Returned Read online

  RETURNED

  CAPTAIN DARING, BOOK TWO

  BLAZE WARD

  KNOTTED ROAD PRESS

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Read More

  About the Author

  Also by Blaze Ward

  About Knotted Road Press

  CHAPTER 1

  Joie studied herself in the bedroom’s full length mirror with a much more critical eye than anybody else ever would. She was aware of that. Didn’t let it stop her.

  Thirty-six years old didn’t look half bad in gray panties and an olive-colored sports bra that almost matched the color of her skin. You had to look close to see the various scars from shrapnel or bullets over the years.

  The right eye was a dead giveaway. Cooked cybernetic replacement that the VA hadn’t been authorized to repair. Not with the way she’d been kicked out of the US Army two years ago. Revoked, Demilitarized, Retired. RDR for short. Same with the cyberear on her right side. It had sizzled as it died when Kehoe had pushed a button.

  Smoke had come out of her eye.

  She had a replacement arm now, socketed and active. Sent to her by…just go ahead and call him an alien. And not someone from across the border illegally, although Sal/Bandi was here against the law.

  Here on Earth, that was. Him and a few others. The species was called Danorak. Close enough to Human to pass, with a little makeup. Shock made their skin turn a shade of gray that was unnatural.

  Bandi had shown her how to remove the circuit in her new cyberarm that would have allowed someone else to destroy it. At least she hoped he had. They might have buried other booby traps inside that she wouldn’t find, but Bandi reacted to things differently because he wasn’t human. Had expected her to protect him and the others, in spite of her kidnapping the man—the alien—and dragging him around the city of La Plata, Argentina at gunpoint.

  Joie shook her head to clear her racing thoughts and studied the face in the mirror. The scars on the right side were hard to spot. Good plastic surgery when they’d rebuilt the rest of her guaranteed that. Long, black hair to her shoulder blades and beyond. Dark eyes from her Hispanic ancestors.

  The rest of her had Argenite bone implants everywhere. Lighter than aluminum. Stronger than steel. Set off every metal detector in the world if she tried walking through. Under her torso was a bullet-proof mesh that would stop bullets and turn knives. Thus, some of the dimples she could see here and there.

  They’d even gone ahead while they were working inside and upgraded her chest to a D-cup. At least they probably saw it as an upgrade.

  Men could be like that, and everyone important she’d dealt with in Technology Research Command had been male. TRC didn’t exist on paper. Just a small box off the Special Operations Command that sent American and allied soldiers all over the world doing secret missions to make the world a better place.

  After enough time alone to think and recover, and more than a decade as a soldier, and seeing what TRC had been like when it was chasing her as a fugitive, Joie had serious doubts on that topic.

  A rap on the door to her bedroom and the door itself opened.

  Ernesta Hernandez stepped in.

  “Joie, they’ll be here any time,” she tsked. “You should be dressed.”

  “I know,” Joie replied, moving to the pile of clothes on the bed.

  Guadalajara was almost in summer. Hot outside today. She grabbed a comfortable pair of jeans and planted her butt to pull them on while Ernesta watched.

  Joie could feel the woman’s toe tapping impatiently, though she never moved.

  Ernesta Hernandez had gray hair a little past her shoulders. Thick and rich. Medium height for a woman, so a hand or so shorter than Joie. Medium build, as compared to Joie, who had the height and muscles of a former volleyball player, though she’d given that up after West Point.

  The woman was supposedly the fourth generation in charge of an international criminal organization that smuggled things and people north and south while fighting small wars with the Mexican government, which was just as corrupt now as it had been at any point since Pancho Villa. Or maybe since the Spaniards came in the first place.

  She was also a grandma, divorced twice and living a much better life without a man around trying to have an opinion. Joie supposed that the woman would be an extremely bad influence that way, if Joie spent too much time around her.

  But Ernesta had also been an agent in her youth. That she had happened to do those things for her father and grandfather, instead of a government, was really the only distinction between the two women’s careers.

  Joie stood and pulled the jeans up, grabbing a pale-green silk blouse and slipping it on as well, pausing to revel in the feel against her skin.

  For two years, after Kehoe had blown up her life along with all the cybernetics she had installed, she’d lived with only her left arm, so dressing had been a chore. Now, her new cyberarm was tuned enough that the electronic nerves transmitted silk as well as the real ones.

  She flipped her hair up and out as she buttoned the front. Again, pain in the ass one-handed, but she’d never considered it until the day she’d had to throw away more than half of her closet, standing there broken in spirit and body. And unwilling to deal with buttons.

