Secrets of the Dead

KYLIE BRANT

Previously in The Mindhunters Series:

Waking Nightmare
Waking Evil
Waking the Dead
Deadly Intent
Deadly Dreams
Deadly Sins

Copyright 2015
Kylie Brant

All rights reserved.

Edited by Mary Theresa Hussey
Cover art by Middle Child Marketing, LLC

ISBN:

978-0-9906607-7-4

For Regan Aidrick, my newest love :)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Once again I stumbled into territory I know nothing about while writing this book (which, as it happens, is easily done!)  A special thank you to all who facilitated with the language help necessary for me to write a book about a hyper-polyglot!  Special appreciation to Bodhi DuBin, Loreth Anne White Beswetherick, Nicola Brooks, Eve Gaddy, Jill Welter, Junliu Zhang and Tomaz Bester. Couldn’t have done it without you guys!

Prologue

“You have become
expendable.”

The man stared unflinching at the weapon aimed at him. He’d been known by many names in his life, but none of them mattered now. Just as the names of his soon-to-be killer were meaningless. All except the one that was only whispered with furtive looks from dark corners.
Èmó.
Demon.

Staring down the barrel of a gun brought a startling clarity to life. Complications had a way of dropping away. Priorities shifted. Survival trumped all else.

“Your business will fail without me.”

“There are other suppliers. Cheaper.”

“But none who can get you what you most want.” It was almost painful to utter the words, although they were the only ones that might stay his execution. “I have found the boy.”

Èmó’
s expression was inscrutable, but the man saw the signs of interest. The sudden stillness. A flare of a nostril. No other explanation was needed. There was one boy, an infant whose birth nine years ago had altered both of their fates. The discovery of the child’s whereabouts could alter them again, in a much more advantageous way.

“I don’t believe you.”

“The evidence is on my phone.” At least there were photos of the proof he kept hidden away.

The weapon never wavered as
Èmó
reached into the pocket the man indicated to draw out the cell and thrust it at him in unspoken command. Swiftly he unlocked it and brought up the slideshow of evidence he’d been painstakingly collecting for the past few years. All on his own time. At his own expense. Finding the boy was to be his big pay off, one that would have him out of the business and retiring in peace. Sharing the knowledge meant sharing the cash. Or being cut out of the operation altogether.

But a loaded weapon trained on him meant certain death.

Èmó
studied each photo, each painstaking note for a long time before handing the phone back to him. “His parentage must be verified, or he is useless to us.”

Us.
The word was a stay of execution, perhaps uttered unwittingly, but the man breathed a bit easier. Another supplier could be found, but no one else had put together the puzzle of the child who had vanished nine years earlier. “First we must get the boy. The rest comes later. His father will still be interested, I think. He has only become more powerful over the years, and he has no other sons. I have heard this.”

The weapon lowered. “Tell me everything you know.”

Chapter 1

The school doors
burst open and spewed children from various exits in crowded tangles that had started as straight lines inside and immediately snarled with the addition of sunlight. Teachers in neon green vests dotted different faces of the school’s exterior, directing the human traffic in a semi-orderly fashion. One exit for bus riders. Another for the walkers. The most crowded area was reserved for those children waiting for rides.

Catching sight of his friend Danny, Royce hung back, jostled by the swell of children behind him rushing toward the front of the steps to see if their ride had arrived yet. Vehicles snaked along the curb bordering the property and a block to the west in the daily routine of pick-up. Some drivers would be parents. Many more would be nannies or au pairs.

And a few—like Royce’s—would be manned by a personal security detail.

“Oh man, you shoulda seen.” Danny chortled as Royce reached his side. “Bentley Cordron blew chunks all over Mr. Griffin in art class.”

Momentarily forgetting the reason for their meeting, Royce said, “No way! You mean like on his shoes?”

“And his shirt and his hands…I think maybe some on his face. Definitely on his face.” In the spirit of artistic license, the embellishment became truth the moment it was uttered. “He had to call the office and Mrs. Heckleman had to sub so he could go home and change his clothes.” As an afterthought he added, “Bentley went home, too. Do you have it?”

At the non sequitur, Royce turned his head in feigned nonchalance. The white Suburban that would be here for him was in line across the street. No green vests were nearby. He let his backpack slip off one shoulder and unfastened the top. Reached inside for the inner compartment and unzipped it.

“Here it is.” Danny huddled closer to take the pocketknife from Royce.

“Whoa!” His friend’s exclamation of awe made up for Royce missing out on Mr. Griffin getting puked on in class. “This is totally bad ass.” Danny pulled out the larger of the two blades to admire it. “How sharp is it?” He immediately tested the edge and found out for himself. Blood welled on his finger.

“That was dumb.” The other boy popped his finger into his mouth to salve the wound while Royce showed him the screwdriver, tweezers and scissors attachments. “It has my name engraved on it.”

Danny was far less impressed with the lettering than he was with the gadgets. “Did you get it for Christmas?”

“No. My Uncle Paulie…he’s not really my uncle. He works with Adam, my dad. He’s…” Royce tried to remember how his mom explained it. “He’s my honorary uncle. He gave it to me for my adoption last summer.”

