Paxton, p.1
Paxton, page 1
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
About This Book
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
Chapter 15
Epilogue
About Bronson
Author’s Note
Complimentary Download
About the Author
Copyright Page
About This Book
Paxton, while trying to get clearance to return to work, calls his physio to ask why he’s refusing to sign off on his documents—only to hear gunfire through the phone, killing the man he was talking too. Racing to the scene, he finds the gunman still there, in anguish and in fury, telling Paxton a tale of blackmail and fraud, before killing himself.
Hearing the same phone conversation that Paxton made while in her office, Cherise races behind to make sure he’s okay, as the police move in. Standing together at the scene of the crime, however, puts them both in the target zone, as someone tries to keep the details of the blackmail a secret.
Trying to keep Cherise and himself safe, while unravelling the rot going on under the surface, Paxton realizes just how personal this case has become …
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Prologue
Paxton Fuller stood in front of Mason. “Sir?” he asked hesitantly.
Mason looked up at him. “Yes?”
“I had asked for a transfer.”
“Right,” he replied, “and I have agreed to it, but I’m getting some flak from above.”
He frowned at that. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you that because frankly they don’t always tell me these things. But maybe you’ve crossed somebody you shouldn’t have.”
“I don’t think so,” he replied cautiously.
“Good. Then that case, chances are the transfer will come through. It just might take a little longer than we hoped.”
“Damn.” He groaned and rotated his neck.
“Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, I took a bit of a hit on the last mission,” he replied, “so I am still doing physio.”
“Are you cleared for work?”
“I thought I would be, but the physiotherapist wasn’t terribly happy with my last session.”
“In that case, that could be what the delay is,” Mason noted. “Maybe you should head home and get some rest.”
He nodded. “I was just on my way home when I saw you in here. I know I shouldn’t be bothering you, but you know when you want something so badly that you can almost taste it? I just figured maybe I’d ask.”
“Maybe it’s the paperwork.”
He rolled his eyes at that. “In that case the transfer will never get done.”
“Hey, paperwork snafus happen all the time. What’s your marital status?”
“Not married, sir.”
“Ever been married?”
“Nope, definitely not,” he replied. “Our type of work is hard on a relationship.”
“It is until you find the right person,” Mason noted.
“I haven’t been lucky enough to do that.”
Mason looked at him and smiled. “You never know. I suggest you check to make sure that the paperwork is all clear and that there are no problems on that side.”
“I can do that,” he stated. “Is there anybody in particular I should talk to?”
“Yeah, her name is Cherise,” he replied. “She should be in her office still.” Mason checked the clock on the wall. “Yeah, she’s there. Maybe run by on the way home.”
“I know her. Maybe I will stop by this afternoon.” Besides, he was looking for any excuse he could to see her again, but he didn’t tell Mason that, not when he didn’t want him to know there was any interest. Rumor had it Mason was into matchmaking. Not that he’d seen that firsthand – nor did he want to.
“And remember, the only way we keep doing what we’re doing is by keeping healthy.”
“Will do.”
With that, Paxton headed down to the admin offices, and, as he walked in, there was a lineup. He waited off to the side, and, when it was his turn, he stepped up. “Cherise, nice to see you again.”
“Hey Paxton, back again?” replied the beautiful redhead in front of him, smiling. “What can I do for you?”
“Mason sent me,” he murmured.
“Mason, huh? What kind of trouble are you in?”
“Nothing, I hope,” he replied. “I’m supposed to check to make sure there’s no problem with the paperwork for my transfer request.”
“Ah, he asked me about that. Just give me a minute.” He watched as she headed to some paperwork on her desk. She picked up something, read it, and then walked back over. “Your physio isn’t happy,” she stated simply.
“I know, but it’s not major.”
“No, not major,” she replied, with that smile again, “just major enough.”
“Enough to hold it back?”
“Let’s just say, until you clear the next session,” she explained, “you’re held back.”
“Damn. Who was that? Was it Wesley Western?” She nodded, and he pulled out his phone. When it was answered, he said, “Hey, Wesley. It’s Paxton Fuller.”
“Yeah, what’s going on?”
“Did you really sideline me over that physio?”
“Yeah, I sure did.” And then in the background came a different voice, followed by Wesley’s horrified yell. “Hey! What are you doing?”
Confused, Paxton waited.
Rapid gunfire slammed through his phone connection. He stared at Cherise in shock.
“Oh my God! What was that?” she asked.
He hated the immediate thought that came to mind, but all he could think about was his physio would never sign off now.
He couldn’t because, chances were, the man was dead. And when Paxton thought about everybody else in that office, he whispered to Cherise, “Call security.”
“And say what?”
“Give them the address of my physio,” he stated. “I’m on my way there.” And, with that, he took off, hoping to find anyone alive. He could only hope he found Wesley before it was too late.
