Price of a Bounty
S. L. Wallace
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Sarah Yoho
First electronic edition: August 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or stored in a database or retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
Cover art created by Extended Imagery
www.ExtendedImagery.com
This book is also available in print at CreateSpace and at retailers everywhere.
ISBN: 9781466268104
For Jim and Alyssa
Thank you to my family and friends for their continual support and encouragement.
A special thank you to Benton Sartore, Kerstin Broockmann, Ashlee Bishop, Tim Bishop, Judith Kaplan, Monica John and James Yoho for providing honest and insightful critiques.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Keira - Cafe de Rivoli
Guy - Who is Madeline?
Keira - Friend or Foe?
Guy - The Lie Detect
Scott - Introducing Elaine Ramsey
Keira - Getting Out
Scott - A Call from a Friend
Keira - Double Crossed for Sure
Keira - What Happened to Rose?
Guy - A History
Keira - Crossroads
Keira - Lunch with April
Scott - Meeting the President
Guy - Can I Borrow the Car?
Keira - Ramsey's Dinner Party
Keira - Scott Was There
Guy - Killing Is Never Good
Keira - My Apartment!
Guy - Bringing Her Back
Keira - Needs
Guy - A Decision
Keira - On the Run
Keira - Picking Up the Pieces
Guy - A Meeting with Scott
Scott - Liberty Park
April - Ashton
Keira - Dinner at Tony's
Guy - The Road Less Traveled
Keira - Who Do I Want to Be?
April - A Dark Secret
Ashton - The Resistance
Keira - April, Be Careful
Ashton - Taking Time Off
April - Taking the Blame
Keira - The Lake
Guy - An Evening at the Lake
Keira - Getting Her Out
Guy - Onto Plan C
April - Truths Revealed
Keira - Who Are You?
Scott - No Race Can Prosper
April - Leaving Tkaron
Scott - Parisio
April - Welcome Home
Scott - No More Secrets
Keira - Keeping Busy
Keira - A Job Gone Wrong
Guy - Trust
Keira - The Dry Martini
Scott - Caught
April - Art Fantastique
Scott - Returning to Tkaron
Guy - Missing
Keira - Who to Trust?
Guy - The Real Question
Keira - What Ramsey Corps Did
Guy - The Plan
Keira - Modified
Guy - Who Else?
Keira - Infiltration
Guy - Ending It
Scott - No Other Way
Keira - Alliance
Canvas Skies
About the Author
Prologue
I lifted the pillow and checked for a pulse. Vacant eyes gazed at the ceiling. Yes, he was gone. My work here, done.
I pulled on my black leather gloves and wiped down every hard surface I'd touched. Not that it was necessary, but one could never be too careful in this line of work.
As long as it looked like he had died of natural causes, no one would push for an investigation. And without a pending investigation, the Gov wouldn’t waste resources or money on anyone, not even a member of the Elite.
He had no immediate family, and my client certainly wouldn't say anything. Even the staff would be long gone by the time anyone from the Gov arrived, especially if I left them some good pickings.
People look out for themselves – it’s the nature of the beast inside.
They’d pick through his belongings, and then disappear. Someone would come looking, eventually. The Gov would send in a cleanup crew who, in addition to removing the body, would sell off any remaining assets. All proceeds would go to “benefit the Realm” which really just meant that Gov officials would receive a nice bonus.
My heels clicked on the white and gray marble tiles as I walked through the front hall. It didn't matter whether or not anyone heard me leave. They all knew he'd brought a woman home. I ran my hand through my long wavy red hair. It was time for a change.
-Keira-
Café de Rivoli
We show one face to our family and another to the world. Who are we really? Who am I, and who do I want to be? I'd been trying to figure that out ever since my father died.
My thoughts were interrupted as my target moved into view and approached the Café de Rivoli, a classy restaurant on the northwest side. Small apple trees covered in tiny white flowers surrounded the outer dining area.
The man followed the hostess inside. I walked just to the entrance and watched from the doorway. Previously, all I'd seen of him was from video surveillance and from a distance as I'd tailed him. Tonight, he wore a black pin-striped business suit. He was tall, just over six feet, and had short light brown hair. It was shorter now than it had been in the vid. I retreated back to the sidewalk and waited for a few minutes. Then it was time.
“I see my party,” I said quietly to the hostess as I walked past.
“Hello, is this seat taken?” I asked, looking straight into his eyes. I could swim in the deep blue of those eyes. Stop! No distractions, Keira, not while you're working. “It's so busy in here tonight. There's no place to sit.”
I removed my stylish pale green raincoat to reveal a flowing black skirt and pale pink top. With my left hand, I brushed back some loose strands of wavy black hair and flashed my most dazzling smile.
“It's not a problem.” He gestured to the empty chair across the table. “Have we met before?”
