Prey - Debt Collector 6 (A Jack Winchester Thriller) Read online

  The car peeled away at a fast rate of speed, as the two men in the back pressed down on his body to keep him out of view. Darkness crept in at the side of his eyes. Everything around him began to take on a dreamlike state. Locks clicked, men yelled and tires screeched. The car turned sharply without stopping. The man at the far end of Billy’s feet tied something around his ankles, then pulled hard. Plastic cut into his leg. The pain only intensified as the same was done to his wrists. Then a bag was placed over his head. Inside the car it smelled like a dirty ashtray. The last thing he saw before everything went completely black was crumpled beer cans on the floor.

  One of them sounded panicked. “They saw us.”

  “Shut the hell up, no one did.”

  Chapter One

  Spokane, Washington

  Two Months Later

  Jack Winchester washed the man’s blood from his hands in the motel sink. He ran a hand over the steamed up mirror and glanced at himself. He was sporting a full beard. It had been five months since his escape from the FBI offices in Florida. He was still unsure about why she had done it. In that time his face hadn’t flashed across any TV screens, neither had his mug shot appeared on the FBI’s website. Still he wasn’t taking any chances. He had grown out his facial hair and frequently wore a baseball cap and shades. He avoided all major Greyhound terminals, airports and large city centers where video surveillance would be at their strongest.

  He’d hitched a ride with truckers and when asked his name, he referred to himself as Logan. He never gave out a second name. He paid for lodgings in cash, avoided police and confrontation and for a while he’d done well, until his funds started to dwindle. That’s when he decided to take another job. Of course, his usual method of gaining clients was no longer available, at least for now. He was certain that the FBI knew about how he was managing to stay off the grid and for all he knew they might have created several false ads to lure him out of hiding. His last two jobs came from the newspaper. They were cases where he’d seen the accused walk away with nothing more than a little community service.

  Jack pulled the towel off the rack and wiped his hands before walking back into the room where a guy in his late thirties was tied to a chair. His head was down, and blood drooled from his lips.

  His most recent job came to him from simply being in the right place at the right time. He’d entered the small town of Winthrop a week ago. It was meant to be a two-day visit while he worked his way north towards the border. He’d been considering entering Canada, illegally of course, or just simply setting up life in some old shack in one of the northern mountainous regions. Anything that might allow him to stay out of sight for the next six months to a year. Then he would reevaluate where he would go.

  Jack tossed the towel onto the bed. His knuckles were red from where he’d beaten the shit out of the guy. He didn’t enjoy inflicting pain on people, neither did he get satisfaction out of seeing them beg for mercy. Not now. At one time he had, when he was young and stupid and running with Gafino.

  He sniffed, pulled up a chair, twisted it around and set it a foot in front of the man. He took a seat, pulled out his cigarettes and lit one.

  “So, let’s go over what we discussed.”

  The guy struggled to raise his head. When he did, his cheekbones had been rearranged and one side of his forehead was swollen. Jack sucked air between his teeth. “Oooh, you should get that looked at.”

  Tears and blood covered his face. Gone was the look of defiance that he’d had when Jack showed up at his apartment.

  “I promise, man, I won’t go near her again.”

  “Very good.” Jack inhaled deeply. “What else did you forget?”

  He offered Jack a sorrowful look like an injured animal wanting to be put out of its misery. “They won’t touch her either.”

  “Trust me, if I get a call from her, or if I phone and find out that you’ve… well, I will be returning and I really don’t want to be doing that. I’ve enjoyed myself in this little town. It has eh… a unique charm. But it’s not my style.”

  He looked at two of the man’s fingers that were broken.

  “Listen, can I be honest with you?”

  The guy stared back blankly and then nodded.

  “I just don’t get it. I mean, you look like a bright guy. Sure, you’re from some backwoods town that no one gives a fuck about but you look as though you could have made something of your life. Think of me like….” Jack rubbed his chin, “your career counselor. Yeah. Pimping out women. Not a good idea. That’s a bad career move. There are so many avenues you could go down that could make you money. Buy used cars, do them up and resell them. Go to auctions, grab a deal and become a salesman. Hell, work at McDonald’s if you must. But pimping. It doesn’t look good on you. Understood?”

  The guy nodded.

  “Now, is there someone who can pick you up?”

  “What?”

  “Well, I mean I’m not going to let you out of that chair cause you’ll probably take off running, and I’m not going to leave you here to rot. So, is there anyone I can call?”

  The guy seemed taken aback by Jack’s unusual request.

  “My brother.”

  “Your phone?”

  He motioned to his pocket. Jack got up and fished around for it, pulled it out and then brought up his contact details. Before calling, he put a rag in the young man’s mouth so he couldn’t alert his brother to what was going on or give him a reason to call the cops. Jack needed at least a good hour to get clear of the place.

  Jack raised a finger. “Oh, I nearly forgot. One second,” he called a different number. “Yes. It’s all done.” He paused to hear her reply. He got up and walked into the bathroom. “No, he cooperated.”

