Second Sight: Supernatural Renegades, #4

By Carly Fall

He can start fires with his mind. She's in danger from the Russian mob. They will both learn trust should be earned, not given.

 

Marine Ruben Velasquez has been tortured, degraded, and humiliated by the very government he vowed to serve. While working on his boss' quiet ranch, the solitude brings him peace and relative happiness. He's also learned to control the supernatural ability of starting fires with his mind.

 

Katherine McCoy, a federal prosecutor in Washington D.C., is gearing up for the biggest case of her life: to prosecute Russian mob boss, Sergio Bogrov. However, when she is attacked before the start of the trial, it becomes clear that her involvement in the litigation has put her in mortal danger.

Hoping to keep her safe, her uncle enlists help to protect her, and Katherine finds herself under the care of the seductive and secretive cowboy, Ruben.

 

At first, their vast differences has them at odds, yet an intense attraction develops. When a horrific betrayal is revealed, their trust is put to the test as they strive to unravel the mystery... and stay alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Westward Publishing
• Release date: Feb 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781512214512

Book preview

Prologue

Six Years Ago

Zachary Johnson stared at the grey brick wall in front of him, gauging the height. As he stood right at six feet tall, he judged the fence at approximately eight feet. Piece of cake.

He took a few steps back and inhaled the cool night air, a light breeze blowing in from the north, sending a chill down his spine. October in upper state New York tended to be beautiful with the turning leaves—the reds, golds, and oranges a glorious sight. However, it also signaled winter in its wake, and he experienced the impeding change in the biting night wind that chafed at his cheeks where his day-old stubble didn’t cover the skin.

He rubbed his black leather-gloved hands together and took a deep breath. With an explosive burst, he sprinted at the wall, launching himself up into the air at the last second. His fingers gripped the lip while his feet kept up the momentum and he climbed to the top.

Just call him Spiderman’s cousin—climbing walls like a spider without having to have been bitten by one.

Glancing around, he found everything was as he expected, just as it had been earlier, except without all the people. An acre of well-manicured grass stretched ahead of him, a large, two-story, seven-thousand-square-foot red brick mansion beyond that. He glanced at the old oak trees littering the lawn, their limbs twisting and turning, casting ghostly shadows on the ground in the moonlight. Their bright red and orange leaves littered the ground, and as he jumped down to the damp grass, he sent silent thanks out he wasn’t the one who had to do the raking.

He ran to the first tree and kneeled for a moment, giving himself a chance to catch his breath and really take a look at his surroundings.

According to the intel he’d received and what he’d witnessed earlier when he’d attended the black tie gala at the mansion, no dogs patrolled the area because the owner of the house had a severe allergy to the beasts. However, the owner did employ two security guards. Cameras perched on the top of house, but he didn’t concern himself with that as the guards didn’t turn on the security system while they watched their charge at night. In fact, if the information he possessed and his prior observations proved correct—which he had no doubt of—this job should be very easy.

Glancing at his military-grade Gravitymaster watch, he noted the time. The first security guard should be making a sweep of the backyard in the next few moments.

Zach waited, and then the guard stepped out the back door and glanced around, right on schedule. He slowly walked the outer perimeter of the large patio, gazing out into the darkened yard.

Staying completely motionless, Zach met the man’s gaze, and he wondered if the guard knew he had only a few moments to live.

Earlier in the evening, Zach had stood on that very patio with his date, the very pretty Venus Tyler. He had no clue if that had been her real name, and he didn’t care. Their government bosses had scored them an invitation to the gala so that Zach could really study the layout of the house. Venus’s job had simply been to look pretty, talk intelligently, and make sure nothing happened to him while he casually snooped around. With her dark hair, the scarlet red dress that hugged her ample curves, and the fact that she spoke four different languages fluently, held three masters degrees, studied geoscience in her spare time, and could shoot a bulls-eye at two hundred feet, she’d fulfilled her job.

In fact, listening to her talk throughout the party had gotten him so turned on, they’d left early after he’d visually verified all the information he’d received, and he’d screwed her in the limo before dropping her back off at headquarters.

He loved smart women.

The guard turned, and Zach sprung up and sprinted to the next tree, bringing him closer to his target. Confident the man had not heard him, he ran to the next. As his mark stopped to tie his shoe, Zach took a deep breath and covered the rest of the yard in seconds. He pounced on the guy before the poor fool even knew what hit him, twisting his neck until he heard the snapping sound of a severed spinal cord, and death.

You should be more careful who you work for, he whispered as he lay the man down on the concrete.

