Fire Team by Logan Ryles

Author:Logan Ryles [Ryles, Logan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: War & Military, Thriller, Action, Fiction
ISBN: 9781837562619
Publisher: Inkubator Books
Published: 2023-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

36

Kelly Davis lived in Washington’s Brightwood Park neighborhood, north of downtown, almost to the Maryland state line. The address was a townhome constructed of painted brown brick with other townhomes built directly against it, a sidewalk and lots of crepe myrtles sheltering a narrow front porch.

There wasn’t a front yard to speak of. There wasn’t a driveway. The neighborhood looked old—maybe a hundred years, but well maintained and updated by a deluge of multi-six-figure salaries and yuppie money from the West Coast.

Different city, same story. I’d seen it a thousand times.

I parked the Ford around the block and checked my cell phone for battery. The device still held half a charge.

“Dufort, you take overwatch,” I said. “Brooke and I will go in.”

Dufort snorted. “Better plan, I go in. One look, she craps her pants and spills her guts.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop flattering yourself, Dufort. You’re not that ugly.”

I tossed him the keys, and Brooke and I left the SUV. Dusting myself off and stretching, I was surprised by the sting of a sharp breeze whistling down the street. As early afternoon aged, the temperature was dropping. Living in Florida over the past four months had spoiled me.

“How are we gonna play this?” Brooke asked.

“Directly,” I said. “I’m tired of beating around the bush.”

“She might clam up,” Brooke said.

“I’m very persuasive.”

Brooke shot me a sideways glance. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that…”

“Neither will she.”

“What if she freaks? What if she pulls a gun?”

We approached the townhome, and I scanned the yard. Three political signs flexed on metal stakes in the light breeze. Two campaign signs for local elections, and a third that displayed a punch list of progressive political talking points like tax the rich and the economy belongs to everyone.

“She doesn’t have a gun,” I said.

I ascended the steps after completing a quick check for security and finding two cameras pointed down from the corners of the porch. I didn’t see wires and figured they were powered by Wi-Fi. I made a mental note to look out for a cell phone. I didn’t want her summoning any DC cops.

I raised my fist. Brooke stopped me.

“Sharpe?”

“What?”

“Be cool. She’s not the enemy.”

“Don’t worry. I’m very aware who the enemy is.”

I knocked. Waited. Knocked again and pressed the bell. I wasn’t sure if it worked. They generally don’t, especially on homes this old.

After a long pause I heard soft, padding steps on hardwood beyond. Somebody leaned against the door, and the peephole darkened.

Rookie mistake.

“Just leave it on the doorstep,” a raspy voice called through the wood. “I tipped you on the app.”

“Kelly Davis?” I called.

Long pause. “Who are you?”

“My name is Mason Sharpe. I’m working an investigation into Agon Defense. I’d like to speak with you.”

It was direct—right to the point. I figured anything less might justify her pressing that electronic panic button on her phone. Summoning the cops via her Wi-Fi security system.

Davis didn’t answer. The peephole remained dark. I heard a sniffing, sniveling sound. She really was sick, it seemed.

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