Occult Assassin: The Complete Series (Books 1-6) Page 2

  As he tugged down the scarf covering his face, heavy wool scratching his newly grown beard, Talon scoped the dark rocks that loomed ahead. Death was waiting in those outcroppings. How many good soldiers had the enemy already claimed?

  Talon vowed not to be one of them as he scanned the rocks for the human-shaped shadows raining lead on his team. Responding to a flicker of movement, he squeezed the trigger of his weapon and a Taliban fighter collapsed in a string-cut sprawl. Another quick burst cut down the man with the grenade launcher hiding near him.

  Two down.

  Lead ravaged the hillside as Talon’s radio crackled and the voice of Sergeant Erik Garrison, his unit’s NCOIC, filled his ear. “Charlie Four, this is Charlie Six, air support is a no-go…”

  Erik’s voice was drowned out as a mortar ignited ten feet from Talon’s position. Heat singed the air and shrapnel showered down on him.

  He needed to move.

  With that in mind Talon sprang to his feet, his bullets carving a path for him as he sprinted toward the next boulder. He distinctly made out screams. A moment later, the enemy fire stopped.

  Face pressed against the cold rock, he listened. The pass had grown silent and for one illogical second he was convinced he was the only man left standing. Couldn’t be. He stole a look back but there was no sign of the team.

  No sign of Michelle.

  Fear rippled up his spine. Immediately he crushed the emotion before it could infect his brain and paralyze him. There was a perfectly logical reason for the quiet. The others were getting their bearings behind some rock, the same way he was.

  Eyes alert, body coiled, Talon continued his advance up the hillside. He was heading for a string of boulders that lined the mountain like jagged stone teeth. To his surprise, the shelling didn’t resume. Could he have hit them all?

  Staying low to offer his enemies less of a target, Talon circled the boulders and froze. Splayed out before him were the bloodied bodies of the combatants he’d taken out. But something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  These faces didn’t belong to the enemy. These were Americans.

  His team members.

  What have I done?

  The arm of one of the dead soldiers shot out at him and clawed his leg, mouth gurgling blood.

  A scream exploded from Talon’s lips…

  ***

  Talon’s eyes snapped open and he was hit with a flash of blinding light. Blinking away his confusion, he realized that the passenger sitting next to him had leaned over and raised the shade of the airplane window. Judging from the flashing signs and the airport jumping into view outside the window, the plane had begun its descent to San Francisco International Airport.

  Clearly, the kid didn’t want to miss one second of the spectacle. “Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly.

  “No worries,” Talon said. He was relieved to be awake after the nightmare. Swallowing hard, Talon wiped the beads of perspiration from his face and wished the flight attendants were still serving drinks.

  The image of his lifeless team members still tormented him during the plane’s descent. The ambush they’d walked into two years ago had unfolded a bit differently in real life. There were no casualties from friendly fire, but the encounter had cost three good men their lives.

  Ironically enough, the attack had also brought him and Michelle closer, paving the way for their eventual romance. She was the reason why he’d taken a two-week vacation from his military duties. He was here to pay her a surprise visit in her hometown of San Francisco.

  Heavy landing gears crunched against the runway and their vibrations rattled the plane, jolting Talon from his thoughts.

  As the jet taxied to its terminal, he turned on his phone. Five text messages were waiting for him. Michelle didn’t know about his visit but his old superior officer, Erik Garrison, did.

  Erik lived in Oakland now; he was discharged a few months after the ambush. It was Erik who’d made the call to trust the guerilla leader and lead his men into a kill-zone. He blamed himself for the three casualties involved and remained unwilling to forgive himself. There was no way Erik could’ve known what was coming, but it didn’t change the man’s feelings. He began a downward spiral fueled by alcohol and drugs. Since leaving the military he’d been living on a meager disability pension and thus far had failed to put the broken pieces of his life back together.

