Chasing Dragons

By Geonn Cannon

Claire Lance is finally ready to settle down. She’s fallen in love again against all odds, the FBI considers her case inactive, and she’s found a place where she thinks she can finally be safe. But Lance’s peace is short-lived as a group of hunters threaten someone close to her and she’s forced to take a stand or see a friend lose the woman she loves.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Lance, a cold-blooded killer is closing in on her. Savastian Kedrov is dedicated and brutal, and she isn’t above using force to get what she wants. She’s not with the FBI, and she’s not interested in placing Lance under arrest. With Lance in her sights and unable to cut and run, it’s only a matter of time before the gunfire starts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Supposed Crimes, LLC
• Release date: Oct 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781938108259

Geonn Cannon

Geonn Cannon was born in a barn and raised to know better than that. He was born and raised in Oklahoma where he’s been enslaved by a series of cats, dogs, two birds and one unexpected turtle. He’s spent his entire life creating stories but only became serious about it when he realized it was a talent that could impress girls. Learning to write well was easier than learning to juggle, so a career was underway. His high school years were spent writing stories among a small group of friends and reading whatever books he could get his hands on.Geonn was inspired to create the fictional Squire’s Isle after a 2004 trip to San Juan Island in Washington State. His first novel set on the island, On the Air, was written almost as a side project to another story he wanted to tell. Reception to the story was so strong that the original story was put on the back burner to deal with the world created in On the Air. His second novel set in the same universe, Gemini, was also very well received and went on to win the Golden Crown Literary Society Award for Best Novel, Dramatic/General Fiction. Geonn was the first male author to receive the honor.While some of his novels haven’t focused as heavily on Squire’s Isle, the vast majority of Geonn’s works take place in the same universe and have connections back to the island and its cast of characters (the exception being the Riley Parra series). In addition to writing more novels based on the inhabitants of Squire’s Isle, Geonn hopes to one day move to the real-life equivalent to inspire further stories.Geonn is currently working on a tie-in novel to the television series Stargate SG-1, and a script for a webseries version of Riley Parra.

Book preview

Chasing Dragons

Geonn Cannon

Supposed Crimes LLC, Falls Church, Virginia

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2013 Geonn Cannon

Published in the United States

ISBN: 978-1-938108-25-9

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

Hospitals were like hotels, and always had a sort of timeless quality to them. No matter the hour it was always easy to find someone awake.

Claire Lance was reluctant to leave the waiting room in case the doctor came back with news, so she paced along the row of uncomfortable blue chairs, hands in her pockets, eyes turned to the television mounted in the corner of the room. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and almost didn't recognize herself; the short hair and eyeglasses were all a part of the disguise she had to wear thanks to her newfound infamy.

There had been a family in the waiting room earlier, but a surgeon came and retrieved them. Good news, it seemed. Lance had been alone for the last half hour, long enough for her mind to start turning around on itself and ask questions she really didn't care to answer. Being in the hospital was too much like real life, like something a normal person would do. It had been so long since Lance experienced real life that she almost didn't recognize it.

She stopped pacing and turned toward the nurse's station in time to see the doctor approaching with purpose. He had his eyes locked on the waiting room, so Lance moved expectantly toward the door. The doctor was middle aged with salt and pepper hair, and he gave her a tired smile when they met just outside of the waiting room.

Lance said, How is she?

She's in stable condition. You got her to us just at the right time, Ms. Vernon.

Langer, actually, Lance said. Carol Langer. Beverly is just a friend of mine.

The doctor nodded. Then she's lucky to have you as a friend. She has systemic lupus erythematosus. It's an autoimmune disease, but it's treatable with corticosteroids and regular checkups to catch any future flare-ups and treat them early. If this were a few decades ago, I would have to give you a darker prognosis. But with treatment, she should be able to live a relatively normal life. She asked to see you, if you'd like to.

Yes, please, Lance said.

The doctor escorted her from the waiting room, past the nurse's station toward Beverly's room. As they walked, he glanced back toward her for a moment. You look familiar to me. Have you been to this hospital before?

No, Lance said quickly. She resisted the urge to adjust her glasses or duck her head to keep him from examining her face too closely. I'm just visiting. Passing through. I guess I just have one of those faces.

The doctor nodded. The number of faces I see a day, I'm surprised I can even tell my kids apart. He gestured at a door as the pager on his hip began vibrating. I'll let you talk. Excuse me. He turned and walked back the way they'd come, shoes squeaking on the tile. Lance watched him go before she knocked on the doorframe and entered the room.