“Does that line really work for you?” I asked with a wink.
“I have no idea what you mean.” He straightened the knot of his navy blue tie.
“Separate orders please,” I said when the waitress arrived. “I'll have the soup of the day and an iced tea.” I needed to order light. The prices at this establishment were outrageous, especially for any dish containing meat. Meat was reserved for the Elite and the military, and by not ordering any, he would likely, and correctly, assume that I was neither.
“The orders can go on one bill,” he insisted. “Chicken Kiev, a side of mixed vegetables and a bottle of your best Chardonnay.” He paused, and then said, “Would you like the same?”
I looked up in surprise. Chardonnay came from Mediterra, and all imports from there were very expensive, ever since the last war. Who did he think I was? No one would pay that much for a stranger’s dinner without expecting something in return, but I would play this his way for now.
“All right.”
He returned his attention to the waitress. “Please cancel her previous order.” He smiled at me and waited for the waitress to leave before he continued. “For whom do I have the pleasure of buying dinner?”
“Madeline Jones.” I reached across the table and
offered my hand as I gave him the name on the fake ID I always carried. He reciprocated with a polite handshake. It was the hand of an executive, smooth and soft, not the hand of a gardener, though I was certain I had the right man.
“Richard Burke,” he said.
Yes, Richard Burke “the third” was his legal name. However, I knew that he used at least two others, Oren Johnson for example. Had I not discovered that Oren Johnson was Richard Burke III, we would not be having this conversation. I had nothing against gardeners who stole from their employers. That would make him the same as me, just another member of the Working Class.
We began to talk but paused when the wine arrived. Richard poured the drinks.
“Thank you.” I picked up my glass and took a sip. “You were saying that you've lived in the city for quite a while?”
“Yes, for the past 11 years. I was 16 when we moved to Tkaron. It was during my turbulent adolescence, and I was more than a little upset about leaving all of my friends. But when your father gets a better paying job in a big city with more opportunities…well, I didn't have much of a choice. It ended up being a wise move.”
I took another sip and considered him. Why had he gone undercover to steal from Elaine Ramsey, widow of the late Curtis Ramsey? When the Elite stole from each other, it was usually a maneuver meant to boost one’s own interests or to take down the competition. But Burke Investments wasn’t in direct competition with Ramsey Corps, and Richard hadn’t stolen enough to bring them down. Burke Investments was, in fact, what it appeared to be, an investments firm, with no ties to Ramsey Corps.
Maybe Richard had something against the military? Ramsey Corps was best known for their advanced genetic screening methods that were vital to the success of the Terenian military.
Usually my targets weren't so complex. But did that even matter? After all, he's still Elite.
“What about you, Madeline? Have you lived here long?”
I directed my attention back to the conversation. “All my life. My mother was from the area. She met my father when he moved here for school. They fell in love, and since they both loved the city too, they stayed. They always said it was prettier then and cleaner.”
I finished my first glass of wine, and Richard poured me a second as our food arrived.
“What’s your father's line of work?” he asked.
“Was...my father was an architect.” I'd learned it was easier to remember lies when I intertwined them with the truth. My father really was an architect. He’d designed buildings of beauty and grace. Though time and pollution had done their work, the buildings remained a testament to the achievements of our citizens, a dream of what our city could once again become. My parents had such wonderful dreams for us.
I glanced away as I remembered my father and mourned the loss of those dreams. If I could convince Richard to worry about me, if only a little, it may be a way in. The tears in the corners of my eyes were genuine as I thought about my father. He never should have died that way. There was no reason for it!
Richard studied me intently. “I'm sorry.” Then he tactfully changed the subject. “What do you do, Madeline? How do you spend your days?”
“I'm a maid at the Beckett estate,” I lied. “I clean mostly, but sometimes I'm asked to run errands or watch the girls when the nanny is out.”
The Beckett's were exceedingly wealthy, and Lance Beckett was as corrupt as a man could be. He would do whatever it took to keep his social standing and had earned himself many enemies along the way. It was a wonder I hadn't been hired to take him out yet.
I'd almost finished my second glass of wine. Richard picked up the bottle and offered me some more. “How long have you worked for the Becketts?”
He was fishing for information, and again I wondered why. And how did the Becketts fit in?
Keep your head in the game. If Beckett is your way in, then so be it.
I drank my third glass of wine more quickly as I replied, “I’ve been working there just under two years.” That was long enough for me to have accumulated some important information.
“And do you live on site?”
“Of course.” I could pull this off. My sister worked at the Beckett estate. I could offer as many details as he needed, but now wasn’t the time. If I gave Richard too much information too quickly, there would be no reason for him to keep me around. It was time to redirect the conversation.
“What do you do for a living, Richard?” I already knew the answer to that. Richard was the vice president of his father's investment firm. He'd never had to really work for anything in his life.
