Blood is Power Hunter Book 2: The Hunter Series, #2

Chapter 1

LUCY

A negative pall of dark magic and obscure secrecy hung over Hyde Park, complementing well the moonless night, to create a picture quite befitting for stalking an unknown number of — as yet — unidentified villains.

The mystery of why he was being targeted still weighed heavily on Nick Hunter’s shoulders, though he thanked his lucky stars for the second chance he’d been given. The loss of his parents cut deep; one more wound he suspected would sting and smart forever. But his wife and son had been spared, and that was a priceless gift. Never again would he risk their safety, never again would he drop his guard like a rookie. Never again would he make the mistake of assuming they would be protected in a civilized country such as the U.K. simply because guns were illegal here.

Guns could be obtained anytime, anywhere, with the right connections.

Just by the Serpentine’s elbow, Nick reached a hand underneath one of the bins, then jerked the small package free of its bindings and slid it under his coat. Just like the old times. Zolla had come up with the goods, as expected. Who said you couldn’t trust an Italian?

Nick’s walk was brisk and efficient; he looked like a man with a purpose, and he felt it, too. That was exactly why he was here. Alastair Lloyd Campbell’s residence was in London, and aside from that small clue all he had to go by was the Detective’s cryptic line, I hear Cyprus is a hot-spot, should you be thinking of a vacation.

Detective Newton had been the first one to see through the smoke screen, the first one to figure out that someone was trying to set Nick up and pin murder, battery and arson, and any other charge that may stick, on him. Shame Newton was a detective, really; he was wasted in that job. Still, it could come in handy, having someone on the inside.

He trusted the detective and Tequila, between them, could keep Maxine and Cameron safe while he would put an end to this nonsensical hunt right here, right now, before he’d take them away and fabricate a new identity for himself and his family. Life was just too short to keep wasting it constantly looking over your shoulder.

Nick’s plan was simple. He was going to find Alastair Lloyd Campbell and he was going to get as much information out of him as possible. Then he was going to hunt down Dollar De la Rue, starting with the one bar owner who was bound to remember him; you don’t lose all the fingers on one of your hands, without anesthetic, and forget it in a hurry. After he’d dealt with Dollar, he was going to track down Jesse Bent to whichever rock he’d hidden under, and then follow Newton’s lead to Cyprus. If any more links popped out of the woodwork in the meantime, he would follow them one by one, to the end of each trail.

There was no bitterness in him, no rage. Just sheer, stubborn calculation. Leaning against the railings in front of the modern-looking block of flats, he paused for a minute to consider the best route of approach.

The building was in darkness, looking pristine and unoccupied, and totally deserted. Perfectly round droplets of rain still hung onto every shiny surface, shivering slightly in the randomly gusty breeze. There was an entrance from the street level, just one car wide, dropping out of sight under the building. That would be the car park. He could try the door leading from the car park straight to the elevators or — his head snapped back to the front door — he could wait for an opportunity just as this.

A young man in his early twenties, judging by the clothes, was reaching for the door handle. Nick sprung up and slipped in at the same time as the youngster walked out. The stranger didn’t raise his head, just as eager to remain anonymous as Nick was.

The door to Campbell’s place was ajar, the light sending a bright yellow shaft through the gap and onto the wall opposite. Expecting visitors? Nick eased carefully through the narrow opening, glancing everywhere, trying to blend in with his surroundings, but the light was unforgiving. After a quick inspection of the living room, Nick backed all the way to the front door and nudged it shut with his elbow. If anyone tried to come in, he would hear.

Retracing his steps, Nick moved methodically through every room. The place looked untidy, but not destroyed enough to suggest a struggle. It was skirting the fine line between a rebellious teenager’s digs and a burglary executed with care and respect for property.

By the time he’d reached the double bedroom, Nick stopped expecting any positive leads that might take him closer to his quarry. The bed was untidy, too, but someone had gone to the trouble of throwing the lavish cover over the bed sheets before leaving the room. The same rules had not applied to the small desk by the window, however. Shuffled papers and the abandoned power cable to a laptop computer suggested someone had left the place in a hurry.