  For fun, she’d added a paisley vest today, in that same pale-green with lavender highlights.

  Her hair was loose, but Joie grabbed a hair tie off the dresser and wrapped everything back, doubling it under in a messy bun as Ernesta smiled and stepped to the doorway.

  Joie followed, pausing to slip her feet into dark blue ballet slipper flats.

  Ernesta watched and just rolled her eyes.

  “I cannot believe you had those made,” she said.

  “Technically, Kehoe did,” Joie grinned. “I happened to manage to keep three pair after they retired me.”

  “Steel-toed ballet slippers?” Ernesta laughed as they emerged into the hallway and started towards the front stairs.

  “Technically not, but they will stop a bulle
t or a nail,” Joie reminded her. “And protect my toes when I kick someone.”

  Argenite chainmail embedded in the ballistic cloth. They were almost as heavy as her Army-issued boots. And tougher.

  And came in dark blue, chocolate brown, and a lovely plum color. Pretty.

  She’d been an assassin and other things, but Joie had also been trained to use her beauty and femininity to get her inside places. Sometimes it was easier to talk your way in than to hit a door with plastic explosives and then lob in grenades.

  Sometimes, the latter was the wiser choice.

  Downstairs, they entered a salon decorated by someone who knew how to spend fifty thousand Euros on a space all of about two hundred square meters. Elegant sofas and chairs. Rich throw rugs over polished granite floors. Bookcases with as many trophies and knick-knacks as books. And a few lawyers and accountants that might also be trophies.

  Joie preferred the small wet bar with the refrigerator filled with all the necessary ingredients to make Italian sodas.

  She had once had the ability to drink most people under the table. After being forcibly, explosively retired, perhaps, she’d poured out every bottle she owned, rather than risk drowning in one of them on some dark, depressing night.

  A job at a coffee shop had helped, especially since Amy, her manager, had kept a one-armed cripple around to keep the place clean.

  Even at the largest coffee chain in the world, making most things pretty much required two hands. Sure, you could automate it all, but then why have baristas in the first place?

  Consuela was making drinks as Ernesta and Joie entered. Italian soda with lemon and plum and fizz.

  “One for me too, please, Consuela,” Joie added after Ernesta ordered.

  The woman nodded and smiled, hands never ceasing movement.

  The view out the front of the salon was an enormous space planted with grass and trees, framing a circular driveway made of cinders that entered via a gap in the hedges.

  Guadalajara itself was just beyond that green wall, but you might never know when the gate was closed. It opened now and a blue, four-door Jeep drove up.

  Joie snorted and settled herself on a couch, wondering how Kehoe had managed to not travel in the obligatory armored, black SUV that everyone else in the business favored.

  Which might be enough. The man wanted to hide, most of the time. Might have flown commercial and rented a car, in order to otherwise disappear from folks that might whisper his secrets.

  Ernesta brought two glasses and sat in a nearby chair after putting them on the coffee table. Today was going to be serious business, as Ernesta had all five of her primary lawyers and accountants strewn about the room like art installations in nice suits.

  They all had names, but Joie preferred to focus on them as a group. The Sharks. That was a good enough name. And description. Less risk of accidentally mentioning anybody’s name to an outsider later. Another outsider. She didn’t belong here, though Ernesta would argue. The woman had adopted her, more or less, for reasons Joie still didn’t understand.

  There were also two bodyguards who weren’t half bad at their jobs, and Joie had been trained by experts in the Secret Service.

  Plus Consuela, making drinks. Except that the woman had pulled out a charcuterie board now. Ernesta playing nice, since Kehoe was.

  The Jeep pulled to a stop and two figures got out. Both male, which only surprised her because they should have brought a bodyguard with them. Perhaps that tall black woman who had been in her apartment that first night. Freya Malik, Codename: Pakhet.

  Taylor Kehoe, she knew was coming. He was head of the civilian research branch of TRC, at least last time Joie had worked for them.

  The other visitor surprised her.

  Sal McKenzie, at least according to passports and such. Really a Danorak alien named Bandi Algom. He was the Principle Research Scientist at Elliott Engineered Integrated Logistics, that was until a month ago located in a quiet part of La Plata off the main boulevard and not that far from a fantastic sushi place.

  Not even Carter Faulkener was in attendance today, the giant supersoldier that had been one of the first of Sal/Bandi’s experiments, turning a Human into a titan of a man with reinforced bones, incredible muscles, and amazing grace and agility.