  Talon knew his friend was in a dark place and worried about him. It was hard enough to adjust to civilian life without being haunted by guilt. Suicide rates were at an all-time high among veterans, and Erik had indicated on numerous occasions that he was thinking of eating a bullet. Talon planned to drop by Erik’s place in the coming days. Hopefully, seeing a familiar face might help a little.

  With that plan in mind, he snatched his duffle bag from the overhead compartment. Next to him, an elderly lady struggled with her bag. “Let me help you with that,” Talon said.

  His strong hand closed around the handle of the monstrous suitcase. Holy shit, how did Granny manage to drag this beast onto the plane? “Here you go, ma’am.”

  The lady’s eyes lit up with gratitude and she smiled at her rescuer. “Thank you so much, so kind of you.”

  Talon offered to carry the suitcase until they located a cart in the terminal. The airport was abuzz with activity. A number of flights had landed within minutes of each other and tired, frustrated travelers oozed stress as they fought through rings of people to claim their luggage.

  “Is someone picking you up, or will you be hailing a cab?” Talon asked his new friend, who had introduced herself as Mrs. Cane.

  “My daughter is supposed to be waiting for me—”

  “Mom!”

  An attractive blonde in her mid-twenties rapidly approached Mrs. Cane. The elderly lady winked at Talon in a conspiratorial manner.

  Someone is trying to play matchmaker, Talon thought.

  There was immediate interest in the daughter’s eyes. Talon’s gray shirt and faded brown leather jacket did little to hide his lean but muscular frame. As a member of 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, Sgt. Talon was in peak physical condition. His swarthy good looks and easy smile didn’t hurt either. Most people wouldn’t have taken him for an elite soldier, with his longish hair and beard, but special-ops soldiers followed more relaxed grooming standards than rank-and-file military personnel.

  While Mrs. Cane’s daughter was quite lovely, Talon only had eyes for the reporter who’d stolen his heart two year earlier, in Afghanistan. “I see you found your ride. You two have a great day now.”

  Waving goodbye, he merged with the crowd of travelers surging toward the nearest exit. His years of military service had taught Talon to be a minimalist and restrict his luggage to one carry-on bag, and he was able to bypass the crowds.

  He stepped through the automatic doors and reached the adjoining sidewalk. The air outside was hot and thick but felt like a fresh breeze compared to Afghanistan’s arid, blistering desert temperatures.

  It’s good to be back in the States.

  Talon scanned the cabstand and decided to skip the long line. The train station was only a short walk from the United Airlines terminal.

  Soon he was seated on the BART as it rattled toward San Francisco. The airport receded in the distance and residential sprawl took over.

  Once again his mind turned to Michelle. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those mysterious brown eyes flecked with green. That lush auburn hair and perfect olive complexion. The delicate line of her neck.

  There was no way around it — Talon had fallen hard for the journalist. Despite his initial misgiving about her presence with the unit, he’d quickly realized that Michelle wasn’t what he expected.

  With her looks and brains she could’ve pursued any number of glamorous careers, but she chose to risk her life in the mountains with him and his men. When he brought this up to her, Michelle merely smiled wearily and said that certain stories needed to be told, and certain voices needed to
be heard.

  Michelle remained embedded for six more days after the ambush and she proved to have a transformative effect on Talon. He’d mastered the art of disconnecting from the violence and misery that he encountered on a daily basis. Michelle, on the other hand, allowed herself to emotionally respond to the horrors unfolding around her. Her ability to show vulnerability had pierced Talon’s iron guard and reminded him that there was a human heart beating under his own armor.

  It was okay to feel.

  To give a damn.

  In fact, it was necessary, if he didn’t want to end up in the psych ward of some V.A. hospital down the line. He didn’t need to sacrifice his humanity and become a machine to be an effective warrior.

  While they bonded during her time with the unit, most likely their relationship wouldn’t have gone further. But fate seemed to smile upon them. Their paths crossed again in Dubai, when Talon was catching up on some much-needed R&R. Sparks flew and the rest was history.

  Two years later, they now saw each other as often as their demanding careers permitted.