It was virtually identical to every other hospital room she'd ever seen. The window was dark, occasionally lit up by a flash of lightning that reflected off the raindrops streaming down the pane. Lights glowed from two sconces on the wall near the only occupied bed in the room. The elderly woman lying there glared at Lance when she came in. She aimed a gnarled finger at Lance and said, "There you are. I hope you're happy. I just hope you're just thrilled."

I am. Your daughter is going to be cursed with many more years of you driving her crazy.

The woman folded her arms over her chest and stared out the window, lower lip stuck out like a petulant child. Have to change my diet, they said.

But you'll be healthier.

Like that matters. Hardly a life. She scoffed, shook her head, and shifted on the mattress. "What's the point of being alive if you're not going to enjoy it, for crying out loud?"

Lance looked at the magazines next to the bed. She refused to give in and argue with the woman. Do you need anything from home? Books, or--

She seemed to sag, realizing her attempt to antagonize had fallen flat. No, I'm just fine, thank you. Pamela is bringing some knitting because the doctors want to keep me overnight for observation. I can't even sleep in my own bed because of you and your, your meddling.

Lance shrugged. Well, next time I'll just leave well enough alone.

I hope you will.

Fine, Lance said. Then you'll get to sleep in a nice, comfy coffin.

Beverly looked at Lance, and then reached out her hand. Lance took it, and Beverly squeezed. Thank you, she said in a soft voice. She had her eyes on the foot of the bed rather than at Lance, her lips pressed together in an attempt to keep them from trembling. Lance returned the squeeze before letting Beverly withdraw her hand.

Why don't I go see if I can round up some snacks?

You're a good egg, Carol. Not like the other punks that have lived in that apartment.

Lance smiled. I'll be right back.

She was at the door before Beverly said, And I'll deny it to the end of the Earth if you tell anyone I said thank you for this!

Lance smirked and left the room.

Her first impression of Pamela Vernon and her mother, Beverly, was that they were extremely loud. Lance occupied the apartment near the stairs, just in case she ever needed a quick exit, and Pamela lived with her mother at the opposite end of the corridor. She could hear Beverly griping at Pamela as they passed her door returning from some errand or another. Beverly complained about going up and down the stairs, about her arthritis, how bright it was outside... nothing seemed too trivial.

Lance later struck up a conversation with Pamela in the laundry room, one of the few times she'd ever seen the woman without her mother in tow, and discovered the truth about Beverly Vernon's gripes. It was just the way she communicated with others. Pamela had long ago learned how to translate the language, and she offered to give Lance pointers. Lance agreed, and the three of them started spending more time together. Lance offered to help Pamela with the groceries so Beverly wouldn't have to navigate the stairs, and Beverly simply scoffed and said, Fine, shop together, if you don't mind if everyone thinks you're lesbians.

After they left the apartment, Pamela said, That means 'thank you'.

Lance spent the better part of a month getting to know the two Vernon women, lending a sympathetic ear to Pamela's list of grievances. Two marriages, one ending in death and the other in a bitter divorce, had led to Pamela moving back in with her mother. She swore she didn't mind. Once you learn how Mom talks, it's actually quite nice.

The hard part was listening to all of Pamela's most closely guarded secrets while offering none of her own. The Vernons knew her as Carol Langer; there was no way she was going to endanger these two the way she'd endangered others in the past. But that meant lying to someone she thought was becoming a good friend. She used as much truth as possible; her relationship with Elaine, her mother, and other innocent things like that. But when it came to why she was living alone in southern Oregon, working as a bartender, she had to lie about a bad breakup. That usually set Pamela off on a tangent about her own failed relationships, and Lance could relax and play the sympathetic friend.

She spotted Pamela down the opposite corridor, the two of them separated by the nurse's station. Pamela wore a rain slicker and her untamed red curls were hidden underneath the hood. She was speaking with the same doctor that had given Lance the news about Beverly's diagnosis. Pamela nodded, smiled, and thanked the doctor for the information. She glanced up and spotted Lance over the doctor's shoulder as she shook the doctor's hand. She started walking, so Lance changed direction to meet her halfway.

Lance was almost out of the corridor when an alarm went off in her head, but she wasn't sure what caused it. She slowed her pace and examined the entire hallway. Nothing had changed. Pamela was still walking toward her, with about a hundred feet separating them. Doctors and nurses swarmed through the open space between Lance and Pamela, and visitors in jackets carrying umbrellas. On first glance, there was nothing to cause alarm.

And then Lance saw her, and every instinct in her body told her to run.