Somewhat more relaxed, Nick took a step towards the table, but then he reconsidered and went back to check the small en-suite first. Nothing of interest, no axe murderer hiding in the shower. Nick pulled the narrow door shut behind him and finally focused his full attention on the contents of the desk. They were mainly legal documents, clauses and appendices for property acquisition contracts. Frustrated, Nick pulled back the chair, so he could sit down and read in comfort.

As he made to sit down, and before he could touch the seat, Nick felt a strong arm wind tightly around his neck and another pulling his head back by his hair. He tried to stand up, but he was out of balance, so he twisted to the side and dropped to the floor in an effort to pull out of his attacker’s grasp, but instead of freeing himself, he felt a pair of legs coil around his middle, and then the weight of a person settled heavily on his back. This was a very unusual maneuver for a skilled hitman. Nick pushed hard off the floor and twisted sharply, so that now he was on top.

Ow, a woman’s voice protested. Get off me.

I will as soon as you let go, Nick promised, relieved. She was certainly not a threat.

The woman disentangled herself and drew back against the wall, looking belligerent and just a tad embarrassed. Was she Campbell’s floozy?

What was that? Nick asked her, taking a better look at her face. Her ginger hair had been recently coiffed in a half-hearted rendition of a beehive style, but a few strands had escaped the hairpin confinement and were dangling limply over her left cheek. She showed signs of crying; her cheeks were streaked with tears and mascara and her too-bright lipstick had smudged. She must have been still in her twenties or close to thirty at the most, yet her features looked lived-in, battered, the typical face of a woman who’d played too hard and seen too much. No. Not Campbell’s. This one swam in the mire right at the bottom of the pond.

Who are you? she asked, disorientated.

Does it matter?

You don’t live here, she accused, eyeing him suspiciously.

Neither do you.

I came here to find out about my Nathan. She looked annoyed when Nick didn’t show instant sympathy for her predicament. Nathan Hicks. He may not be a saint, but he loves me. He’s never once stood me up.

I’m guessing he just did, right? Nick asked warily. What if this cage fighter wannabe attacked him again? He didn’t want to have to hurt her. Obviously, she was not one of them, but he didn’t have a lot of time for meaningless chit-chat, either. Unless it led him to Alastair Campbell or Dollar De la Rue.

Something’s happened to him, she pointed her finger at him, as if he had committed some unknown crime. Someone’s done something to Nathan and now they’re trying to hush it up. Well, I’m not going to be hushed up. I’m gonna find them, and I’m gonna find out what’s going on.

Find whom?

Nathan. And Dollar and that bloke he left with tonight.

Alastair? Nick guessed on a whim.

Yeah, I think that’s what Dollar called him. He’s the one who laughed at me and told me Nathan was busy getting a new batch of girls from Lithuania settled in, or something. But I know he’s lying. We’ve had a new batch in last week and another one’s due in on Monday. Me and Nathan, we were gonna spend a couple of nights together. He said so. He called me and told me to get all dolled-up, and get some stuff in, and wait for him. If he wasn’t gonna make it, he would have come up with some stupid excuse, or not called at all. I tell you, there’s something weird going on. And I’m gonna get to the bottom of this. She nodded to emphasize her commitment.

The look of determination on her puffy face was fierce with equal measures of fear and anxiety. A headline flashed in Nick’s mind: ‘Prostitute found dead in notorious red-light district’, right above a picture of her mutilated body.

Do me a favor, Nick told her, voice full of apprehension. What’s your name?

Lucy.

Lucy. Go to the police. Go and tell them everything you’ve told me. Everything you know. Don’t follow these two, don’t even look in their direction. You’ll be no help to Nathan, dead. She stared at him with wide eyes, not wanting to comprehend. You’re a clever girl. Think. Don’t push your luck. These people are not the kind that are inclined to have a friendly chat and share a harmless cup of tea with you, if they think you’re starting to pay them too much attention. I’m actually surprised they let you out of their sight.