  Talon had dated his fair share of women over the years, but the nature of his grueling work made it difficult for him to get serious with anyone. He could be activated at a moment’s notice and wind up halfway across the globe, in some warzone.

  It took a certain kind of woman to put up with the reality of his profession.

  A woman like Michelle Rossi.

  He touched the ring case in his pocket and took a deep breath. Michelle didn’t know he was coming to San Francisco for a surprise visit, let alone that he was here to propose.

  Talon wasn’t a man prone to nervousness. A decade in the military — five years in the regular Army and then another five in Special Forces — had imbued him with steely discipline and control over his emotions. Danger actually sharpened his focus. Jumping out of airplanes, crossing minefields or battling terrorists was all in a day’s work. Proposing to his girlfriend; now there was something that made him work up a nervous sweat.

  The train pulled into the city. Talon got off at the next stop and headed for the offices of the San Francisco Chronicle. He spotted a flower shop on the way and decided to pick up a bouquet for his sweetheart. No way he’d show up at his girl’s office empty-handed.

  Once inside the store, Talon concluded within seconds that the owner was Persian. Based on his age, the man was probably a refugee from the Iranian Revolution who had come to the States in the ‘70s.

  Talon addressed the man in near-perfect Farsi. “I need flowers for the love of my life. Can you help me out? I barely know the difference between a rose and a tulip.”

  The florist beamed, charmed by Talon’s ability to speak to him in his native language. In lightly accented English, he said, “My friend, I’ll make something real nice for you and your sweetheart.”

  With a magician’s skill, the Persian went to work. Talon followed the man’s quick-moving fingers as they snatched flowers from an assortment of vases. In a matter of seconds he’d produced an arrangement that looked pretty damn impressive, even to Talon’s botanically challenged brain.

  “Thanks, she’ll love these,” Talon said. He paid the Persian and continued on his way. He made another quick stop at a local grocery store and purchased a bottle of wine, a few fancy cheeses and crackers, grapes and some delicious-looking Tiramisu. The plan was to take Michelle on a romantic picnic in Dolores Park, and pop the question before he lost his nerve. He wanted it to be memorable but not overblown, romantic but not saccharine.

  A rush of anticipation fueled his stride as he walked those last few blocks toward Fifth and Mission. He still sported a grin when he stepped through the main entrance of the San Francisco Chronicle. Other businesses had moved into the newspaper’s building. Workers clad in tech-upstart chic shuttled between sparkling water dispensers and rows of Apple computers.

  The newspaper was becoming increasingly isolated in a building they had occupied since 1924. It was a reminder how the economics of news had changed since the dawn of the Internet. According to Michelle, rumors of a move made the rounds as frequently as wacky news tips about the Zodiac.

  Talon entered the front lobby of the Chronicle and winked conspiratorially at the receptionist, signaling that he didn’t want her to ruin his surprise visit. This was going to be good. The pressure of the impending proposal was gone, replaced with growing excitement.

  While crossing the bustling bullpen, he noticed the rugged, worn appearance of the cubicles, and how they formed a sharp contrast to the sleek office space he’d glimpsed on the other floor. The Chronicle wasn’t some well-funded technology enterprise but an old-media bastion struggling to stay afloat in an ever-changing media landscape.

  He homed in on Michelle’s desk. The moment he spotted her, a warm feeling filled his heart. She was scrunched in her Aeron chair, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and serious eyes riveted to her computer monitor. She was wearing a pair of headphones and talking to a woman on the computer.

  Talon’s last two months had been defined by the hardship of war. Seeing the woman he loved made the dark moments grow distant in his memory and gave him hope for the future.

  Michelle. His girl and, hopefully, soon his wife…

  If he should be so lucky.

  Sensing his approach, Michelle looked up and their eyes met. She stifled her whoop of joy and told the woman she was Skyping with to hold on for a sec. She tore off her ear-buds and rushed to Talon. Their arms and their lips quickly interlocked. All thoughts took a backseat to the intensity of their fierce embrace. His world reduced to the feel of Michelle’s soft skin, the taste of her breath, and the gentle tickle of her hair. He breathed in her intoxicating scent.