Chapter 1
Paxton bolted from the administration building and jumped in his car, racing toward the physical therapy center. It was just off the Coronado base. As he exited through the gate and toward the center, his car running as fast as it possibly could, his mind went over what he’d just heard on the phone. Even as he considered it, his phone rang.
“Paxton, what’s this about? You heard something?” Mason’s voice sparked through the phone.
“I was talking to Wesley Western,” Paxton replied, “asking if he’s the one who put the kibosh on my returning to work.”
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t get the chance to say more than yes before I heard sounds of gunfire,” he replied. “I’m about two minutes away from the PT center right now,” he muttered. “I told Cherise to send the cops.”
“And he’s just off the complex, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” he muttered, “just outside.”
“And he’s navy too?”
“Was, yes, but he went into practice locally after he got out. He deals with a lot of us because he’s still connected and yet private.”
“Right,” Mason noted. “Well, 9-1-1 calls have been sent.”
“So, it doesn’t fall within the military police jurisdiction because it’s not a military facility. Got it,” Paxton muttered. “Makes sense, but, at the same time, I’m hoping, when I show up, the police will already be there.”
“You weren’t very far out, but it depends on how quickly the calls were acted on,” Mason stated. “Let me know what you find.” And, with that, he hung up.
Of course not a whole lot anybody could do at this point in time. Paxton pulled into the parking lot, jumped out, leaving his vehicle unlocked, and raced ahead to the physical therapy center on the main floor. He reached out a hand for the door, only to find it locked. As if that would help.
But he ran around to the back side to find that door locked as well. Pulling out his tools, he quickly picked the lock and stepped inside. He most likely shouldn’t have done that, but, hey, he was here, and he wouldn’t step away now that he knew someone was in trouble.
As soon as he stepped into the main area, a handgun was suddenly pressed to his neck, below the ear. “Wow, smart guy, aren’t you? Do you really think that was a wise thing to do?”
“Are you’re the one who just shot Wesley?” he asked, staring down at the heavily bleeding man on the floor. “Unless you want a murder rap up against your life,” Paxton suggested, “you better let me go and see if I can save him.”
“Why would I give a shit?” the shooter asked. “You do know this guy is on the take, right?”
“Take on what?” he asked in exasperation. “He’s a physical therapist.”
“Yeah, he is, but he’s also a career killer.”
At that response, Paxton started to get an inclination as to what this guy was all about. Deliberately Paxton moved toward Wesley. “And that may be. You can explain it to me,” he suggested, “while I try to save him. Wouldn’t you rather see him live, serving a jai
“There is something to that,” the gunman admitted in a harsh tone.
“So, what do you mean that he’s on the take and a career killer?” Paxton asked casually, as he moved toward the downed man.
“He stopped me from getting back to work,” the gunman explained. “I almost wanted to believe that he’d done it out of the goodness of his heart.”
Paxton crouched at Wesley’s side and realized that it was already likely too late. He tried to stop the bleeding, but, even as he pressed against the wound, the blood no longer chugged outward. In other words, the heart was no longer pumping.
He turned to look at the gunman and asked, “Did you really have to try to kill him?”
“Yes.”
“Look. He needs medical help, and he needs it now,” Paxton snapped, turning to glare at the gunman. “Regardless of what he’s done, you won’t know the full extent of what all he’s involved in if he’s dead.”
The gunman just shrugged. “I really don’t give a shit. My life is over already.”
“What about the rest of the people in this office right now?”
“He’s closed today. Remember?”
Paxton frowned at the gunman, not sure how that played into things. “So nobody else is here?” Paxton asked hopefully.
The gunman shook his head. “I don’t have a beef with anybody else. This visit was just for that asshole.”
“What did he do?”
“He killed my career,” he stated pragmatically. “He refused to let me go back to work.”
At that, Paxton winced. “Look. I’ve got the same beef with him, but it’s temporary. Work harder, get back on your feet physically, and you’ll be fine.”
“No, not happening. He put in all kinds of notes about me not being stable and all.”
“That’s not for him to decide,” Paxton noted curiously. “He’s a physical therapy guy. That’s way out of his lane.”
“I know, but he was paid by somebody to put that in.”
Paxton studied the gunman. “You do know that your actions here are just proving that maybe Wesley was right about some things about you?”
At that, the gunman snorted. “Whatever. I just really don’t give a shit anymore.” He shrugged. “If I can’t work, nothing is out there for me. … I know that this guy’s protected and that he gets whoever to do whatever the hell he wants.”
“What are you talking about?” Paxton asked, sitting back on his heels, staring down at the man on the ground, who was—without a doubt—now dead. He looked at his bloody hands. “You didn’t have to kill him,” Paxton repeated. “He was still a good man.”
“No, he sure wasn’t,” the gunman argued. “You want to figure out what all he was up to, then I’ll leave you to it, but I won’t hang around and help you.”
