nice Audi, not something he would have expected a bed-and-breakfast to own. “Nice car,” he said.

She looked at him briefly, then nodded and said, “It’s mine. It doesn’t belong to the bed-and-breakfast.”

“Well, thanks for picking us up,” he said.

It appeared that he was at least attempting to be friendly, but there was something about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it—arrogance maybe. Just a sense of power around him that she didn’t quite understand. She was forced to meet many strangers because of the bed-and-breakfast. It was one of the reasons she didn’t hang around there more than necessary because she didn’t enjoy the steady stream of unknown visitors. She enjoyed the privacy that came with her own place and not having to worry about others being there.

She didn’t know whether she would feel better or worse about having these two men in the house. She told herself it depended on which side of the equation they sat on—figuring they were definitely people who had chosen a side. But she and her research work were all about the gray areas, thinking outside the box.

As she pulled into traffic, she said, “We’ll be about fifteen minutes getting home.”

“Do you live there too?”

“Oh no,” she said. “I live in the village, but I’m doing this run for my aunt and uncle.”

“Thank you again,” he said, then fell silent.

But even his silence spoke volumes. She glanced in the rearview mirror to study the other man. He had the same hard look to him. She frowned, wondering just what was going on with them. “So, you guys here for a holiday?” she ventured.

“No,” said the guy in the back seat, “mostly business.”

She nodded but didn’t quite know what to add. “What kind of business are you in?”

“Security,” he added.

That made sense. They both looked well past the stage of mere security guards, but maybe Secret Service or something like that. That power and sense of self-assurance again. Their movements were like mountain lions on the hunt.

So that’s what it was, she thought to herself. They were intense. Like predators. She wasn’t prey in this instance but hoped to God she never found herself on the other end of that intensity. “Interesting,” she said. “That will be a first at the bed-and-breakfast.”

“What’s the clientele normally like?” asked the guy sitting beside her.

Although he smiled, there was something uneasy about it. She glanced at him nervously, then moved her gaze back to the road. The traffic was on the mild side now, but it was still almost noon, so it would grow busier getting through the normal shopping and lunch hour. “Normally tourists wanting to spend a week or so,” she finally answered.

“Hmm.”

And again, nothing. She shook her head, checked both ways, and darted through an intersection. “The roads can be a little crazy,” she admitted. “And the drivers are definitely not the most mild-mannered, easy people around.”

“Interesting,” said the man behind her. “We’re used to crazy drivers though.”

“Where are you from?”

“Lately the US.”

“Oh,” she said. “Your flight came from Switzerland, out of Geneva though, right?”

“Yes.”

Again he didn’t elaborate. She frowned. “Well, you’ll like the breakfast offered at the B&B, and, after that, you can get lunch and dinner from plenty of little places around the village,” she said. “A couple grocery stores are within walking distance, if you just want a sandwich or something too.”

“Good,” he said. “Not sure how long we’ll be staying.”

“You’ve booked two rooms for two nights, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he said.

She nodded and kept driving carefully through the area. People were well-known for jaywalking, as they crisscrossed the road, usually talking with their friends or with their arms full of fresh bread. She slowed her speed, as she watched several people step off the curb up ahead. But she was ready, and, before they ever made it partway through the street, she slowed down for them.

“I see that vehicles don’t get much respect either,” the guy up front said humorously.

“Small towns,” she said, “people get distracted.”

“And yet you stop, so that’s good,” the guy in the back said.

“What else would I do?” she asked in exasperation. “Hit them?”

“In the US, that might have happened,” he said with a laugh.

That made her smile. “Not here,” she said, as she pulled ahead, turned right, then left, and kept driving another seven blocks. Finally she pulled into a long driveway with access to the house at the back of the property. She pulled up to the front, which was a roundabout, then shut off the engine.

“This is our destination, gentlemen.” She hopped out and opened the trunk. Both men had their bags with them, but she took out her sign with their names on it.

Just as she closed the trunk, the front door of the house opened, and her aunt and uncle came out. Immediately they came to meet their visitors. She looked at her father, who sat in a rocking chair on the veranda. She dashed up the steps and said, “Hey, Papa. How are you doing?”

As usual, she got the same vacant look and lack of response, which broke her heart. She bent down, kissed him gently on the cheek, and tenderly gripped his hand. “It’s good to see you, Papa.”

She heard the chatter of voices behind her, as her aunt and uncle greeted the visitors and ushered them inside. Petra sat on the front porch in a rocker beside her father. He’d been like this for the last year and a half. He’d had a car accident and had initially appeared to recover, but then he took a terrible turn, nearly dying, and hadn’t emerged from this state of senility ever since. He ate, if the food was given to him, and drank, if a glass was put in his hand. Most of the time he would sit here and stare out at the scenery. If her uncle took her dad into the bathroom, he would go. If put into the shower, he would have a shower. But going from action to action was almost beyond him. It broke her heart to see him this way.