Slipping into the house through the sliding glass door, he glanced around, remembering the floor plan he’d committed to memory. The kitchen sat to the right with shiny steel appliances, a dim nightlight above the oven casting a low glow over the area, with an expansive living room to the left. The television droned on quietly—Saturday Night Live, if he wasn’t mistaken, and he followed the noise. The after-party clean-up crew had done a magnificent job. If he hadn’t known better, he never would have guessed there had been a seventy-person soirée held in the house just a few hours ago.

The other guard sat in a recliner, chuckling. Zach could only see the top of the man’s balding head, but did note the revolver lying on the table next to the seat. He snuck up behind the chair and the guard noticed him in the T.V. reflection a moment too late. Zach delivered his death in the same manner as the other one—quickly, efficiently, and quietly.

Time for his main target, now.

He moved silently through the living room to the expansive staircase and traveled up the stairs, the thick brown carpet muffling his footsteps. At the top of the staircase, the hallway branched left and right. His target, Robert Yager, slept to the left behind the large double-doors at the end of the hall.

As he hurried down the dimly lit corridor, he glanced at the photos on the wall, obviously a happier time for the man. Pictures of Robert’s wife and daughter smiled back at him. His wife, Amelia, a blonde beauty with green eyes, hugged her look-alike daughter, but no longer were they a family. Amelia had left him two years ago when she found out he sexually abused the girl.

The man had a serious problem. He had four lawsuits against him by four different women accusing him of rape. However, because of his wealth and his family relations, his lawyers had the plaintiffs tied up in so much legal red tape, they’d most likely never get their day in court.

He approached the double doors and slowly opened them. Soft snores floated to him as he stood in the darkness while his eyes adjusted.

When he could make out the shapes in the room, he located the bed. As he approached, Robert rolled to his back, the sheet slipping off of him. Zach grimaced—the sexual deviant liked to sleep naked.

He flipped on the bedside lamp, and the pervert sat up in bed.

Lay down, you piece of shit. He put the muzzle of his gun to the man’s head.

Robert did as instructed, his pudgy face contorted in fear as he glanced at the bedroom door.

No one’s coming to help you, Robert. They’re all dead. He pulled the sheet over Robert’s legs, large stomach, and dick. I really don’t need to see your weapon of choice.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Zach smiled at him, his gun resting on his lap but trained on its target.

So, you are the big, awful Robert Yager. I’m sorry we didn’t get formally introduced earlier, but I was doing my best to avoid you. Up close, you don’t look very scary to me, but then again, I’m not a little girl or a woman who isn’t as strong as you, am I?

I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Zach rolled his eyes, taking a brown leather pouch from the inside pocket of his black leather jacket. Save it, Robert. I’ve done my homework on you.

When the government had assigned him to kill Robert Yager, he’d been handed reams of intel on the man—everything from his daily schedules, restaurants he frequented, as well as details on the cases pending against him.

That had been fine, but Zach would not sign up for an assassination without completing his own background check.

He’d tailed Robert for a month, verifying all the information the government had given him, but he’d also taken things one step further and interviewed his victims.

The stories had been ugly.

Forced anal and oral sex seemed to be Robert’s favorite. Zach had listened to the women tell their tales, his anger and hatred for the man building with each word he heard.

Satisfied that Robert Yager deserved to die, he’d taken the assignment.

Do you know who I am? Robert seethed.

"Of course I do. You’re Robert T. Yager, age forty-six. You were married for seven years until your wife found out you diddled on your own kid, you sick fuck. She decided not to press charges against you because it would prove too traumatizing for your daughter. However, you have also given up all parental rights, and you send her fifty thousand dollars a month, even though the arrangement stated thirty thousand. My guess is the extra is guilt money, but really, I could care less.

You go to the gym every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, although, based on your physique, it’s not doing you much good, but that’s probably because you love the pastries at Gloria’s Coffee Shop, two blocks from your office. In my opinion, you should really limit yourself to one or two a week, and that weight would come off. You work at a hedge fund in the city, where you gross about thirty million dollars a year. You have a thing for young, vulnerable women, and you like to make them suck your tiny dick. Is that what this is about? Are you trying to prove your masculinity despite your small member? It really doesn’t matter, but it’s something to consider over the next few minutes.

Robert stared at him, his eyes wide, breath coming in short spurts. Zach tried to garner a little sympathy for the man experiencing his last few moments of life, but found none.

Anyway, because of your money and hence, your access to the best lawyers without souls, those women will never get the justice they deserve.

He unzipped the black pouch and pulled out a loaded syringe.

Most of what you know isn’t true, and my lawyers are going to prove it. Those women are nothing but trash, trying to get a payout. They’re after my money! Robert sputtered.

