Gone but not forgotten t.., p.1
Gone But Not Forgotten (TIN Book 1), page 1
GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
TIN BOOK 1
CHARLIE COCHET
CONTENTS
Prologue
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
THIRDS Universe Reading Order
Cast Members
Glossary
A Note From the Author
Also by Charlie Cochet
About the Author
Gone But Not Forgotten
Copyright © 2021 Charlie Cochet
http://charliecochet.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of author imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.
Cover Art Copyright © 2021 Reese Dante
http://reesedante.com
Edited by Desi Chapman, Blue Ink Editing
Proofing by Andrea Zimmerman, Blue Ink Editing
Content Warning: Please note this novel contains scenes and/or topics dealing with sensitive issues that may trigger some readers, including sexual abuse, kidnapping, and trafficking.
PROLOGUE
During the Vietnam War, the use of lethal biological warfare led to the spread of the Melanoe virus, which infected millions worldwide and caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands. Although no country took credit for releasing the virus, the world’s top scientists came together to create a cure. The vaccine, known as Eppione.8, used strains from animals found to be immune to the virus—and one year after distribution, the course of history was forever changed. A dormant mutation within the virus was activated by the vaccine, resulting in the altering of Human DNA and giving birth to a new species: Therians.
When the first infected Humans began changing in the late seventies, some didn’t survive. Their Human bodies were unprepared for the shift. Others died of cancer or infections due to weakened immune systems, while others vanished. Rumors ran rampant about governments trying to clean up their mess. When it became clear the “problem” wasn’t going away, the US government tried to regain control of the situation, creating the Therian database and quickly passing laws that would force all surviving Therians to register and get marked, supposedly for their own safety and that of their fellow Human citizens.
The government treated the first wave of Therians as a side effect of the war, one that would eventually die out. Then in 1976, scientists discovered what was really happening—the first generation of Therians had been born. The mutation had perfected itself, solidified, inside these First Generations. Suddenly, an advanced new species had evolved, and along with it, a whole new set of fears.
In an attempt to restore social order, the US government quickly put new regulations and laws into place, along with a Therian branch of government. In 1990, Human and Therian legislators launched the Therian Human Intelligence, Recon, Defense Squadron aka the THIRDS, an elite, military-funded agency comprised of an equal number of Human and Therian agents.
But long before the inception of the THIRDS, monsters lurked in the shadows, threatening Therian life across the globe. And a different kind of organization emerged after the birth of Therians—TIN, the Therian Intelligence Network. While the THIRDS existed to uphold the law for all citizens without prejudice, TIN operated in the shadows, righting the wrongs beyond the reach of the law.
As long as the injustices of the past continue to be repeated, organizations like the THIRDS and TIN will be needed to ensure both Humans and Therians have a future, even if they stumble along the way to get there.
CHAPTER ONE
[Location: Redacted, Spain]
Warrior. Weapon. Hunter.
The names were many, but none changed who he was or what he was inside. Trained in the art of invisibility, master of the hunt, a terrifying force to be reckoned with. His expertise in various forms of lethal combat made him an agent of destruction. By the time his prey discovered his presence, it would be too late.
Silence engulfed him as he lay in wait beneath the water’s surface, his mind and body a study in absolute control, his heartbeat a steady rhythm as he counted the seconds.
It was time.
Slowly he emerged, water sluicing over his bare chest, his muscled body toned and sculpted from years of intense training. Knife between his teeth, he waded through infested waters, aware of the beast floating nearby, eyeing him, hoping to make him its next meal. Gingerly he approached the water’s edge and took his knife in hand, his breath controlled as he crouched low, eyes locked on his quarry.
You’re mine now.
One step closer. Two. Three.
His prey lay motionless, completely unaware.
Four. Five.
“What are you doing?”
He stilled.
“I know you can hear me.”
At the low grumble, Dex straightened, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You’re ruining the moment.”
“Which is?” his quarry murmured, not so much as glancing in Dex’s direction from where he lay, long legs crossed at the ankles and fingers laced on his flat, muscular abdomen. The giant beach umbrella provided shade from the intense heat and glaring sun, his eyes undoubtedly closed behind the dark sunglasses.
“Hunting.”
Blue-green waves crashed gently against the shore, the sand beneath Dex’s feet hot as he crossed the short distance to the sexy Therian stretched out on the blue beach towel.
“Is that what that was? Because from here, it looked like you were swimming around with a cocktail umbrella between your teeth.”
Dex sniffed and lifted his chin. “It’s a knife.”
“And the giant donut float?”
“An alligator ready to attack.”
“You’re adorable.”
Dex chuckled as he dropped to his knees beside Sloane, then straddled his lap. He leaned in for a kiss. “Must be why you married me.”
