Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cold Blooded

  (The Nick McCarty Series)

  Book III:

  Sins and Sanctions

  by

  Bernard Lee DeLeo

  *****

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Bernard Lee DeLeo and RJ Parker Publishing Inc

  ISBN-13: 978-1503097070

  ISBN-10: 1503097072

  Cold Blooded: The Nick McCarty Series Book III: Sins and Sanctions

  Copyright © 2014 by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  *****

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. Please respect the author’s work. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real life persons, events, or places is purely coincidental.

  *****

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  In memory of my wife Joyce Lynn Whitney DeLeo

  Joyce was the finest woman and best friend I ever met. She was the greatest partner a man could ask for. Whenever trouble came, I had only to look at my side. There would be Joyce, fists up and game face on. She had no equal in my eyes. I wrote this to her for our 37th wedding anniversary. Joyce told me it was her favorite one I ever did for her.

  We don’t talk about love, because we own love.

  We don’t turn from trouble, because we own trouble

  We don’t need life examples - we are life examples.

  We don’t measure our success – we simply succeed.

  We don’t seek others’ blessings – we count our own.

  We don’t demand respect from others – we earn it.

  We don’t cry when denied respect – we settle for fear.

  When one of us needs help, we know who’ll be at our side.

  When we’re in danger, we know who’ll bring the shotgun.

  When danger ends, we know who’ll be at our side burying it.

  We don’t waste precious moments trying to turn back time.

  We spend what time we have left making precious moments.

  Our kids don’t look for backup, because we are backup.

  Our friends wonder how we’re still together – we don’t.

  Rest in peace, baby. You were the best.

  Chapter One

  El Muerto Returns

  Sweat ran salty and stinging into the young woman’s eyes. The dripping byproduct not a consequence of effort, but one based in fear. Her head swiveled anxiously, checking for movement behind her. Each time she jogged with her attention on the sidewalk ahead, rasping footsteps sounded on the cement behind her. The hair on her neck tingled upwards with the chilling sixth sense of danger human beings experience when in spite of all visual proof to the contrary, they know their lives hang in the balance.

  Sharon Tennington jogged on the streets around the same set of blocks, measuring four miles from her house round trip, each night between eleven and twelve since working the late shift at the Alltown Roxbury convenience store. Her jogging route took her along Franklin Park, where with winter still in full swing, the near freezing temperatures, snow covered ground, and later hours kept foot traffic sparse or nonexistent. Nobody bothered her during those hours at all, especially during the week; but lately, Sharon noticed anxiety creeping into her nightly run – noises sounding haphazardly, without visual sighting, or precise direction. Habit ruled the the young woman’s life. She enjoyed routine to the point of obsession, and loathed the insecure uneasiness change threaded into her mind. Faced with the feeling of terror in competition with the angst of a lost routine, Sharon had vowed to carry pepper spray with her. Tonight found her in deadly danger due to procrastination.

  At twenty-three, Sharon hoped to achieve her nursing degree from the College of Nursing in Boston, but paying her own way meant the grind of working the convenience store to supplement her parents’ financial support for tuition. It also meant interaction with many hundreds of people on a monthly basis, the majority of whom were like her, striving to get by. A small percentage represented the seamier and darker side of humanity. One in particular poked around in the store night after night, shopping for nothing, but watching Sharon with half lidded eyes, a lopsided grin on his face. With a lean, well-endowed figure, and long auburn hair, Sharon expected as well as appreciated the attention of men. She flirted, her outgoing personality and ready smile made her an instant hit with everyone she met. So dedicated to her life’s ambition, and independence, Sharon rarely dated unless in a group setting with her female friends from college. The flirtation she enjoyed employing with the men who frequented her place of employment had unfortunately drawn the attention of a deadly exception to the majority of harmless male customers.

  * * *

  Gavin Kroneg raped, mutilated, and murdered young women – all auburn haired, pretty victims very much like Sharon. Forty-three years old, with a tally of thirteen brutal slayings across the country behind him, the unobtrusive, quiet six footer moved from one location to another, never staying in one place for long, depending on his deadly vice. Kroneg limited himself to one victim in each area he lived in. Sharon haunted his every thought since seeing her at the convenience store. Her innocent flirtation with him as he paid for a six pack of beer unintentionally flipped his predator switch on. He hunted cautiously, picking his victims with patience. Stalking her home and habits became Kroneg’s pastime after leaving his work as a carpet cleaning assistant. To his fellow workers and neighbors, Kroneg interacted with polite respect, never giving offense or shirking his duties.

  Tonight, Kroneg smiled as he shadowed his intended victim, taking pleasure in Sharon’s fearful glances. The next block bordered the park Kroneg planned to take her down near. He sped up, sticking closely to the houses along the way, racing ahead each moment she looked away until he passed her on the opposite side of Seaver Street bordering Franklin Park. Although in excellent shape, Kroneg sweated in the early March cold air. Snow still blanketed the ground in spots, making sudden acceleration a dangerous chore, but the stalker decided days ago the exact spot he would take Sharon down at.