The other boy’s gaze finally settled on the engraving.
Royce Raiker.
“Does it seem weird? To have a new name?”

He jerked a shoulder. Danny wouldn’t get it. He’d always had a dad. Royce had never had one until his mom got married last year. It was a little weird, yeah. But mostly cool.

“Royce Raiker!”

He froze at the sound of the voice. Danny, more adept in such matters, put the hand carrying the knife down against his jeans-clad leg, pressing the attachments back in place one at a time while he arranged his expression into a mask of artful innocence. As they turned to fully face Mrs. Cleveland the handoff was accomplished with an adroitness matched only by the most practiced of criminals. Royce slipped the knife into his front jeans pocket with one hand as he wrestled his backpack into place with the other.

“Ma’am?”

“Royce, you’re on inside pick-up only this year, remember?” The young teacher put a hand on his shoulder and began guiding him toward the school door. “And your ride is going to be a little late today anyway. They just called a couple of minutes ago.”

He trudged down the nearly empty hallway toward the school office where a small group of other students waited. He hadn’t been happy with the new pick-up arrangement, but he hadn’t wanted to change schools like Adam had suggested either. His mom said this was a compromise, which meant he had to suck it up.

Taking a book from his backpack, he opened the office door. Great. The chairs were all taken by the other kids who had to wait inside. “Royce. You’re late.” Mrs. Gonzalez looked up from her computer across the counter and smiled at him.
“¿Cómo te fue hoy?”

He grinned at the secretary. He was teaching him a little Spanish.
“Muy bueno.”
The blue light flashed on her headset and she turned away to take the phone call. He took a seat on the floor next to the counter and was halfway through a chapter of the new
Captain Underpants
book when he heard, “Hey there, Royce. Eddie was delayed today. My name is Marlin.”

He lifted his gaze to meet that the blue eyes of the stranger crouched down in front of him. “I’ve got your snack, though.” He handed him a small bag of Crunchy Cheetos.

Cheetos, because it was Tuesday. Royce reached out hesitantly for the bag. Eddie and Cliff were the drivers and one or both of them were there almost every day. But every once in a while there was someone else and instead of the secret code Royce had suggested, Mom decided the snacks would be their code. Monday was pretzels. Tuesdays Cheetos. Fridays were best, because on Fridays the snack was popcorn. Royce could eat popcorn every day, twenty-four seven.

“Sir!” Mrs. Gonzalez’s voice was firm. “I’ll need to see your ID.”

“Sorry ma’am.” The man got up and went to the counter. He was really tall. And he talked a little like that guy on TV who used to wrestle alligators.

Royce saw him take off his ID badge and hand it to the woman. She studied it carefully and then shook her head. “I’m sorry. You’re not on the permitted pickup list, nor have I gotten a call from Mr. or Mrs. Raiker.” She looked up at the man, her lack of height not diminishing the note of finality in her voice. “I did receive notification several minutes ago saying Royce’s pick up would be late.”

“Eddie discovered he’d be held up longer than he expected so he called me.” The man didn’t seem upset by the delay, sending Royce a wink as he spoke. “Could you check your list of approved pick-ups again? I was told that I’d been added to it recently.”

Giving Royce one quick look, the secretary took her chair in front of her laptop. Her fingers tapped the keys rapidly, then held the man’s badge up next to the computer screen, her gaze darting back between the two.

“I apologize, Mr. Hobart.” Rising, she handed the ID back to the man. “Someone else must have been at the desk when Jaid Raiker added you yesterday. I wasn’t notified of the change.”

“No problem.” Hobart clipped his Raiker Security ID back onto his front pocket. “We all want to keep Royce safe.” Turning, the man looked at him. “You ready, buddy?”

Clutching his snack in one hand, Royce shrugged into his pack and accompanied the man out of the office. He wondered when his mom had had time to stop in and make the change on his pickup list. FBI agents didn’t usually have flexible work schedules. She’d had to plan vacation time just to make sure she’d be at his school plays.

“I hear you’re an Orioles fan.”

Royce nodded enthusiastically as he ripped open the bag.

They went down the brightly lit hallway, passed only by the occasional teacher and other kids being picked up. The parking lot was on the side of the building facing the playground. “Me, I’m a Nationals guy,” Hobart said as he pressed the bar on the door to open it. Royce walked out into the bright sun again as he shoved Cheetos into his mouth. That didn’t, however, prevent him from snorting his disgust.

“You don’t like the Nationals?” Hobart took a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on as he strolled along beside Royce.

Swallowing, Royce said, “They kinda su--…they’re not very good. Ever.” Charitably he added, “Maybe they’ll be better next year. But there’s no way they’ll get into the playoffs, not even as a wild card, do you think?”

But Hobart didn’t answer. Instead he took a phone out of his pocket and began texting a message even as they approached the white Suburban Royce had seen earlier. It was now parked in the second row of the lot. They had to walk across the playground’s blacktop area to reach it and he used the intervening time to shovel more Cheetos into his mouth. Lunch had been hours ago and he was starved.

