Stolen Vengeance: Slye Temp book 6 Read Free

“Shit, take your time Tanner. I think he’s dead.”
    “Roger that.”
    “I’m going back inside to see if my contact is dead, too.” Dingo hurried back to the room Kung Fu had come out of, but every breath hurt like a bitch.
    Climbing out that window and down the side of this building to get out of here won’t be no picnic either.
    When he reached the room, his stomach flipped over.
    It was Bergman.
    The snitch’s lungs were playing a familiar tune, the death rattle. Kung Fu had gutted Bergman with a quick X across his soft abdomen. Bergman was trying to whisper something.
    Dingo dropped onto his knees to get close enough to hear, because they both knew calling an ambulance wouldn’t save him. “Why’d you come back, Berg?”
    “Had ... no ... choice.”
    Before Dingo could press him on that, Bergman said, “Three targets.” Wheeze, rattle. “Part of … big plan.”
    “Where are the targets?” Dingo asked.
    “L ...” Gurgle. “They ...”  Bergman’s eyes rolled up.
    Dingo shook him. “Stay with me. L what? Who are the targets? They what?”
    Bergman gasped and wheezed, sounding wet. His eyes focused for a moment. “Initials. F.E.P. O... N. C.” More wheezing. “P.G ... C. He ... found me. Want you.”
    Dingo’s blood ran cold at the only he that could have sent Bergman back here, but that wasn’t possible. “ Who are you talking about?”
    “Satan’s ... Garden ... C–”
    Bergman gave one last heave and air slipped past his lips in a whistle, then he stopped moving.
    Dingo stared at him in disbelief.
    Bergman had to be wrong.
    Dingo had sacrificed eleven months of his life and most of his soul to destroy Satan’s Garden Club. He’d killed Santori Garcia, the head of that murdering group, and made sure he was dead. No rising from the grave for that one to threaten Valene again.
    She was safe. He refused to believe otherwise.
    This intel had nothing to do with her.
    Someone had to be using the Satan’s Garden Club name again, because the only person still left from Garcia’s crew was a nasty buggar who’d been fourth in command. That one had another eighty years in prison, plus he’d never been high enough in the ranks to have been fully in Garcia’s confidence—not enough to know about Valene.
    Tanner’s voice cut into Dingo’s thoughts. “You better get down here.”
    “Why? What’s up?” Dingo finished searching for any information on Bergman. Wasted effort.
    “Your guy’s gone.”
    “What?” Dingo stood up.
    “I did find something odd.”
    “Hold on. I’m coming to the window.”  Dingo found his Sig where it had landed in a pile of debris, then limped his way back down the hall. When he got there, the damn body had disappeared. “What you got, mate?”
    Tanner had a golf bag slung over his shoulder–a way to stash the rifle so it wouldn’t attract attention–and his monocular flipped up on his forehead since the streetlight at the corner of the building gave enough light to see the weed-infested pavement. He looked up at where Dingo stood at the open window and said, “I doubt this shiny gold coin has been here very long.”
    Dingo cursed. “Can you read anything on it?”
    Tanner held the coin to catch the light. “S. G. C.”
    Satan’s Garden Club’s calling card. The impossible had happened. Garcia’s people were back in business.
    Whoever had found Bergman would come for Dingo next.
    Or Valene.
     

 
    Chapter 2
     
    Valene argued, “ Everyone is dying and has been since the day they were born, but that doesn’t mean they gave up by first grade.” She gripped the leather-covered arm of the chair where she sat in Dr. Bowen’s Los Angeles office.
    She needed to hold on to something to weather this new storm. Without her father to stand by her, this chair was as much of an anchor as anything else in her life right now.
    Dr. Bowen’s gray eyes were underlined with the soft wrinkles of a man who had recently seen fifty. His gaze implored her to join