  Michelle was the one who applied the brakes to their building passion, realizing she was still at work. She took a step back and caught half the news office looking away and pretending to be busy with their jobs.

  Talon grinned sheepishly. “Maybe I should’ve given you a heads up...”

  “Maybe we just need to get out of here and find a more private place to celebrate.”

  “Sounds good. Oh, by the way, these are for you.”

  Michelle beamed when Talon handed her the Iranian’s lovely floral arrangement. “Mark, they’re beautiful! Thank you, darling.” She pressed the petals close to her cheek.

  “Let me just wrap up this call and we’ll be on our way,” Michelle said as she turned back to her workstation and donned her headphones again.

  Talon circled Michelle’s desk to gain a visual on the person she was chatting with. Anxiety marred the young woman’s attractive features, her nervous tension palpable. Talon couldn’t quite make out their conversation.

  The screen went dark and Michelle turned toward him. There was a trace of concern in her eyes, but she quickly cast it aside. “All ready. Let’s blow this joint.”

  As they headed down the stairs, Talon asked, “What was that all about?”

  “Just one of my sources.”

  “Cooking up some big new story?”

  “Always.”

  Talon waited for more but Michelle remained mum on the matter. She could be a bit secretive about her work, especially in those crucial early stages when she was still compiling research. Discretion was something else they shared in common.

  Michelle leaned closer and kissed him again and all thoughts of the Skype conversation evaporated. “Hmmm, you smell good for a guy who crawls in the dirt for a living.”

  Talon smiled and held up his grocery bag.

  “Feeling up for lunch in the park?”

  “Hmm, you make it hard for a girl to say no.”

  Hand-in-hand, they stepped out of the building, trailed by both envious and curious glances. The two of them shared something pretty special and someone would have to be blind not to pick up on it.

  Less than an hour later, they were making out in Dolores Park, their hands roaming and exploring as they lay under a tree in the grass. They had barely touched t
he crackers and cheese. Most of the wine remained in the plastic cups Talon had brought along for the occasion. Anyone passing by would have taken them for a couple of love-struck teenagers.

  “It might be time to get a room,” Michelle joked as she caught her breath.

  Talon nodded a little too fast. He couldn’t wait to ‘get a room’ but there was something else that he needed to do first. Misinterpreting his hesitation, Michelle caressed the stubble on his face. “Is everything okay, babe? If there’s something you need to talk about…”

  Michelle was all too aware of the challenges men like Talon faced. The horrors they confronted on a daily basis. He eyed her deeply and knew the moment had come to be a man. His throat felt dry as spoke. “I brought you here because a) I’m a romantic softie and b) there’s something I want to ask you.”

  He refilled Michelle’s cup with wine and suddenly his hands were shaking. Man, he was acting like some high-school kid out on a first date.

  “I know, wine in a plastic cup, ain’t I a classy guy?”

  “Probably a step up from eating the nasty parts of goats to impress village elders,” Michelle teased.

  “Don’t knock Afghani cuisine. It’ll catch on.”

  Michelle grinned as she sipped her wine.

  Talon had rehearsed his speech for days now, racking his brain for the perfect words. He nervously downed his entire cup of wine and Michelle shot him a surprised look. “You all right?”

  Talon knelt before her in the grass. “You might want to get up for this next part.”

  “Oh my God…” Realization filled her eyes and Talon knew there was no turning back now. He fumbled getting the ring box out of his pocket. Last time he’d felt this nervous was when he’d foolishly decided to take a role in a high school play. Shakespeare wasn’t his friend.

  “Michelle, two years ago I wasn’t happy when I learned some reporter was supposed to spend eight days with my unit. A week later I was a different man playing a different tune.”

  This is so cheesy. His Delta buddies would be laughing their asses off if they could hear him now. It had sounded good in his mind but spoken out loud… Screw it! He was putting it all out there. He meant every word he said and was expressing himself as best he could. He’d never claimed to be a poet.