A half-worried, half-confused look creased her face.

How did you get here? Nick wondered.

"I followed them. When the tall one, Alastair, said Nathan was busy, she spit the word out, I hid and waited till they finished their drinks, and then I followed them here. I took my shoes off so they couldn’t hear me. It wasn’t that far. There’s a small bar, just a few blocks from here; that’s where they met. The barman’s only got fingers on one hand."

I know the place, Nick nodded.

She looked at him suspiciously again. Who did you say you were?

I didn’t.

Why are you here?

I’m looking for Alastair, too. And Dollar. I need a word with them.

The wild look that came into his eyes must have alerted her. You don’t look very friendly, if you don’t mind me saying...

Don’t worry, Lucy, I won’t hurt you. I have no quarrel with you. Unless you’re planning to attack me again. Beneath the smudged makeup, Lucy blushed. But as far as those two are concerned, I’m sure they would be much, much happier if the police gets to them before I do.

Lucy shuddered. Nick picked up a bunch of papers at random, scattering them all over the floor in exasperation. I was hoping I might find something here that would help me track them down, he growled at the nearly empty table.

Nice boat. Lucy plucked the photo of a white yacht out of the pile of discarded paper. It was a close-up of two children, a boy and a girl, pretending to play tug-of-war with a length of thick rope aboard a lavishly equipped boat that was large enough to house a small army. The angle was odd, but he could just about distinguish the incomplete shape of a woman on a sun lounger in the background. There were few other details to take in, aside from the delighted smiles of the two children. Only part of the boat’s name was visible; it seemed to say Blue Pe... in a modern, bright blue script. What do you know? Campbell had a boat. Or holidayed on one.

Yeah. Not the sort of yacht either one of us could afford, my dear. He flicked the photo back to the floor, as if it was an unimportant piece of scrap. Come on, it’s time to go. They shouldn’t find you in here. Not good for your health.

At the door, Nick turned to give Alastair’s pad one more look. The message light was flashing on a phone he hadn’t spotted earlier.

Get the elevator, he instructed Lucy. I’ll do the lights.

He crossed to the phone in a flash and pressed the button. The message had been left by a deep-voiced, formal-sounding man. Mr. Campbell, just to confirm she’s ready to sail. Our usual slot, fourteen hundred hours. Perfect tides. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, sir, it said. Oh, and our team won the East Cowes quiz again, sir. I thought you might like to know that.

Nick smiled happily to himself. It seemed he would get to indulge in his favorite activity sooner than he thought. Two birds with one stone.

The tide is turning, guys, he whispered to no one in particular. Watch out, watch out, wherever you are...

Chapter 2

THE BARMAN

Lucy fidgeted in front of the elevator.

Did you call it? Nick asked, stopping beside her.

It was on its way up.

The elevator slowed its approach, as if it was going to stop on their floor. Nick grabbed Lucy by her elbow and jerked her around the corner, behind the fire exit door. She gasped at his roughness but had the sense to keep quiet. Through a narrow gap, Nick watched the figure of a man clad completely in black push cautiously through the door to Campbell’s apartment. A couple of minutes later he walked out and took the elevator back down.

What was Campbell wearing last time you saw him, Lucy?

Er... a business suit. Dark colur, with a sheen to it. Black shirt and an olive tie, striped in shades of green.

Nick held up a hand to stop her flow. Trust a woman to remember clothing in such minute detail.

Enough. You’re in trouble, girl. That guy was certainly not Campbell. And why would just anyone have a key to a flat they don’t live in? Campbell must have known you’d be looking for clues here. And he doesn’t want you to find any.

Lucy blanched. What are you saying?

I wasn’t joking when I said you should go straight to the police. I should have added: ask for witness protection. You obviously know too much already.

They took the stairs down, carefully checking for signs of movement as they descended. The lobby was deserted but brightly lit. Nick stopped, eyes roving everywhere.