A woman with short blonde hair had been leaning against the wall while Pamela was talking to the doctor. As soon as Pamela started walking, the other woman pushed away from the wall and started following her. It could have just been a coincidence. But why had she been waiting? And what prompted her to suddenly start walking? She was a few inches shorter than Pamela, dressed in a leather jacket and blue jeans. She had a hands-free phone clipped over her ear, her lips moving as she surreptitiously spoke to someone on the other end. Her chin was down, but her eyes were scanning the hallway. She paused on each face and then move on, as if quickly checking every feature against some internal database.

Lance immediately ducked to the right, changing her direction to slip into an open doorway. There was a bathroom and a closet right next to the door, and Lance pressed her back against the wall between the two doors where she hoped she couldn't be seen.

The occupant of the room, an elderly woman in a fancy white nightgown, looked up from a book of crossword puzzles. Her eyes were wide and green, her jaw dropping at the sudden intrusion. Lance smiled in a way that she hoped was non-threatening and said, Trying to surprise my cousin. I don't want her to know I'm here, and she just showed up. Could you tell me when a blonde woman in a leather jacket walks past the door?

The woman smiled and nodded, then gave Lance a double thumbs-up. She then craned her neck and looked out the door. After a few seconds, the woman looked at Lance and cupped her hands around her mouth. She just walked by.

Thank you, Lance said.

She stepped away from the wall and peered out. Pamela had just stepped into her mother's room, and the blonde woman continued walking. She got to the end of the corridor and looked down the opposite branch, then touched her ear. Lance ducked back into the room as the blonde woman turned and looked back down the hallway. She glanced at the woman's nightgown and said, They let you have your own clothes?

I don't think I'll be leaving this place, dear, the woman said. They said I should be comfortable.

I'm sorry.

Don't be, the woman said. I've made my peace with it.

Lance nodded and looked at the closet. I don't suppose you have something I could use to get past dear old Cousin Shelly, do you?

The woman leaned forward and thought hard. There's a sweater I hate. And a big sun hat. Take 'em. You're doing me a favor.

Lance opened the closet and did a quick search. The woman leaned forward, trying to look into the closet. She waved her hand when Lance found the right one. The sweater with the flowers. The black one. Take it, please.

Lance took the sweater and exchanged it for her own coat. She grabbed a paper bag off the floor and stuffed her coat into it. The sun hat was huge and hideous, but the brim drooped enough to hide her face. She put it on, took off her glasses, and said, How do I look?

The woman cackled. Like my sister!

Lance smiled. What's your name, ma'am?

Trudy.

Trudy, Lance said. She took out her wallet and put two twenties on the tray table that held the remains of Trudy's dinner. Buy a couple more crossword puzzle books.

The woman gave Lance a knowing smile and looked at her over the rims of her glasses. Honey, that'll buy more books than I have time to do.

Call me an optimist, Lance said. Thanks for the help.

She went to the door, stooped her shoulders as she stepped out into the hallway. She lifted her hand in farewell and said, I'll see you tomorrow, Trudy. It took all of her willpower to make her feet shuffle across the tile, to keep from turning back and watching the blonde woman to see what she was doing. There was a chance this was all just a ridiculous overreaction, that the woman was visiting someone else. But Lance hadn't stayed free for this long by taking chances.

She kept up the shuffling walk all the way to the elevator. None of the doctors looked at her, but a few of the visitors she passed did a double take when they saw how young she really was. She smiled to let them know she wasn't crazy, that this was just a trick she was playing on someone. She got to the elevators just as the doors were about to close on a pair of male doctors in rumpled scrubs.

When she turned to face forward, she saw the blonde in the leather jacket about ten yards behind her. The elevator doors closed before the mysterious woman could get a good look at Lance's face. She shed the sweater, straightened her spine, and took off the hat. She balled the clothes up and turned to the doctors. She handed the clothes to one of them, who was bug-eyed at the transformation that had just taken place.

Make sure those get back to room 305.

Um... okay.

Lance smiled at him and put her jacket back on as she waited impatiently for the elevator to reach the lobby. She didn't wait to see if the blonde had followed her down in another elevator or if she had decided to take the stairs. She didn't worry about what the people in the lobby would think as she started running, feet pounding on the tile floor and echoing off the walls as she ran from the hospital. The revolving doors were too slow, so she slammed into the regular door set off to one side.

The rain had turned into sleet, darts of ice pelting her face as she ran through the parking lot to where she had parked Jodie's car. She only looked back when she was safely in the car, driving back to the main road.

The blonde woman in leather was standing just outside the revolving doors, scanning the parking lot. The sleet didn't seem to affect her as she searched for her prey. Lance ducked down in her seat and drove past before the woman even looked in her direction.