  After achieving nearly a hundred yard lead, Koneg slipped across darkened Seaver Street into the line of trees. Taking deep breaths, he waited in excited readiness to overwhelm his target, all thought of discomfort replaced by fevered anticipation. Each step in his deadly game flashed through his mind, now only seconds away from fruition. This hunt felt as near perfection as he could make it. Kroneg would move on immediately, after giving two weeks’ notice to avoid suspicious discussion. His sudden disappearance in conjunction with the grisly headlines he was sure to engender might cause complications which would prove disastrous. He envisioned two weeks of heightened delirium, rejoicing in the bloody speculation the papers always reveled in, while commiserating with his neighbors and fellow employees about the tragic death of a young woman.

&
nbsp; * * *

  Sharon relaxed finally, slowing her pace. The feeling of something or someone behind her diminished with every step. Her feelings of dread threatening to turn the night jog into a terror race left her, leaving Sharon wondering at what she figured was silly paranoia. Beautiful Franklin Park lay ahead on her right, where the night stillness coupled with winter snow to suppress any anxiety from imagined danger.

  Horror hit with cold efficiency, as a flurry of movement on her right preceded a blow to her head. Sharon gasped at the movement before Kroneg’s fist struck her behind the right eye socket. Arms flailed in panic, but could not keep the woman on her feet. Wavering between murky darkness and unconsciousness, hands gripped her parka, dragging Sharon through the snow into the park’s tree lined parameter. In the ensuing moments, she blearily tried to claw at her attacker as he dragged her into the shadow of a structure within the park. Koneg’s gloved left hand jammed her head down onto a hard surface near the structure by the throat, pinching off a terrified scream welling up within her. Kroneg’s face pressed close to hers, while he straddled Sharon with a grunt of satisfaction bordering on sexual excitement.

  “Hello pretty,” Kroneg whispered, heat from Sharon’s fear driving him insane with desire. Her wide eyed choking anguish worked like an aphrodisiac as his stalking hunt came to an end with prey in hand. “You and I are going to have such fun, my sweet. Just a few cuts to get you in the mood, baby.” His right hand flicked the switchblade out to its deadly length, provoking a stifled agonized whine from his victim. As he slowly moved the blade toward Sharon’s face, everything went suddenly very wrong.

  * * *

  “Shit! We’re late, Gus,” Nick whispered urgently, sighting on the Franklin Park tree lined perimeter he had watched for days, gauging his enemy with professional expertise. His night vision range finders located Kroneg in the spot where the killer practiced his approach each evening. Sharon Tennington’s increased speed during her run made Nick’s calculations crucial seconds off schedule.

  Nick McCarty wrote bestselling novels about an international assassin named Diego. Even now, he and his partner, Gus Nason, stayed in Boston for a combination of a family reunion with Gus’s brother, Gus’s wedding, and book signings in the area. They traveled his publishing agent’s book tour route to a planned family and friend gathering in Boston. Gus’s brother and wife were due to meet Nick’s family: wife Rachel, stepdaughter Jean, and Deke the dog, along with Gus’s fiancé Tina. It would be an uneasy reunion, because at one point Gus had secured Nick’s help to save his brother Phil, along with Phil’s friend Damian, and Damian’s sister, Julie. Nick had blasted his way into a Jamaican Posse hideout, freeing Phil, Damian, and Julie, killing without mercy. The event forever stained any relationship Gus tried to smooth into place between Nick and Phil, who married Julie after their ordeal. Their daughter Katie, only three years of age would see her Uncle Gus for only the second time. Gus reminded his brother of their debt to Nick, and the fact Nick was the reason Phil and his wife Julie still breathed.

  Nick is an assassin, and in Gus’s estimation, one of the most dangerous men on earth. A former Delta Force unit member, Nick killed people with startling efficiency and no conscience. During negotiations and breakup with a shadowy National Security Agency offshoot, Nick gained a family, but ended the NSA’s black ops chapter while saving Rachel, Jean, and Deke the dog. After flirting with retirement, Gus talked Nick into returning to his deadly occupation, thinking his partner would be so out of his element simply writing, the inaction might drive Nick quietly nuts. In succeeding, Gus had unintentionally activated his partner’s quirky side with a comic book reference, while Nick threaded his murderous way into CIA folds as a contract killer under new department chief Paul Gilbrech.

  Gus listened to Nick’s muffled movements, picturing him moving across the park to the interception point. “Do you still have your El Muerto mask on? Take it off, shoot that bastard in the head, and I’ll pick you up along Seaver Street.”

  Gus heard Nick mutter something. “What?”

  Nick sighed loud enough for Gus to hear. “I didn’t bring my gun. El Muerto kills sometimes with a knife, and many times with his bare hands.”

  “Are you stupid? What the hell’s gotten into you, Nick?”

  “Quiet… Payaso, my disrespectful sidekick. El Muerto is thinking.”

  “I told you to quit calling me Payaso!” Gus bristled at Nick’s new nickname for Gus in retaliation for Gus labeling him El Muerto (The Dead One) in Spanish. Payaso meant clown.