Sloane slid his hands up Dex’s thighs to rest on his hips. “Someone had to keep you out of trouble.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” Dex teased, smiling against Sloane’s lips.
A laugh rumbled up from Sloane’s expansive chest as he wrapped his strong arms around Dex and brought him in for a deeper kiss. The scent of saltwater, coconut sunscreen, and Sloane made Dex moan. At times he still couldn’t believe he was married to this amazing man. How had it been almost four years already? And how was it possible his husband seemed to get even more handsome with age? Sloane’s pitch-black hair had white strands interspersed, the same white that connected to a neatly trimmed beard on his chiseled jaw. Dex had a few silver strands of his own, but they were harder to see in his dirty-blond hair. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they’d first met.
Dex savored Sloane’s kiss, melting against his sinfully gorgeous body. He was everything to Dex—his partner in crime, his mate, a sleek black jaguar Therian with amber eyes that could reach into the depths of Dex’s soul. They shared a bond most couldn’t fathom, one only those closest to them knew of.
“No, really, what were you doing?” Sloane asked with a hum as Dex trailed kisses down his jawline, ignoring the feel of eyes on them. The beach might be Therian-friendly, but that didn’t mean everyone occupying it was.
“Remember last night when you were galivanting about the city?”
Sloane’s lips lifted at the corners in a smirk. “You mean when I was out working and you stayed in our hotel suite binge-watching old eighties TV shows and eating your weight in desserts?”
“I think what you meant to say was while I was fueling this weapon of mass destruction”—Dex motioned to himself—“and researching undercover techniques.”
“From an old eighties spy show.”
“Hey, that show was based on real spy craft.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“But it could have been.”
“It could have,” Sloane said, then popped a kiss on Dex’s lips. “But it wasn’t.” He smiled at Dex’s pout and tapped his flank. “As much as I love debating the factual validity of your eighties movies and TV shows, I’m thirsty. How about you get me a frosty drink?”
“Already on it, amor de mi vida.”
Sloane hummed. “Te amo, cariño.”
“Te amo, mi conejito.”
“Little bunny? Really?”
Dex booped the tip of Sloane’s nose. “Because you’re so cute and fluffy.”
“Ah, yes. That must be why that guy jumped out of the moving bus we were on last week. Clearly, my fluffy cuteness overwhelmed him.”
Dex laughed as he sat up. “Sit tight, Daddy, while I get you that drink.”
“I’ll just stay here and look pretty, then,” Sloane drawled. “And don’t call me Daddy. ”
With a chuckle, Dex stood. He tugged his slip-ons onto his feet and grabbed the button-down flamingo-patterned shirt off his towel, the fabric heavier than it should have been, thanks to the lightweight holster sewn into it and the Sig P365 with suppressor discreetly tucked inside. Shirt on and unbuttoned, he removed his sunglasses from the front breast pocket and slipped those on, then pressed the metal center bridge as he pushed them up his nose. He headed for the plaza and the giant metal sculpture of—he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Modern art was not his thing. Something to do with swimming.
A cougar Therian pushed a drink cart over to the base of one of the sculpture’s legs. Joining the small line that formed, Dex pulled a couple of Euros out of his pocket, aware of the small tourist group of Therian college kids who stopped to ogle him. They murmured and giggled among themselves. One of the young Therians, a wolf, playfully waved at Dex, who smiled and waved back. The wolf Therian licked his full bottom lip and motioned Dex over.
Dex put his left hand to his heart in apology while showing his wedding ring. The young wolf Therian pouted before the group moved on, laughing and teasing their friend. With a chuckle, Dex stepped forward in line. He finally reached the vendor and smiled.
“Tienes refresco de cereza?”
The cougar Therian shook his head. “No cherry, solo limón.”
“Esta bien. Dos refrescos de limón, por favor.”
The guy reached into a separate compartment on his cart and pulled out two frosty cans of fizzy lemon soda.
“Thanks.” Dex paid and took the cans. He popped open the can that was slightly lighter in color and took a long gulp of the lemon drink as he headed back toward the beach. A quick scan of the ingredients revealed the intel he’d been waiting for. He tossed the can into the trash as the chemicals started melting the aluminum.
A shrill scream pierced the air, and on instinct, Dex ducked and turned while tourists and locals scrambled in panic, several removing their phones—whether to call the authorities or take video was anyone’s guess. The vendor lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath his head.
Dex’s earpiece came to life, Sloane’s growl on the other end. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Asset is down.”
“Do you have the intel?”
“Target has been confirmed.” He scanned the area for a shooter and found a leopard Therian on a dirt bike, a gun with a suppressor in his gloved hand. His amber eyes met Dex’s from behind his helmet’s clear visor before he burned rubber and sped off.
