Dirty Deeds

Dirty Deeds

Sheri Lewis Wohl

Published 2010

ISBN 978-1-59578-667-8

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2010, Sheri Lewis Wohl. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

Email:

[email protected]

Editor

T.S. Child

Cover Artist

April Martinez

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

Bounty hunter Louie Russell has a job to do and a fugitive to catch. James "Jamie" McDonald has jumped on a $100,000 bond and Louie must bring him back. She always works alone—until she finds herself shadowed by sexy older brother Paul McDonald, a man who shakes up her world and touches her heart.

All Paul McDonald wants to do is coach his hockey team and enjoy his post-NHL life in Spokane, Washington. At the same time, he's sick and tired of his brother's antics and now Jamie's gone too far. Paul will drag him back by the ear if he has to. So, when he starts to shadow the beautiful bounty hunter on his brother's trail, it's only because he wants to find Jamie as quick as possible. The fact that Louie's sexy and amazing has nothing to do with it. Or so he tries to tell himself.

When Jamie is murdered, the routine hunt becomes something much darker and far more threatening. Along with passion and love comes danger. Will they be strong enough to stop a killer cutting a wide path of death and destruction? Or will the truth be the final nightmare Louie can't survive?

Prologue

A very bad feeling sat deep in the pit of Chris Russell's stomach, but he couldn't put a finger on why. At his desk, he fastened the straps of his bullet-proof vest and wrestled in silence with the uneasiness that had stuck with him since he'd gotten out of bed in the morning. The bulky vest secure, he slipped on his black jacket with the bold yellow letters DEA stenciled on the back.

He picked up his sidearm, checked the clip, and then slipped it into the holster at his waist. He put an extra clip in the black leather mag pouch on his belt and two more in his bag. Next was his rifle. It fit into the black nylon bag that looked, to the casual glance, like an over-sized gym tote. Zipping the bag shut, he picked it up and turned to head out the door. Regardless of his discomfort, it was time to go. Without something concrete, he would move forward. No reason not to.

Chris had worked this case since the start and wanted to bring it to a successful conclusion despite the sensation at the back of his neck like cold, dead fingers brushing his skin. He didn't care what anybody else said, intuition counted for a great deal in his book. Intuition had kept him alive more than once during his time with the Army Rangers and he was not about to ignore it now. But he'd still go full bore ahead with this bust. Setting it up had taken months, and it was time to take down the key person responsible for bringing huge quantities of drugs into his city. That bad feeling, though, would keep him on his toes, and his senses on hyper-alert.

They still didn't know the name of the man they would haul into federal custody later tonight. The Medicine Man was the only i.d. they had…precious little to go on. The Medicine Man had set up his facade with such skill that law enforcement was unable to break through to discover the identity behind it. That bothered Chris as much as it pissed him off. He would know who this asshole was before the sun came up, one way or the other.

Through careful work and perfect timing, he and the others involved in the operation had put their own cast together. The bust would play like the finest symphony, flushing out the man who pulled strings like a master puppeteer. At long last, he would answer for his crimes. The Medicine Man would be out of business.

Chris would be lying if he said he wasn't curious as to the identity of the one who was able to pull off such a successful and profitable drug enterprise without his name ever being slipped even once. A pretty good feat when to offer a name in exchange for a deal was common practice. Too bad the guy didn't work on the right side of the law; he would have been a great success. Now, he was about to find his ass sitting in prison.

The warehouse appeared deserted when Chris and his partner parked the black SUV in the shadows about a block away. North of town and a scant block off Market Street, the warehouse sat near rolling hills. Those hills, dotted with low brush and pine trees, provided an excellent cover position for Chris and the other agents. The only downside was that the front of the building was wide and flat with a quick and easy escape to Market Street. There was no way to block access without tipping their hand. They had little choice except to leave the front section unprotected. If all went well, and Chris prayed it did, the unprotected front wouldn't be a problem. If it didn't? Well, he wasn't going to think that way. It would go their way. The bastard was going down.

He pulled his rifle from the bag and attached the night scope before he slung the strap over his shoulder. His partner, also armed, motioned he would take the left side. Chris nodded and started to the hill on the right. They were near enough to the rear of the building that both would have a clear, lethal shot, while still able to maintain sufficient cover.

Kneeling behind a clump of pine seedlings, the tallest of which was only about three feet high, Chris brought the rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope. He let out the breath he'd been holding. This was the spot. He had a clear view of the warehouse and a straight shot, if need be.

Subtle movement rippled around the warehouse. SWAT officers from the Spokane Police Department and deputies from the United States Marshal's Service were taking up posts in various locations around the perimeter. Bottom line: it was covered from every angle it could be, and by the best from each of the participating agencies. No one was about to walk out of this without handcuffs on their wrists and a federal indictment looming large on their horizon. Now all that was left to do was wait.