  After returning, Jack clenched the phone in his hand. “You’re lucky. She wanted to cut your balls off, or have me do it but I said you had cooperated nicely and I decided to cut you a break. Because, deep down, Earl, I know you really don’t like beating on women. I don’t know, maybe your mother dropped you on your head as a child, or you frazzled your brain snorting all that meth but I’m a firm believer that a person can change.”

  With that said, Jack phoned through to Earl’s brother.

  “Darryl. Ah, perfect. I was really hoping that I didn’t have to make your brother suffer any more than he has.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “You know the motel on US 202?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, come and collect your brother. He’s a little banged up but nothing that a good bath and a healthy shot of meth couldn’t fix. Though I would recommend cutting back on the meth, I think it’s done a fair bit of damage to his brain.”

  “What the fuck is this about? Who are you?”

  “Tick, tock, Darryl.”

  Jack hung up and tossed the phone on the bed. “Well, that’s that.” He got up and fished through Earl’s other pocket for his wallet. When he pulled it out, he looked inside and found only two bucks.

  “Two bucks? That’s all you’ve got for me? C’mon, Earl, I would have thought a man of your caliber would have been carrying around a nice wad of cash.”

  Earl craned his neck and got this look in his eye.

  “Ah, smart thinking, Earl, you didn’t want to get robbed. Well, I guess we can’t be picky.”

  Jack took the two bucks and dropped the wallet on the floor. He took another hit on his cigarette and went over to the door. “Now remember what we discussed. You have a good day now.”

  He could hear Earl mumbling something behind the rag as he closed the door behind him. No doubt, he was cursing. Outside was the black Mustang he’d arrived in. It belonged to Earl, at least that’s what he said. Jack went over to the vehicle with the lighter fluid he’d purchased earlier that day. He popped the door open and started the vehicle. He brought the windows down and then leaned in and doused the seats. Once he got to the end of his cigarette he flicked it through one of the open windows and walked away. Behind him, th
ere was a sudden burst of flames as the whole car was engulfed in fire.

  Jack slipped away into the darkness of the night. This was one job he didn’t ask for payment. Helping the young girl was payment enough.

  He slammed the door shut on the truck and banged the side.

  “Thanks again.”

  “No problem,” the trucker hollered before the truck veered south on Route 12.

  Four hours had passed and Jack was now in the small town of Waitsburg in the southern part of Washington. The sign as they were coming into it said it had a population of twelve hundred people. He took his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. The temperature was hovering somewhere in the low eighties. He was hot, thirsty and in desperate need of a bath. Across the street was a place called the Whiskey Canyon Sports Bar & Grill. He paused at the edge of the sidewalk before slowly making his way across the dark street. A bright yellow and red neon sign flickered above the building. A few motorbikes were parked outside along with one truck. Besides the music seeping out of the bar, and an old-timer outside having a cigarette, the street was dead. He caught the eye of the guy as he went in. He looked at Jack for a little longer than he felt comfortable but he was starting to get used to that in small towns. Most locals could recognize a stranger. Perhaps it was the deer in the headlights look. Jack gave a nod and headed inside. The smell of beer and chicken wings attacked his nostrils. For the past few hours he had been sleeping inside the truck and initially when he slipped out into the warm summer air, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. But now, he was beginning to perk up.

  One of the booths was taken, the rest of the tables were empty. A couple sat at the bar and two biker guys were playing a game of pool. The bar was tucked into a corner of the room. Jack pulled out a stool and took a load off. He sighed feeling his muscles ache.

  “Get you a drink?”

  He wiped at the corner of his eye. “Yeah, thanks. Just a light beer.”

  The woman behind the counter went about pouring a glass. The couple glanced his way briefly before continuing their conversation.

  “You know of some good lodgings around here?”

  She eyed him as he slipped her a few bills. “There are two guest houses on Main Street.”

  He took a sip of his beer and glanced up at the TV. It was playing the news but he couldn’t hear it over the thump of the music. He looked at the menu and then ordered a bowl of fries. Though he was trying to keep an eye on his weight, he liked to indulge every now and again.

  “Where you from?”

  Jack looked off to his left. He hadn’t seen the figure sitting in the shadows at the far end of the bar. It was a female, she picked up her drink and came around to where he was sitting and sat beside him.

  “So?” she asked.

  “Here, there, everywhere.”

  “Ah, one of those types.”

  “Types?” he replied.

  “My old man used to be a trucker, at least until his accident. God rest his soul. Twenty-two years he drove that beast. We were lucky to see him for more than ten days out of the year.”

  He nodded. “Is that right?”

  She was a good-looking woman, dark-haired, bright red lipstick and looked as though she was in her early forties. He noticed there was no ring on her finger.

  “And you?” he asked.

  “I run this place. Kind of rare to see a new face around these parts. I tell people if you blink when driving through our town, you’ll miss it.”

  “Ain’t that right.”

  “So where you hauling your load?”

  “I’m not a trucker.”