What? Lucy whispered.

Too bright. The lights were off when I came in.

So what do we do? We’ve got to get out.

We wait.

For what?

For someone else to go out.

Lucy fidgeted. My feet are cold.

You should have kept your shoes on.

Dollar and Campbell would have heard me. I didn’t want to attract attention. I was trying to be quiet so they wouldn’t know I was following them.

Nick huffed impatiently. This stupid woman who was able to remember exactly what color tie Campbell had been wearing thought two hardened criminals wouldn’t notice they were followed because she took her bloody shoes off? Christ!

Well, it looks like they did know, he hissed.

What makes you think that man came for me? He could have come to finish off Campbell.

Too many things don’t add up. Let me tell you how I see it, from Dollar’s point of view. Then you tell me if I’m thinking straight, okay? So, pretend I’m Dollar. Campbell comes to me with... some business — any business. We’re having a drink and discussing things when, out of the blue, a ginger-haired woman, her face all blotchy and streaked with mascara from crying, stands right in front of me and starts shouting something about her boyfriend not coming home.

Lucy’s hand traveled to her cheek as if in a trance, and she rubbed at it with shaky fingers. Nick went on, undeterred.

I know that my last operation didn’t go exactly to plan and there were a few... inconsequential casualties. This man she’s shouting about was probably one of the men I lost.

Inconsequential...? she breathed.

The mad woman is likely to attract unwanted attention, and it looks like she’s not the kind to shut up and go away quietly. Nick smirked at Lucy’s affronted expression. "She’s demanding answers from Campbell, and the bastard can’t throw her off the trail with a mere lie. I need a way to get rid of the pest. I grab Campbell by the arm and walk him to his apartment, so he can dispose of any incriminating evidence and scatter some papers and cushions about to make the place look like it’s been burgled. I make a call to one of my team to follow us at a distance and check if we’ve been followed.

Did you ever look behind you while you were following them, Lucy? Her face was ashen as she shook her head, eyes riveted on Nick’s. So I wait for Campbell to retrieve his laptop, just in case. While I wait, I disable the downstairs light to make my man’s access easier. If Campbell did what I asked, the place will look like a burglary gone wrong when the police are called to collect the woman’s body from his apartment. She will have probably tripped over something and hit her head on a sharp object; happens all the time. I then take Campbell to my place, where several people would be available to testify he spent the night celebrating his new business venture. We both have an alibi. My man watches from a dark corner as the ginger-haired woman enters the building, waits a suitable amount of time, and then goes in to take care of her. How does it sound so far? Nick asked.

Lucy gulped. What do you think that... man... did after... you know, after he realized I wasn’t there?

One of two things: took up position across the road and waited for you to walk out, or went straight to Dollar, to report. I would have waited. And I would have made sure the entrance would be bathed in bright light, Nick gesticulated towards the lobby.

And if I just walked out? You think he’d shoot me?

Nick nodded. He wouldn’t want to make a scene. He wouldn’t want witnesses. But if you were alone — yes. He’d shoot. I would.

You would, she repeated in a daze. Why do you keep saying that?

It takes a killer to know a killer, Nick thought, but kept quiet.

The ping from the elevator made Lucy jump. Nick put his arm around Lucy’s back and guided her into the lobby. Four well-dressed youngsters sauntered across the open space to the door, laughing and joking about some prank they were going to pull on Edward and how Charles, his father, would probably disown him. Nick walked Lucy through the door right on their heels, then pulled her a few steps ahead of them and matched their speed to the youngsters’ unhurried gait. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best shielding from unexpected attacks he could come up with at short notice. It would buy them a few minutes’ time.

Where are we going? Lucy asked.

Well, since we seem to be walking in the general direction of the bar you visited earlier this evening... I guess we may as well go say hello to our favorite barman. Once we’ve extracted all we can from him, I’ll escort you to a police station. Do not leave there on your own. You must make them believe you and demand they take you to a safe house.

