Will is finally braced to bring Taylor hometo meet the folks. Unfortunately, not every member of the Brandtclan loves Taylor the way Will does.
Then again, not everyone loves the Brandts.In fact, someone has a score to settle — and too bad for any formerDSS agents who get in the way when the bullets start to fly.
Kick Start: Dangerous Ground 5
Smashwords edition, December 2013
Copyright (c) 2013 by Josh Lanyon
Cover by L.C. Chase
Cover photo licensed through Shutterstock
Edited by Keren Reed
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced ortransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,including photocopying, recording, or by any information storageand retrieval system, without written permission from Just JoshinPublishing, Inc.
ISBN: 978-1-937909-40-6
Published in the United States of America
JustJoshin Publishing, Inc.
3053 Rancho Vista Blvd.
Suite 116
Palmdale, CA 93551
www.joshlanyon.com
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance topersons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
To the ’Neathers. Love you guys.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Surveillance Report
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Surveillance Report
Chapter Nine
Surveillance Report
KICK START
Dangerous Ground 5
Josh Lanyon
Chapter One
One minute everything was fine. The next minute thejob was going south. Fast.
The limousine with Dragomirov hurtled towardthe mouth of the alley where Taylor waited. Not unprepared — Taylorwas never unprepared — but unsuspecting. Taylor would be occupiedwatching for threats to Dragomirov. It would not occur to him thatDragomirov was now a threat to him.
So Will reacted, he responded to the threatto Taylor. That’s what partners did, right? Even as Will droppeddown onto the top of the limousine, he was mentally justifying hisdecision to Taylor — justifying it because before he ever hit theroof, he knew he had made a mistake.
Problem Number One: There was nothing tohang onto. Had the car windows been rolled down…maybe. But thewindows were not rolled down, and Will began to slide. The instantthe limo braked or turned the corner, he was going to go flying —at thirty-plus miles an hour. Problem Number Two: Problem NumberOne was moot, because even if Will didn’t go flying, which hewould do any minute now, he had no way of stopping thevehicle. And Problem Number Three: If he did survive, MacAllisterwas going to kill him.
The rush of garbage-scented air blastedagainst his face, blurring his vision. The alley was nicer thansome alleys in Los Angeles, meaning there were no bums to run over.Orange and green and purple graffiti bled into a long smear ofchain link fence topped by coils of barbed wire, old brick wallsand metal roll up doors. A couple of phone poles with sagging linesflew by, interspersed with several dumpsters. The alley opening —and the busy cross street beyond — was coming up fast. With onlyseconds to spare, Will wrapped his arms around his head and rolled,launching himself at a fast-approaching blue dumpster.
He missed.
There was a sickening moment of flyingthrough thin — very thin — air, and then he crash-landed on amountain of cardboard boxes and black and white garbage bags.
It wasn’t like in the movies. Will landedhard and heavily, the bags giving way, the boxes not so much. Ithurt. It hurt a lot. But without the boxes and bags, he’d probablyhave been killed. He reflected on that for a stunned second or twowhile he listened to the screech of tires fading into the distance,the pound of approaching footsteps.
“Brandt?” Taylor splashed through apuddle and skidded to a stop. He sounded winded, though the entirealleyway was only a block long. “Will?”
Will opened his eyes as Taylor bent overhim. Taylor’s eyes were black in his white face, his jaw set. Readyfor the worst.
“Right here,” Will said.
Life came back to Taylor’s face. “Oh, youbastard. Don’t do that to me!” He expelled a long, shakenbreath, and began to check Will over with swift, anxious hands.“What the hell was that supposed to be?”
Will gave a weak laugh and raised his head.“Everything still attached?”
“Shut up. Don’t move.”
“I’m fine.” Will waved him off. “I’m fine!Oww!” Yeah, fine was possibly overstating thesituation. But he was alive and, miraculously, he seemed to be inone piece. One black and blue piece, probably. “Shit.” Painfully,he crawled out of the stinking, slimy nest of garbage. Taylor movedto help him, removing a shoebox that had gotten stuck on Will’selbow. Will climbed — and it did feel like a climb — to hisfeet.
“Jesus Christ, Brandt. You want to explainto me what you thought you were doing?” Taylor, sounding much morelike his normal ornery self, punched him in the shoulder, and Willtoppled back into the trash bags.
“Goddamn it,” Will said slowly and withfeeling.
“Sorry,” Taylor muttered, hauling him out ofthe garbage bags once more. He brushed eggshells off Will’sshoulder. “But what just happened? Explain to me. Why wouldyou act like somebody in a goddamned movie?”
Will shook his head.
“Dragomirov tears out of here like a bat outof hell. With you on the roof of his car. His asshole drivernearly runs me over —”
“We’ve been laid off.”
“What?”
“Fired. Without the severance package, I’mguessing.” Will brushed orange peelings and what looked like — andpray to God was — raspberry jelly from the front of his leatherjacket. The seat of his Levi’s felt soaked with something he hopedwasn’t caustic. Or toxic.
Taylor looked stunned. “What are you talkingabout? After ten days? What the hell happened?”
It was a fair question. Will was trying tofigure that one out himself. “Gretchen Hart is what happened.”
“Who?”
“Gretchen Hart. New Mexico. Two years ago?”Will prodded. “You remember Victor and Victoria?”
Taylor blinked. “Yeah, but…are you tellingme…? What are you telling me?”
“Gretchen Hart apparently now works forGlukhov. She walked into that meeting, recognized me, and gaveDragomirov her version of what happened in New Mexico.”
“Which was what?”
“Pretty close to the truth,” Willadmitted.
Taylor opened his mouth but couldn’t seem tofind the words. Will knew the feeling. He said wearily, “Aspredicted, Dragomirov doesn’t like feds. A lot. Even ex-feds. Sowe’re off the case. I guess he thought we were trying to set him upin some kind