  “Oh,” she looked him up and down. “Could have taken you for one. You have the same tired look in your eyes.” She sniffed. “And you have that scent.”

  “What scent?”

  “You smell of cigarettes and coffee.”

  The cab certainly reeked of stale coffee and the driver chain-smoked. For a moment Jack nearly forgot that bars nowadays didn’t allow smoking. At one time, no one would have noticed but now you could smell a smoker from ten yards away.

  Jack looked back up at the TV.

  “Hey, Jeanine, you want to crank the TV up and turn that crap down?”

  Jeanine looked as if she was in her early twenties. A lot of breast up front, and more than enough leg to keep the locals happy. It was rare to see an ugly barmaid no matter what town he was in. Owners knew that the best way to keep the locals coming back was a pretty face. Jeanine bent at the waist, turned a dial down and then used a clicker on the bar to turn the TV volume up a few notches. The news was playing and a reporter was interviewing a mother and father who had a missing child.

  “God, that’s awful. Crazy to think that no kid is safe. It’s the reason I never had kids and never will. You just can’t let them out of your sight without some pervert trying something.” She sighed. “You got kids?”

  “One. A daughter.”

  “Oh nice, how old?”

  “Eight going on nine.”

  “You must miss her.”

  He looked at her.

  “I mean, you’re not a trucker and no offense but there are only two types of people that stop in our town. People who are lost and people who are running away. Which one are you?”

  “Both.”

  Jack tossed back his beer.

  “I’m Blair by the way.” She extended her hand. Jack looked at it and noticed her well-manicured nails. He took it. Her hand was soft as though she hadn’t done a hard day’s work in her life.

  “Jack.” He said it before realizing he should have said Logan. That was going to take some getting used to. He wasn’t one for using a different name. It felt awkward and forced.

  She smiled. “Well, Jack, let me get you another drink. On the house.”

  As she went around to pour him one, he turned his attention back to the news channel. That’s when he heard them mention a reward of fifty thousand dollars for information leading to the return of their twelve-year-old son. He could use the money. He fished into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of notes. He was down to less than eight thousand bucks. It was more than enough to pay for lodging and food for several months but he would eventually need more. The last few jobs he’d taken on were pitiful but in some way he felt as if he was making amends for all the blood money that he had gained over the years working for the mob.

  As the night wore on, he sat chatting to Blair. It made a change to find someone with a sense of humor, a woman who made him feel as if he could let his guard down. She didn’t know him or his history. By the time the rest of the crowd in the bar had gone on their way, Blair had gone from someone having a friendly chat to becoming very flirtatious.

  After four or five beers, and a few shots, the last thing he remembered was fumbling with her bra strap.

  Chapter Two

  FBI Field Office, Florida

  The panel on the review board sat like judges before Special Agent Isabel Baker. It had taken the better part of two months to investigate the escape of Jack Winchester, meanwhile she had noticed that his file was no longer in the system, along with his mug shot in their database. It was as if they had wiped him from the face of the earth, and yet here she was, finally having to give account for the report she had submitted days after his escape.

  Erica Wright sat at the head of the desk flanked by four other FBI officials, one of whom was her boss Simon Thorpe. Erica flipped over the last page in the file before glancing up.

  “It is unquestionably either the biggest mistake that I have seen in my career or I’m reading an incomplete report. Agent Baker, there appears to be evidence to support that you may have played a bigger role in the escape of Jack Winchester. The events you have laid out here seem too coincidental. Frankly I find it ludicrous and insulting that you would think that we would buy into this obvious attempt to pull the wool over our eyes.”

  The rest of her superiors at the table looked at her as if they were human lie detectors. One thing
Isabel knew was that despite all the training that they had available to them, they knew as well as she did that attempting to see if she was lying through her body movement was pointless. She was a student who already had the answers to the test. She noticed Simon shift in his seat, a look of amusement, or perhaps curiosity about how she would talk her way out of this, spread across his face.

  “What is it that you find ludicrous?”

  “Well… for starters, the idea that we are to believe that the recording equipment just so happened to stop before you went in and got this information out of Jack Winchester. Or how he managed to get out of handcuffs, escape through a locked door and walk out of a busy FBI office without one person seeing him? All the while no surveillance camera spotted him.”

  “What can I say, the man’s a ghost.”

  Wright stared at her with a look of disdain.

  Isabel continued. “Do you really think that I would have gone to all the trouble of tracking down Jack Winchester, being shot at, almost killed and then having to endure untold discomfort and danger traipsing through the Amazon jungle, only to catch him, bring him in and then let him go? Excuse me for being blunt, but anyone who believes that to be true is out of their mind.”

  “Then how do you explain his vanishing act?”

  “It’s all there in the report. I detailed everything.”

  She glanced down. “I’ve read it. It makes no sense.”

  “What can I say?”

  “You can tell us the truth.”

  Isabel chuckled ever so slightly, not thinking they would notice but they did. All of them were stone-faced except for Thorpe. He was lapping this up like it was the first episode of his favorite TV show.