Lucy shuddered but didn’t argue.

They passed another block in silence.

Do you think he’s following us now?

Nick cut his eyes to her, then looked straight ahead, his lips a tight line.

I guess I know your answer, Lucy said. ‘It’s what I’d do’, she mocked him, unsmiling. When Nick didn’t say anything, she looked up to him, her steps floundering. Nick pulled her forward, saving her from sprawling all over the pavement. Would you? she insisted. Would you follow us?

Nick stared back at her. Yes, he said after a while. I would.

The four youngsters who formed their shield stopped in front of a twenty-four hour newsagent, debating whether they should go in as they continued to push and shove each other. Nick dragged Lucy into the store ahead of them and made a bee-line to the back wall. In less than ten seconds he’d forced open the door that led to the stockroom and marched down a short corridor to a metal fire exit door, with Lucy in tow. Moments later they stumbled their way into a pitch-black delivery yard. The contrast between this place and the relatively bright shopping street was confounding; it was making them clumsy.

Not wasting a beat, Nick pulled Lucy across the open space at speed and turned the corner. Across the street, down an alleyway between a betting shop and a Blockbusters, then one more delivery yard and suddenly they were standing by the bar’s back entrance, still alive.

The Bloo Moon was a semi-subterranean lair deeply rooted into traditional design. While most London bars leaned towards clean lines and minimalist modernism, The Bloo Moon sported exposed brickwork and a décor hinting at three different twentieth century decades, not necessarily consecutive, the styles all jumbled-up to create an untidy look. If you cared to be polite, you’d call it old-fashioned. Otherwise, it could accurately be described as unloved.

Nick dragged Lucy up to the bar and pushed her onto a bar stool.

She looked offended by his rough handling, so Nick hissed We don’t have much time at her, then picked up a heavy-looking glass ornament and smacked it hard against the counter top. It left a divot in the brass and cracked into half a dozen pieces.

That got the barman’s attention. He turned and leaned on the counter right in front of Nick, his face like thunder. His left hand was intact, but the right was missing its fingers. The thumb was a tiny stump at the side of the pudgy lump of flesh which was his hand.

The only two customers in the joint scurried out of the front door, their drinks forgotten.

Dollar, Nick spat at the barman. I need to pay him a visit.

Don’t know who you mean.

Nick nodded, turned as if to stand up from his perch, and then he snapped his left arm forward, his fist connecting with the barman’s nose. The impact made the man lose his balance and he staggered back as far as the tight space allowed, but he remained upright.

Remember him now? I need his address and I don’t have much time.

The barman wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his fingerless hand; a steady stream continued to pour over his lips and dribble down the front of his T-shirt.

The hell you don’t know him, you cowardly piece of shit. Lucy crawled up to kneel on her bar stool, so she could see him better. You watched me earlier, when I was asking about my Nathan. Dollar and that bloke, Campbell, were sitting there, in that corner, Lucy pointed at the offending table, her cheeks darkening with righteous indignation.

The barman leered at her, showing a set of blood-covered teeth. You think I haven’t got a’ything better to do that watch you sign your own death warrant?

So you saw me, then?

The barman just laughed, his eyes not leaving her face.

I’ll do you a deal, Nick said coolly. You tell me where I can find Dollar and I’ll let you keep what few fingers you have left.

The man narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to Nick. You think you scare me? I’ve lived through hell.

Nick pulled out his dagger and swiped it across the counter, scattering the broken glass all over the floor.

The barman took a step back and looked straight ahead, his pupils dilated. At the same time a faint wave of cold air ruffled the back of Nick’s head.

Before anyone had a chance to react, Nick threw himself over Lucy, toppling her and her barstool to the floor. In the same motion, he flicked his dagger towards the front door. Over Lucy’s groans, he discerned a silent ‘pwft’. His eyes traveled reflexively to the barman, who now had a perfectly round hole right between his eyes. The man crumpled, catching a tray of freshly washed pint glasses on his way down. The