#

Lance parked at the end of her block, scooting down in the seat so she could see the window of her third floor apartment. She had designed the apartment with a singular purpose; it was on the corner of the building, and had two windows facing opposite streets. At night, a streetlight shone into one. She was parked on the opposite street, looking up at the subtle glow of blue light in her current home.

She took out her Tracfone and dialed her apartment's phone. She let it ring ten times, eye on the window. Her phone sat on a table that was in the corner between the two windows. She was about to hang up and call again when the shadow of an arm appeared against the glass. Lance froze as she saw the subtle movement of someone picking up the receiver. She snapped the phone shut and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

Lance pulled away from the curb and drove past her building without stopping. Someone had found her. They tracked her down and got too damned close. She tried to think of anything important that had been left in her apartment. There was nothing she couldn't leave behind. She kept a duffel bag of clothes under the backseat of the Cobra, along with the majority of her money. The only thing she regretted was walking out on Pamela and Beverly without an explanation. But that was a necessary evil. Her life was designed so that she could pick up and leave at a moment's notice.

The most important items in her life never left her person; she reached up and touched the pocket of her blouse, where photographs of Jodie Curran and Elaine Mallory rested. Anything else could be easily replaced.

She looked in the rearview mirror to make sure the road was clear behind her. She had a planned route to the highway. It wasn't the quickest or most efficient route, but she had chosen it for the ease with which she could tell if someone was following her. She drove casually so as not to alert any local cops and kept an eye on the rearview and side mirrors for tails. She ignored the familiar places she passed. Portland was closed to her now, and would remain so for the foreseeable future. It had never been a home, but just a place to stop and rest for a bit. If it hadn't been for her concern over Beverly's health, she would have been gone a long time ago.

The blonde worried her. The blonde was a new player, and it made her nervous.

When she reached the highway without any noticeable followers, she had to make a decision about where to go. For the past seven months she had been moving slowly south. Through Washington, into Oregon. If someone had tracked her, they could have discerned her pattern. Going north again would be an unconventional and, she hoped, unpredictable move. She merged with traffic going back toward Washington, her destination now firmly in mind. It had been almost two months since her last vacation; she could do with another.

She pressed her foot down on the gas, leaving Portland, Oregon, and Carol Langer behind.

#

The apartment was tossed. The man stood at the doorway while the blonde woman scanned the wreckage. The phone call was obviously a test; Claire Lance hadn't gotten this far by being stupid. The blonde pursed her lips, scanning the room where her prey had spent the last few weeks living. Go downstairs. Get everything you can from the landlord. She took off her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. She laced her fingers behind her, arched her back, and stretched.

She couldn't make another move until morning anyway. The best thing to do would be to spend a night as Claire Lance, to see how she lived and maybe get inside her head.

I had her, the woman thought, hating herself for how close she had been. Inches away. Three steps from closing my hand around her neck and pulling her to the ground. She didn't accept failure well. But she would survive.

It was only a matter of time before she made up for her mistake.

Chapter One

Once the painting was packaged safely in a wooden moving box Mrs. Fenton had her two teenage sons lug it outside. Vanessa Kavik handed the patron a receipt for the purchase. It'll look perfect on your living room wall, she said. The bell over the door chimed, and Vanessa glanced toward the newcomer. I'll be with you in a moment.

You do such lovely work, Mrs. Fenton said. She rested her hand on Vanessa's wrist, leaning in to whisper, I'm trying to convince my husband to buy a larger house just so I'll have more wall space.

Can't have that, Vanessa said. You need all your disposable income to keep me working. Just buy the paintings and then rotate them. Keep everything fresh.

Oh, I like that idea, Mrs. Fenton said.

Vanessa winked and watched to make sure the boys were careful with their mother's painting. While they propped the door open and guided the box out, Vanessa turned her attention to the new customer. The woman was tall and lean, her dark hair short and tucked under a baseball cap. She wore a denim jacket and jeans, her thumbs hooked on the pockets of her jeans. Her head was turned to examine a painting of downtown December Harbor, but Vanessa could see enough of her profile to make her breath catch in her chest.

The woman was Claire Lance.

Vanessa put her hand on top of Mrs. Fenton and guided her toward the door. Now don't you be a stranger. I know I can count on your to make sure my rent gets paid on time. She hated ushering a customer out like this, but she knew Mrs. Fenton would hang around chatting for the

Reviews for Chasing Dragons

[Frances Bell · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Always a good read can't wait to read the next one