“I work with investments.” His voice was cool and calm, but the look in his eyes was one of growing suspicion.
I stretched my arms and yawned. “It's getting late, and I'll have to get up early for work tomorrow. I should be going. Thank you very much for dinner and for your company.” As I stood, I made sure to stumble.
Richard jumped up to steady me. “Please, let my driver take you home.” He stood and helped me with my coat, then paused to pay the bill and place a call to his chauffeur.
I reached for his arm as we walked out the door together, and Richard led me to a sleek silver automobile that pulled up in front of the Café de Rivoli. I climbed in, impressed with the vehicle. This piece of old techno looked like it wouldn't break down on the ride home. The upkeep must cost a fortune!
I simply said, “Nice.” Then I snuggled up next to Richard and pretended to fall asleep.
“Madeline?”
I made sure my breathing was even and let out a little sigh.
“We'd better not take her back in this condition,” he said to the driver. “Take us home.”
We soon arrived at an apartment that had been rented to a gardener named Oren Johnson. I wondered briefly if Richard’s father knew about this apartment. Probably not. I let him wake me just enough to guide me into the building. He led me to the elevator which whisked us up to the eighth floor.
When Richard opened the door to the apartment, I stumbled directly to a black leather couch and fell upon it. He picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. He gently placed me on the bed, removed my coat and shoes, then covered me with a downy comforter. Quietly, he returned to the living room and left the door ajar.
I held still and kept my eyes closed while I remembered the layout of the room. The door to the living room was just ahead and to the left. A large window that overlooked the cityscape was off to my right. A dark mahogany dresser stretched along the wall across from the bed and next to the door. The entrance to a large closet was on the far left next to a door to the master bath.
I'd cracked the safe in the closet a couple of days ago when I’d done a preliminary check of the apartment. The stolen gats were there, but it had been too soon. The money had certainly been tempting, but that wasn't the whole job.
I heard Richard's voice from the living room, one side of a conversation. Only the Elite could afford high techno devices such as personal transceivers, televiews and home security systems. I listened carefully.
“No, you shouldn't come over tonight... I'm just tired... Well alright, if you're already in the neighborhood.” He moved toward the bedroom and closed the door.
Immediately, I threw back the deep blue comforter, climbed out of bed and opened the safe. Inside was a handgun – guns weren't my style. In my opinion, they left too much evidence behind, so I didn't even touch it. I also found a gold pendant with a ruby, beautiful and expensive. Neither were what I'd come for, so I closed and locked the safe. I quickly scanned the rest of the closet. Where had he put the money, and why had he moved it?
I checked the master bath, a room I'd only glanced into before. I didn't really expect to find the gats hidden in there, but I needed to make sure. The room was classy and clean. The decor, black and white with polished silver hardware. And also, a whirlpool bath. I'd heard of them but this wa
s the first one I'd ever seen.
A knock from across the apartment caught my attention, followed by a woman's voice, sugary sweet. “Hi, Oren! How was work?”
I moved closer to the bedroom door so that I wouldn't miss anything. I guessed he was talking to Rose, his current girlfriend, an Elite socialite. I only knew of her because of my surveillance. She really wasn’t my concern. I remained quiet. It would be best that she not find me here.
Whatever they were doing, they did quietly for quite awhile. Then Richard said, “Is your driver waiting?”
“No, silly. Then my father would know I was here. My driver is still with the car back at Angelina's.”
“How did you?”
“I gave him the slip, and I walked. It really wasn't that far. But now that you mention it, it is late. Maybe I should stay. You know, a girl shouldn't be out on the streets all alone, especially at this time of night.”
“And have your father call the police...again? And anyway, I've had a long day. I'm exhausted. I'll call my friend, Eberhardt. He can give you a ride home.”
“Have you thought about what I said? About getting a car of your own, now that you have the means?”
“No, not yet.”
Interesting! Why hadn't he told her his real name or that he had a car as well as a chauffeur? There seems to be more to you, Mr. Burke, than even I’ve uncovered.
“Wait, Oren. There is one more tiny thing...I need a little cash for the rent,” Rose said.
“How much do you need?”
“3,000 gats, and I'd rather not ask my father for it.” As the sound of her footsteps approached the door, I backed up and moved toward the bed. I could hide, but then Richard would wonder why I wasn't where he'd left me.
“Wait. Rose. I don't keep that much in the apartment, but I can get it for you. I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon.”
Did she really believe he was a gardener who wore a suit, and who had enough money that he could loan her 3,000 gats for the rent?
“Oren, I have a fabulous idea,” she gushed. “I could move in with you! Then we wouldn't have to pay twice the rent, and I could help you relax after a stressful day in the sun.”
“Something to talk about another time,” Richard said gently. “Let me walk you to the car.”