  “Can’t talk now, my loyal sidekick. El Muerto must save the damsel in distress,” Nick whispered, watching Kroneg drag Tennington under a park structure eave. So intent on his terror inducing ploy with the knife, Kroneg neglected his own backside.

  * * *

  Sharon tried to scream, but her attacker’s hand clamped off her throat, pinning her head in an unbreakable grip. As the knife descended toward her face slowly, an arm clamped around her attacker’s neck, and a gloved hand gripped his knife wielding wrist. She heard the bones in the man’s wrist crack. His anguished pain filled scream was choked off by the arm around his throat jerking him away from Sharon, and into the air. Sharon’s vision cleared as she gasped and choked air into her tortured lungs. Someone with a black mask over his head with eyeholes cut into it, and tied in a knot at the back of his head yanked her attacker into the air while grinding his wrist bones without letup. He looked a little like the hero in a movie she saw as a kid: Zorro. Sharon scooted into the structure wall while watching the deadly struggle. It ended a minute later as Kroneg’s body hung in limp submission to death, his eyes bulging in grim illustration of eternity. The masked man holding Kroneg held him for nearly a minute longer before allowing the body to drop from his arm’s grip.

  The deadly Reaper made placating gestures at Sharon. She had unconsciously skittered a few feet further away. “Your torture ended seconds ago, young woman. Are you in need of medical attention?”

  “I…I’m fine.” Sharon broke down into tears for a moment – rasping, aching renderings of shock and relief. Her savior remained silent, allowing her to regain control without moving. After many moments, Sharon used the structure wall to regain her feet, a wobbly sensation passing through her as she faced the masked man with uneasy grace. “Who are you?”

  “I… I am El Muerto!” The masked man struck a pose in crouched form with his right foot extended, and his right arm over the lower part of his face as if he had a cape.

  Sharon giggled, but made conciliatory gestures at her savior. “I know you! You saved those two women in the news! Oh my God… you’re real… a real super hero! Thank you, El Muerto!”

  * * *

  Gus watched the video cam pickup with his face twisted in anxiety as the low light cam portrayed Nick’s hurried flight to prevent Tennington’s death. He grinned as Nick clamped Kroneg around the neck while pulverizing his right wrist. Gus let his breath out slowly as Kroneg’s scream ended in a throat choking arm vice. The aftermath entertained Gus to no end as he watched Nick play comic book super hero, his deadly assassin friend the only one he could ever imagine pulling something like this off. Tennington’s giggle at Nick’s posing prompted a guttural laugh from Gus, and a sigh as she continued on into hero worship.

  “Get out of there, Muerto.”

  “Shut up, Payaso,” Nick cautioned in a whisper. “El Muerto must make a statement here.”

  “What did you say, El Muerto?” Sharon stepped toward Nick.

  Nick made a grandiose gesture of dismissal. “It is nothing young lady. El Muerto must flee the scene of this monster’s death. I have here proof positive this man is a serial killer, who I have been hunting. He will never again terrorize, mutilate and murder. I apologize for arriving only a moment before he subjected you to further horrors.”

  Nick handed the woman a small memory disc. “Please call 911, and tell them what has happened. Give them the flash drive to prove what you will tell them is true
. Thank you for your cooperation. El Muerto must leave… now!”

  “Wait… El Muerto!” Sharon called out. “None of my… you know… friends will ever believe this. Please, can we take a picture with my phone?”

  Nick hesitated with Gus laughing in his ear. “Very well, my lady. If it will add to your credibility, I will grant you a picture with me.”

  “What!” Gus nearly screamed in Nick’s ear. “Are you out of your ever lovin’ mind? You can’t photobomb selfies on a whim like this! Get a grip, Nick!”

  “Shut the hell up, Payaso.”

  “What did you say, El Muerto?”

  “I merely had to remind my trusted sidekick, Payaso, that you are to be trusted with the secret of El Muerto.”

  “Of course… I would never betray you, El Muerto,” Sharon stated. “Hey… doesn’t Payaso mean clown?”

  “Yes, but he is a deadly clown, a very dangerous clown – one to strike fear in the hearts of those criminals who do not know him,” Nick explained with Gus making gagging noises in his ear. “Let us perform this selfie with El Muerto while we stand next to the body of this hideous killer of women!”

  Sharon lifted her iPhone while huddling close to Nick. He covered the lower part of his face in a caped superhero pose with a right forearm, while draping his left arm around Sharon’s shoulders. Nick then crouched in his all black leather outfit, again with his forearm pose, one foot on the throat of Kroneg’s neck, angling so as to hide his actual height.

  “Call 911,” Nick/El Muerto urged Sharon. “Although El Muerto must leave, I will be watching from the shadows. You will be safe until the police arrive. El Muerto… away!”

  “I love you, El Muerto!” Sharon called out as Nick fled into the park.

  * * *

  On the way to their hotel, Gus remained silent while Nick laughed his way through the video on Gus’s iPad. “You know, Payaso… El Muerto doesn’t think he has ever enjoyed killing someone as much as he did Kroneg. A few minutes earlier, and El Muerto could have prevented him from taking the girl. Capturing that scumbag alive for an hour in the park would have pleased El Muerto’s hunger for justice.”