Her uncle looked after his physical needs; her aunt took care of his food and room. For Petra, well, she paid the bill. Sure, it was at a family rate, but somebody still had to come up with the money to keep her father. He had money of his own, but she hadn’t even pursued using it, hoping he would recover and need it himself—or, as a fallback, someday he may need a higher level of care, and she’d need his money then. He was a relatively young man and could live quite a long time, though he didn’t have much of a life at the moment. But Petra did what she could for him.

She also helped out her aunt and uncle whenever they needed it. Today was her day off, and, as soon as they found that out, they’d asked her to make the trip into town. It’s not that she minded so much; it’s just that going into the city was not what she wanted to do on her day off. With her free time, she pursued her personal medical research. Still, one didn’t always get the luxury of choices. And who knew that better than she did.

A chatty voice called out to her. She shifted her gaze from her father to her aunt, calling her.

“Come in, Petra. Come in,” she said. “You must come in.”

Groaning, Petra stood.

Chapter 2

Inside the kitchen, Petra walked over and put on the coffee. Her aunt seemed to think that, when Petra was here, she should play hostess, which was the last thing Petra wanted to do. She’d already been about as nice as she could possibly manage. Just something about these two new arrivals disturbed her in some way. Not necessarily in a bad way. In an unknown way. She shook her head. She would be very happy to take her leave sooner rather than later today.

Even the one who had spoken to her from the back seat had such a magnetic quality that it bothered her as much as the other one, who seemed more standoffish. They were both men she wouldn’t want to see in a dark alley. But almost immediately her rational mind corrected her. You don’t want to see them in a dark alley—unless of course they were on your side. And God help anybody else who was in that alley.

That’s really what it was all about. It was just that sense of men who do right.

As she waited on the coffee, she opened up the breadbox, which her aunt always kept full of pound cake. Petra brought one out, sliced several pieces, and put them on a plate. Then she loaded up the cake and coffee on a serving platter and took it in to the two men. They sat there, in the front sitting room, having what passed for a social conversation, but they obviously made her aunt and uncle feel uncomfortable.

Taking pity on them, once she saw the beseeching look in her aunt’s gaze, Petra sat down with her own cup of coffee. “These guys work in security,” she announced. “They’re just here for a couple days.”

Almost instantly her uncle relaxed. Whether it was the fact that they were only here for a couple days, or that they were in security, Petra didn’t know. “Are you working for a company then?”

The man who had sat in her front seat smiled. “More or less,” he said. “We’re just here to check out a few things.”

Maybe not lies but definitely evasive, yet it came across smooth and completely in control and seemed quite normal for him. That made her a little more wary. She smiled at her aunt and uncle and said, “I already introduced myself. Did you two?”

Her uncle shook his head. “I’m Pedro,” he said, reaching across to shake hands with the two men.

The quieter one said, “I’m Cain. This is Eton.”

She already knew their names, of course, but she didn’t know which one was which. Until now. Cain had been in her front seat, Eton in the back seat. Something about Cain and Eton was very strange to begin with, not to mention their names.

Her aunt smiled and said, “I’m Migi. Everybody calls me that.”

Eton nodded and said, “The pound cake is really good.”

Something was so honest and forthright about his tone that her aunt also relaxed. Petra wondered about that because it typically wasn’t easy to get the two of them to calm down. Once they got upset about something, it took forever to settle them again.

Cain nodded, and both men looked at Petra, waiting for her expectantly.

She shrugged and said, “Now that we all know each other, I’ll go spend a few minutes outside with my father, before I head home.”

Her aunt jumped up nervously. “You should stay for dinner,” she announced.

She stared at her aunt and frowned because the last time she’d stayed for dinner, her aunt had called her ungrateful. “I need to go home,” she said in a calm, firm voice.

Migi shook her head. “No. Your father has not been well. He needs you to spend time with him.”

“My father doesn’t know if I’m even here or not,” she said lightly. “As sad as that makes me feel,” she said, “I know the truth of it, and I no longer feel guilty about leaving him behind.”

“You still need to spend time with him,” Migi said.

Petra rolled her eyes. She was trying to keep things polite in front of company, but it was a little hard when her aunt was pushing like this. “And why would I stay for dinner?” she countered.

“I’m making your favorite,” her aunt said.

“And what’s that?”

She named a traditional dish for their area, full of pasta, black olives, tomatoes, and fresh seafood. Petra could feel her resistance wavering.

Her uncle jumped in and said quietly, “Please, we’d love to have you stay. We don’t see enough of you as it is.”

He was trying to make amends for Migi again. Her aunt had a temper and often alienated people, long before they had a chance to get to know her. But Petra knew Migi very well, and she could be bitchy and mean. Petra laughed.

Cain looked at her and said, “It’d be nice to get to know you a little more,” he said lightly.

She frowned at him. “Why?” she asked. “Unless you want to ask questions about the village, I don’t know that there’s anything we can really talk about.”

“Fine,” he said. “Questions about the village will be a good topic.”