“Then you don’t really want him to pay for what he’s done?”
“Oh, he’s already paid,” the gunman stated calmly, pointing at Wesley’s dead body. “I took a lot of pride in the work that I did, but having some joker like this guy grab power, twist the data, where I get put down and taken off my work because of him, is just bullshit.”
“I don’t get it,” Paxton stated. “Wesley Western was a navy specialist, for Christ’s sake.”
“Yes, he was, but as a contractor he worked with more than just naval personnel. He also specializes in killing careers, unless you paid the piper. I suggest you do a little investigating yourself. If he happens to be … what you called him, just a physical therapist, you should be thanking me,” stated the gunman. “You might get back to work now without him in your life. This guy? All he does is pull on his connections in the military.” The gunman shook his head. “He just made sure that all kinds of shit his way, or the way he wants it to go.”
“So, you’re saying he has a personal vendetta against you or some kind of an ax to grind?” Paxton asked.
“No, I’m saying he takes money to kill careers.”
“But why?” Paxton asked, staring at him. “What’s in it for him? There has to be something other than money.”
“I think you give him too much credit. I say it was all about the side income he had going,” he noted, with a broken laugh. “I did try to take a look,” the gunman noted, “but every time I tried to get any information, I got stonewalled. So somebody out there is protecting him.”
“But there’s no reason for killing naval careers,” Paxton replied.
The guy looked at him and frowned. “Are you really that naïve? The sidelined careers are just a side effect. The focus is on the bribes, the con, where the whole military is now one big game. You’re either on the winning side or the losing side, with the power or without it.”
“Come on. That’s not fair,” Paxton stated. “I’ve been in the navy for a lot of years now. I was eagerly awaiting Wesley’s signature to get back to work myself.”
“But he didn’t give it to you, did he?”
At that, Paxton stopped and stared at the gunman. “No, but that was temporary.”
“Unless somebody didn’t get paid, either with all the further testing and appointments or through outright bribes,” the gunman said, “and then, all of a sudden, all kinds of paperwork snafus and problems arise, and then you have to sit at home. Next thing you know, all these little notations now say you need another evaluation or that you did something during one of the sessions that gave him real concerns about how stable you are. But I didn’t do anything,” the gunman argued, “nothing at all. Yet, when I pressed this guy about it, he just gave me that big fat smile and told me to prove it.” The gunman was beyond words now, with a maddening look on his face.
“What?” Paxton asked. “What did he say?”
“Just what I said. ‘Prove it.’ I couldn’t believe it myself, but, I swear to God, that’s what he said. Literally.”
As that sank into Paxton’s core, he stared at the gunman, whose words Paxton, for all intents and purposes, had no reason to disbelieve. “So, you’re saying that he’s deliberately been taking bribe money to end careers?”
“Stop focusing on the ending careers angle. Stop thinking global. This is a simple case of lining his pockets. If you find something more, bully for you. Regardless, for whatever reason, Wesley was taking bribes,” he replied.
“Why didn’t you go to the brass?”
“Yeah, which one?” he asked. “The ones you can trust, right? Let me know who that is.”
“Mason,” Paxton shared instantly.
The gunman shook his head. “That’s navy. I’m army.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that,” Paxton told him.
“Besides, it happens in your field too,” the gunman added. “My buddy did it as well.”
“What do you mean? Your buddy did what?” Paxton hesitated and then shrugged. “I don’t believe you.”
“Of course you don’t believe me,” he muttered. “I knew you wouldn’t.” He shook his head. “Look at the other guys who can’t get back to work, and then trace it back to this asshole.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“Because I already know, and nobody will listen to me. Maybe if you have somebody you trust, you can get a little further down this pathway. My life is over though.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Paxton disagreed, as he realized where this conversation was headed. “Don’t do anything stupid, man.”
The man gave a broken laugh. “Too late for that.”
Before Paxton could even begin to react, the gunman put the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.
*
Cherise had already made the 9-1-1 call, but, as she stared at the door Paxton had exited earlier, she wondered what the hell would happen with him. He had bolted off into the middle of danger, without anybody knowing he was there. And even when she’d tried to tell the cops that he was heading to the shooting scene, all she kept getting told was to stay out of the way and to let the police do their job.
“You don’t understand,” she repeated to Dispatch for the umpteenth time. “An innocent man is on the scene.”
“Then the cops will find him,” the other woman stated, in that calm and unhurried voice that Cherise was starting to hate.
“Well, don’t go in there shooting,” she muttered. “You’ll hurt the wrong man.”
“Not likely.”
She ended the phone call and immediately tried phoning Paxton, grabbing his number off his paperwork. When she got no answer, she became really worried. She immediately sent a text. Called 9-1-1, on the way, watch out though. They might come in, guns blazing.