After over two hours of patience, a dark van rolled up to the rear door.
About damn time
. Chris shouldered his rifle and peered through the scope for a better look at the newest arrivals. Right away he recognized the two men who got out and walked around to the rear of the van. Eddy Pearson and Andy Shea were well-known and frequent visitors of the SPD's local bed and breakfast. Eddy was also the guy responsible for setting this up. He'd been given a choice: either set it up or head to Walla Walla where Washington State's notorious maximum security prison was located. Eddy wasn't eager to risk a trip back to Walla Walla and had been far more amenable to their suggested plan. The deal still held jail time for Eddy, but at the much more comfortable Geiger Corrections Center. The meeting was thus arranged and Eddy was, so far, playing his part to perfection. Amazing how the threat of time in a maximum security prison could elicit the kind of assistance needed for a bust this important.

Less than five minutes later, a late model BMW pulled up behind the van and a lone man got out. Once more Chris looked through the scope.
No, it couldn't be.
He adjusted the rifle at his shoulder again before peering through the high-powered scope for another close-up look. What was
he
doing at this warehouse in the middle of the night? He needed to get out of there before he muddied up the bust they'd spent so long pulling together. Chris started to sling his rifle back over his shoulder and then stopped. Slowly he brought the rifle around and put his eye back to the scope.

Oh, shit.
Now he understood. He lowered the rifle and took a couple of deep steadying breaths. It didn't matter. Not in the big picture. The Medicine Man had to be stopped, regardless of his identity.

At the sound of gunshots near the building, Chris snapped the rifle back up to his shoulder in one fluid movement. In the seconds since he'd lowered his rifle, something had gone very wrong. The shots didn't stop, their sound as loud as cannons in the still night.

"Damn it," he muttered as his finger glided to the trigger. This could not go south, not now.

Chris adjusted the rifle to ready it for firing, and put his eye to his scope. Again, unease slithered through his body. He had a brief glimpse of a rifle protruding from the driver's window of the BMW—pointed right at him—before the punch of a bullet sent him flying backward.

Then everything went black.

Chapter One

"Bastard!"

Louie Russell shot out of her chair and through the door connecting her office to Harry's, from where the thunderous expletive had issued. His round face was red, and looked even redder because of the jet-black braids yet to play host to even one strand of white. His dark eyes were narrowed and flashing as he looked up at her.

Eyebrows raised, she shook her head. "Watch it, Harry, you know my CPR card is out of date."

Her comment was only part jest. It had been ages since she'd completed her CPR training and whether they liked it or not, neither one of them was getting any younger. The crimson flush on his neck and face didn't give her a warm and cozy feeling. She could almost hear his arteries pop and that was most definitely not a good thing.

Harry was a good fifteen pounds heavier than when she'd moved into her small office five years ago, and he hadn't been a little guy back then. The last couple of years, each time one of the clients skipped, she was certain the big one was just around the corner for her friend and co-worker. His face would get bright red, and with every successive explosion, it seemed to take longer for the flush to fade. Yeah, she pretty much figured it was past time for Harry to get a physical and way past time for her to refresh the old CPR training.

"Funny," he muttered at the same time he tossed a manila folder toward her like a Frisbee. It landed with a plop on the yellowed vinyl at her feet. "Little Canadian bastard took off."

"Which little Canadian bastard?"

A reasonable question since he seemed to have a corner on the market lately. Among other illegal product, BC bud was big business these days and for whatever reason, Spokane was destination central. Dope hadn't lost its appeal in these parts, or at least that's the way it seemed to Louie. The constant influx kept both local and federal law enforcement busy, not to mention Harry's door swinging, and by extension, hers. If Harry was busy, Louie's caseload went up in direct proportion. Nothing like good old mathematics to keep a business popping and the paychecks rolling in. If she'd known how much money there was in this business, she might have been tempted to change jobs eons ago.

"James McDonald." Harry's words were clipped as though it was painful to even say the name.

"Oh the cute Canadian bastard," Louie said and nodded. Just the mere mention of McDonald's name seemed have reignited the flush in Harry's face. She didn't like that.

"Oh yeah, Russell, he's a real cutie all right. Took off on a 100K bond. I am not inclined to cough up the dough and his parents, poor suckers, can't afford it either. Do you know what the exchange rate is right now? This will wipe them out, lock, stock, and barrel. A shame too, they seemed like real decent people to me. I hate it when this kind of shit happens."

Harry shook his head and pulled a candy bar from the middle drawer of his desk. He peeled back the wrapper and took a big bite. The scent of chocolate floated across the air. The wrapper crackled as he balled it up and tossed it in the direction of the trash can. He missed.

"Harry…" Her eyes narrowed and she nodded her head toward the treat.

He shrugged and said through a mouth full of candy, "I'm stressed."

Good excuse
was what she thought, though Louie kept the commentary to herself. Not that she blamed Harry for being a bit tense. When somebody skipped, it was bad all the way around. Still, she'd heard the story too many times to feel much of anything beyond annoyance. She sympathized with the parents and their potential loss, but personal feelings had no business in this business. There were good people and there were bad people, plain and simple. Her job, however, wasn't to worry about the distinction. Her job was to get James McDonald back in a courtroom before Harry was forced to forfeit the bond and, by extension, the McDonalds lost all their collateral.

"How much time?" she asked.

"Joe Harper's the Assistant U.S. Attorney on this one and he gave me a call. He'll hold off on a motion for bond forfeiture until the end of the month. I promised him you would drag the boy back so I'm counting on you not to make a liar out of me." He popped the final chunk of the candy into his mouth and licked his lips, a satisfied smile on his face.