  A fantastic asset, until he’d gone rogue. Kehoe had sent Joie to bring him in. They’d expected the former half of dead or alive, and had assumed she’d been turned and done a deal with the man when she’d beaten the guy everyone thought was the best warrior in the world.

  Second best, at least that day.

  No, today it was just Kehoe and Bandi.

  Joie wondered what the hell that implied.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ernesta watched her staff snap to a higher level of alertness as the two visitors approached the front door. She rose and moved to greet them personally, just because she was certain Kehoe was expecting some charade with a butler.

  Kehoe certainly blinked in surprise for a moment before his face reset to calm neutrality.

  Ernesta had spent forty-plus years in the business. You learned how to read someone’s entire mind and soul in that first blink. Necessary, when you were usually on the wrong side of the law.

  The alien scientist smiled warmly. But he’d been in touch a few times via letters since she and Joie had stomped into his life with the worst security breach imaginable.

  Just to frost Kehoe, she admitted them and immediately hugged Bandi. Only scowled slightly at Kehoe. Gestured the two men into her house and her salon.

  “Consuela will get you something to drink,” she announced, following.

  Bandi moved to the woman tending the bar. Kehoe paused to study the entire room and make sure that nobody was about to sneak up on him.

  Ernesta was apparently living rent-free in the man’s head. That was good.

  Bandi got coffee. Kehoe did the same. They settled around a conversation pit arrangement with Joie and Bandi at the ends of a couch and she and Kehoe roughly facing each other in the chairs.

  Both men had brought briefcases. Kehoe’s looked like something one of her lawyers would carry, while Bandi’s was an anvil case, reinforced for travel.

  Small talk didn’t take long.

  “I’ve pretty much squared things with folks in DC,” Kehoe announced, mostly talking to Joie, as he should.

  Ernesta was just her patron, as it were, though the deal she’d worked with Kehoe should see her profit margin increase by nearly eight points next year. If everything worked.

  Joie just stared back and sort of smiled. Enigmatic, in the way of some of the great paintings in history.

  “However, if you do happen to visit DC at some point, I have two senators and an Assistant Deputy Secretary of Defense who want to talk to you,” Kehoe continued. “Also, Amy Watanabe. I would appreciate it if you reached out to her and let her know you’re safe for now, so she and her lawyer stop calling me three times a week.”

  Ernesta smiled. She had gotten much of the story from Joie, but was looking forward to meeting Amy, the tiny woman who had faced down Mithras at one point.

  “No promises,” Joie replied. “But I will call Amy. DC would require that I find a bunch of leads that take me back there. Otherwise, I’m staying as far off that game board as I can. Even North Carolina might be too close, but I’ll have to go there at some point, just to see the place with fresh eyes.”

  Kehoe nodded.

  “It has been five months since one of my remaining best agents vanished,” he reminded both of them, suggesting that Romana Pham wasn’t as good as Mithras or Captain Daring. “In that time, there have been any number of false alarms and red herrings, but nobody has seen or heard anything from her.”

  “What’s Carter doing right now?” Joie asked.

  “Officially, he has gone rogue again,” Kehoe grinned, breaking up those hard planes that made up his face, transforming the man until he almost looked Human.

  “And unofficially?” Ernesta
asked.

  Her last view of Carter had been when Bandi…did something. Spoke a word, perhaps. As good a description as anything. Carter Faulkener—Mithras—had simply collapsed. Ernesta had almost wet herself hearing it, so the vocalization had contained power.

  “He’s always been a bit rogue,” Kehoe turned to her. “Even a Road to Damascus moment wasn’t going to fundamentally change the man’s attitude. Being put in a box made him more amenable to negotiations, however. I’m letting him run for a while and he knows it, because I can burn him three times as hard next time if I want.”

  “How?” Joie asked in a hard, deadly voice that must have been who she really once was.

  Ernesta had met her on the road to being reborn, after two years of being broken. Every day, Joie Daring became more and more herself. It was a joy to watch.

  Doubly so to help.

  Bribes from the US government were really just the cherry on top.

  “You told several people that he was secretly working for us again,” Kehoe’s smile got brighter. “Now, he’s in a no man’s land where nobody knows the truth. That makes people keep him at arm’s length, instead of letting him near their organization. That will frustrate the hell out of him after a while. And I can always confirm that he’s a triple agent, so others will burn him for me if I want.”