“Shit!” Dex bolted after the guy, sprinting across the plaza to the street. Thankfully so many tourists were milling about, it slowed the shooter down, giving Dex the time he needed to commandeer transportation. He yelled in Spanish at a Therian standing next to an idling Guzzi Le Mans. Apologizing, he pushed the guy out of the way and jumped on the motorcycle. He shoved the helmet onto his head and shouted a promise over his shoulder that he’d return the bike. Car horns blared as he sped into the street.
“Do I hear a motorcycle?” Sloane hissed. “We’re on a timeline. Please tell me you’re not—”
“In pursuit. This is our guy.”
Sloane cursed under his breath. “K, pick me up.”
“¡Carajo! Why does everything end in a high-speed chase with him?” Keane growled.
“Hey, I’d prefer it if they quietly surrendered, but for some reason, they always run. Not my fault,” Dex shouted over the noise of his bike as he weaved through traffic, narrowly missing a couple of pedestrians who emerged from behind a parked car to cross the street.
“Somehow I find that hard to believe,” Keane offered, a note of sarcasm in his low grumble.
The sidewalks were packed with both tourists and locals, the crowds steadily increasing as it got closer to dinnertime for the tourists. Dex grinned despite his abrupt detour into oncoming traffic, thanks to a stopped taxi. He jumped the center lip that divided the two lanes and got back on his target’s ass. “Ouch, gum drop. You wound me. Huggies en route?”
A heavy put-upon sigh resounded in Dex’s ear. “Must we have the ridiculous nicknames?” Rowan asked.
“We must. And what I think you meant to say was badass codenames.” A delivery van pulled out of a side street along with a couple of mopeds. A bus emerged ahead of him, forcing him to veer into the next lane in between two cars that swerved in an attempt not to hit him.
Angry horns blared, but he hit the accelerator and sped up, making a sharp right into the bus lane to avoid mowing down a guy jaywalking, the curses loud and plentiful. Why did they always have to bring mothers into it?
“No, I meant ridiculous nicknames,” Rowan replied dryly. “That’s why I said it.”
“Somewhere buried under all that genius and teenage angst is a sense of humor, I just know it,” Dex said, cursing to himself as the light ahead turned red. As predicted, the guy jumped the curb and sped down the sidewalk, Dex right on his tail.
“I’m not a teenager.”
“You know what a clapper is?” Dex asked.
“Something you should discuss with your doctor?”
“What? No. That’s not—” The asshole drove through a small cafe and a painted wooden menu that splintered into several pieces, one of them flying at Dex, who jerked to the left to avoid getting impaled by it.
“Does Atlas know what you’ve been getting up to?” Rowan asked.
Sloane sighed. “I’m more than aware of what Chaos gets up to. Can we focus on the target, please? Fifty-two minutes, Chaos.”
“I’ll make it. Sit-rep?”
“I have Atlas,” Keane replied. “We’re on your tail, except, you know, on the street, where vehicles belong.”
So much sass that one.
Although armed, the Therian Dex chased didn’t so much as glance in his direction. Despite the awesomeness of Hollywood movies, shooting a moving target while in motion yourself wasn’t as easy as they made it look, especially when the majority of your focus was on not plowing your motorcycle into another vehicle.
“Traffic’s getting tricky,” Dex said as he shouted for people to get out of the way, several of whom dove from their path. “K, what have you got on our shooter?”
“Hired gun. He was supposed to intercept the drop before you arrived and eliminate the asset, but a traffic accident slowed him down. He was too late.”
“Never thought I’d be grateful for traffic,” Dex muttered. Thankfully the sidewalks were wide, though it didn’t stop the asshole from plowing through a beach display. Dex batted an inflatable ice cream cone away, only to get smacked in the face with another blowup.
“Fucker!”
“You okay?” Sloane asked.
“Asshole almost took me out with a unicorn!”
“I should be concerned by those words,” Keane said. “Sadly I’m not. Because it’s you.”
“Love you too, K.” The road forked, and his target zoomed back onto the street, driving right through a red light at the intersection. Cars, buses, and mopeds slammed on the brakes, the air filling with horns and shouts. Dex sped through a gap in between two trucks, wheels burning rubber as he skidded by. The architecture of the buildings changed from modern to old stone. This wasn’t good. “He’s heading down Isabel.”
Traffic exploded the closer they got to the Columbus Monument and roundabout. Slivers of concrete displaying a palm tree every few feet divided multiple lanes. The sidewalks were packed, and suddenly it was like being in a pinball machine. Dex knew exactly where the bastard was going. As they veered onto La Rambla, Dex cursed under his breath. “We’re about to have company.”
“Perfect,” Sloane growled. “You need to stop this guy.”
“On it, honey bear.”
Sirens echoed through the air as the GUH—Guàrdia Urbana Humana—joined the chase. There’d be plenty more where they came from. His target made a sharp right. “He’s heading into Plaça Reial.”