Zach sighed, not bothering to answer.

Do you know who my brother is?

He smiled. Of course I do. And, he sends his regards. He says he’s sorry it has to be this way, but you not being able to keep your dick in your pants is bad for him politically. We all know that image is everything in politics, and you, Robert, are a shit stain.

In a flash, he had the needle in Robert’s neck, the plunger empty.

Robert stared at him, shocked, as he began to gag.

Don’t worry, you son of a bitch. It will be a fast death, and the clean up crew will be here shortly to deal with the others downstairs. It’ll look like a heart attack to the coroner, if they even bother with an autopsy on you. Personally, I would have preferred to give you a slower death, but I only follow orders.

Robert’s eyes closed, and a moment later, he drew his last breath. Zach felt his neck for a pulse, just to be sure.

He pulled a phone out of his pocket as he left the room and dialed quickly as he walked down the hallway, down the stairs, past the guard, and out the back door. It rang twice, and then his contact picked up.

It’s done, he said as he jogged toward the brick wall.

Good. I’ll send in the second wave.

And just remember, I have my own plan in place that will put this story on the front page of every newspaper in the country if something were to happen to me. Please keep that in mind when you consider your next step as I’m sure you don’t want that to happen.

He jammed the phone in his pocket and scaled the wall. After glancing around, making sure the street remained empty, he then jumped down and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather coat and walked without urgency, as though on a late night stroll.

Two blocks later, he’d encountered no one. He slipped into his car and drove away, satisfied with the job he’d done and his contingency plan to expose his handlers if they decided he knew too much.

After all, he’d just killed the President’s brother.

1

Z achary, I’m very interested in your ability. Please, tell me more about it, Joe Smith said.

Zach rubbed his hands over the fine leather seat he occupied on Joe’s private plane, the soft texture actually relaxing him. He smelled the light aftershave Joe wore—a pleasant scent reminding him of nature or the outdoors. He also caught a whiff of the perfume the flight attendant had chosen this morning. The odor tickled his nose and he sneezed. It hadn’t been a good choice for her.

Although he’d been robbed of his sight, nature seemed to have compensated by heightening his other senses, allowing him to make sense of the world around him.

Savannah, his seeing eye dog, rolled over on top of his foot with a soft snore. He bent down and gently patted her head before answering.

Well, when I look in a mirror, I see bits and pieces of the future. They never really make much sense until they actually happen. Sometimes, I catch myself in the snippet of what I’ve seen in the reflection; other times, I don’t. That doesn’t necessarily mean that what I have seen hasn’t happened. It just means that the moment passed me by without my knowledge.

Fascinating.

The rest of my senses have also been heightened, he continued. I hear a little better, my sense of touch seems to be more pronounced, and my nose can pick up scents most people can’t. I seem to have stronger taste buds, as well, and can distinguish certain ingredients in the things I eat where before the explosion, I was never able to do so.

He recalled the time just a week or so ago when his friend, Garrett ‘Honey’ Bloom from the Marines had shown up at his front door out of the blue. That morning, he’d witnessed parts of the scene—Garrett’s arrival and the man walking up behind him and raising a gun at his back. Then, he’d seen himself on a plane with Garrett.

That day, he’d packed his suitcase, knowing he would be going somewhere with his friend in the near future, and had also cleaned his Beretta knowing he would need to kill that other man when Garrett arrived.

When he’d opened the door for Garrett, he’d smelled mint, a scent familiar to the guy as he liked to eat Tic-Tacs. They’d chatted briefly, and then Zach had heard the soft footsteps of the approaching attacker, and also smelled roast beef and onions, a recognizable odor from the restaurant a few blocks away. He’d guessed the assailant had spent some time in the establishment before coming to visit.

He had tracked the footsteps until they’d stopped, and then he’d told Garrett to hit the pavement. Seconds later, he’d put two bullets in the man’s head.

Your disability doesn’t really seemed to have affected your life in any way, Joe commented.

Cringing, he begged to differ. His life had become extremely regimented, and he’d worked hard to be self-sufficient. His existence had been turned upside down and inside out. He missed his days of utter freedom, and realized how much he had taken his sight for granted.

The purchase of Savannah had been a huge help, as had becoming incredibly organized. Before becoming blind, he had been a very meticulous dresser. He liked to look nice and loved clothes, only wishing he could afford the more expensive garments on the market. After the explosion, he’d decided he wouldn’t allow his handicap to change his life. He’d had his shirts embossed in Braille at the neckline with the color of the garment, and wore only grey or black pants so