Tipping the bag to his mouth he finished off the crumbs and then crumpled up the sack with one hand and proceeded to suck the orange powder off his fingers one by one. They drew parallel to the vehicle which Royce saw now was running with someone behind the wheel. His steps slowed. “Is Cliff with you?”

“No, Parker is driving today.” Hobart opened the door to the back passenger seat and said, “In with you. We’re going to take a different route home and see if we can avoid that mess Eddie ran into on the way here.”

“Why was there a mess?” Royce climbed up into the seat and took off his pack to set on the floor beside him before fastening the seatbelt. “Was there an accident?” He heard the man answer, “Yep,” before shutting his door and moving to pull his own open to get in the front.

“All buckled in?” The driver was already backing out of the parking spot when Hobart spoke.

“Yeah.” Royce shoved the empty bag in his backpack then considered its contents. He had math and spelling to do and he could easily get the problems done in the car. Mom said he had to stop trying to write his spelling words on the way home because the ride made his penmanship atrocious. He pulled out his math folder and withdrew the sheet before returning to the bag to dig for a pencil. He’d told her that Adam’s penmanship was atrocious all the time, but she’d just smiled and said when he owned his own forensics company Royce could have bad handwriting, but not until then.

He figured Adam must’ve had bad handwriting way before he’d started The Mindhunters Agency, but maybe not. Royce found a pencil with a decent amount of lead and turned his attention to the worksheet. Maybe Adam had gotten atrocious handwriting after that bad guy had cut him up a long time ago. He even had scars on the backs of his hands.

The radio was turned on, louder than Eddie ever had it. Royce worked through all ten problems and then checked his work. Math could be hard sometimes when they were learning something new, but this was just review of three and four-digit addition and subtraction, so it was pretty easy. He bent to drop the pencil in his pack, but as he straightened Royce noticed the driver’s hands on the wheel.

Bandages were wrapped around each finger and thumb, just below the knuckles. How could the man have hurt himself in exactly the same spot on every finger? Intrigued, Royce scooted to the edge of his seat to look closer. There was another smaller circular bandage below his right eye.

He settled back on his seat, studying the driver. Hobart was big and blond but the other man was shorter and sort of square, with dark hair. The black shirt he wore had long sleeves despite the temperature. It was warm for this late in September. They’d played soccer at recess today and it’d been hot enough to make Royce sweat.

There was a weird feeling in his stomach. At the base of his neck. He looked out the window and didn’t recognize the street. They were going a different way, Marlin had said. Royce wanted to ask when they’d get to the highway but hesitated. If he was going to convince Mom and Adam to stop treating him like a baby, he couldn’t get freaked out every time there was a little change in pick-up. Marlin had the ID. He had the white Suburban. So what if the driver looked different from anyone else Royce had met at Adam’s company? There were a lot more people there he hadn’t met.

Feeling slightly better, he settled back and took his book out of the bag and began reading about the adventures of George and Harold defeating the dastardly Mr. Krump. He’d only gotten through a couple of pages, however, when something had him raising his gaze again. The guys in the front seat were talking. At first he’d thought it was the radio, but music was still blaring from it.

The sick feeling in his belly intensified. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he could hear enough to be certain of one thing.

They weren’t speaking English.

_______

“Sorry I’m late.
The detour took a little longer than I expected.” Eddie DeBower scanned the private school’s office, which was devoid of students before his gaze settled on Mrs. Gonzalez. “Where’s Royce?”

“He’s already left with your colleague. A Mr. Hobart. About…” The secretary glanced at the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes ago, I’d say.”

DeBower went still. “Hobart. Never heard of him. I called.” His tone was even, giving no clue to the sudden suspicion churning through him. “I told you I’d be late and you said you’d keep Royce here until I arrived.”

Unease flickered on the woman’s expression. Swiveling her chair toward her computer screen, she said, “I hadn’t seen the man before either, but he had an ID that looked exactly like yours. He said you’d sent him.” She began to type rapidly, bringing up the screen she’d consulted earlier. “And he’d recently been added to the computer list of okayed pick-ups…” Her voice abruptly broke off as she stared at the monitor in disbelief. “It’s gone.” Stricken, she lifted her gaze to DeBower’s. “I assure you, I double-checked his ID against the computerized likenesses of each person on Royce’s list.”

Eddie was no longer listening. He strode away several steps and pulled out his cell, punching the speed dial number he’d never wanted to have to use. When he heard Raiker’s voice on the other end he swallowed hard before forcing out the words. “Unless you or your wife sent someone else to pick up Royce today, it looks like we’ve got a code red.”

_______

Royce’s heart was
tripping hard and furious as he turned the pages in the book without really seeing them. This was stupid. He was over-reacting. That’s what Mom said when he used to throw a fit about getting a shot when he was a little kid. Not that big a deal. So someone else had picked him up today. Marlin had the right ID. Mrs. Gonzalez had said so. He’d been in her computer and so he must be okay, right? He had a white Suburban. He’d had the right snack.