The Import, page 29
part #1 of Matthew Riker Series
“What about the FBI? Have you heard anything about them? Did Li make it back to her family?”
“I know a little. They questioned me for a while. I told them that I didn’t know who the kid was until the night I tried to save her. They are trying to figure out who dropped her off at the agency and what happened at an airstrip outside of the city. I didn’t mention anything about you.”
“Thanks. What about Li?”
“The people from the FBI wouldn’t give me much information, but they said she was with her family and safe.”
“How about you? You going to get out of New York after this?”
“Hell, no. I’m taking your credit for getting the kid home safely. I’ll basically be able to go straight to detective. I’m looking forward to being a part of the force again.”
“You’re kidding. I figured you would want to get away from this cesspool.”
“Hey, that’s the best city in the world you’re talking about. Not to mention it’s my home.”
Riker saw that Brennan meant it. New York was special to him. “Sorry, man. I’m just a country boy afraid of the big city.”
“Don’t worry about it. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to head back to my quiet life. Nothing but lying low and avoiding trouble.”
“That’s it? You’re just going to go hang out in the country?”
“Yep, that’s it.”
“Are you worried that someone will come for you? I get that there isn’t much left of Weaver’s organization, but Paddock is still out there.”
“I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but I’m not scared of Paddock. I think he will lie low after this, or he will try to fill the void that Weaver left. Either way, he’ll have other things to deal with.”
“You definitely sound arrogant. You shouldn’t take organized crime lightly. These guys can hold a grudge.”
“There are much more dangerous groups out there than New York City gangs.”
“Yeah? How do you know?”
“I used to be part of one.”
Riker walked to the door. He looked back one last time.
“Thanks for your help, Brennan. I’m sure you’ll do great cleaning up the city.”
“See you around, Riker.”
EPILOGUE
IT TOOK RIKER three days to travel home, partly because he was taking it slow, giving himself time to heal and breathe a little after the trauma he’d just been through, but also because a part of him was afraid of what he might find when he arrived there. He rode the Greyhound for a few hours and spent a full day in Pennsylvania, walking the streets of some small town selected at random, enjoying his anonymity. He was still visibly bruised and the cut over his eye looked nasty, but no one commented on it. People left him alone, exchanging only a polite few words when the situation demanded it.
He tried not to think too much about the fallout of his actions. The only thing he let himself dwell on was the thought of Li reuniting with her parents. That thought brought him joy. He wondered how she’d explain him to them, or if she would even try. He wondered if she’d remember him.
After his second night in the Pennsylvania hotel, Riker walked to the bus station and bought a ticket for North Carolina. The thing that finally got him moving was the thought of his hives. It had been ten days since he’d tended to them. He needed to get home.
He slept hard on the bus, suppressing the part of his mind that was always cautious of danger. Paddock was still out there, possibly looking for him. Then there were the Chinese men, the ones Weaver warned him not to kill. Perhaps their colleagues were looking for Riker, too.
And of course, there was Morrison.
The bus dropped Riker off in Henderson. He walked the three miles home to his farm, though there were certainly people he could have called for a ride. He wanted to approach home slowly and on foot. When he reached it, he waited in a stand of trees fifty yards away and watched the house for a full hour. Finally satisfied there was no one inside, he walked to the front door, pulled out his keys, and let himself inside.
The house was just as he’d left it—clean, orderly, and perhaps a bit cold. It was eerily silent. Riker had expected to feel some great sense of comfort when he walked through those doors, but the bare walls and tidy closets brought him nothing of the sort. It was just another place, no different from the shady motel he’d stayed at in New York City.
He’d lived there six years. Perhaps, he thought, it was finally time to make it home.
His hives needed tending and the shower was calling to him, but there was something he wanted to do before he got to either of those things. He opened a kitchen drawer, rummaging through the spare batteries and pens until he found what he was looking for—a magnet.
He walked over to the fridge. It was a stainless steel, double-doored Whirlpool. Its interior was as well organized as everything else in the house, and its exterior was clean and empty, nothing but polished steel.
Riker reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper. He unfolded it carefully. Li might not have a future as an artist, but every stroke of the crayon meant something to him. He put the piece of paper on the fridge door and stuck it in place with the magnet.
Riker stepped back and crossed his arms, smiling as he stared at the drawing.
He turned away, headed outside, and went to work.
IN A NONDESCRIPT CONFERENCE room in an unknown location somewhere on the Eastern Seaboard, Morrison silently read through the papers in front of him. Stone, the only other person in the room, waited patiently, letting his boss read and process the information.
Finally, after nearly ten minutes, Morrison set the folder on the table and sighed. “Are we sure it was him?”
Stone flipped through the pages in front of him. There were police reports, eye witness testimony gathered by their investigator, and photographs. It was the photos that most captured Stone’s attention. Reports were one thing, but seeing the carnage in living color was something else entirely. There was a photo taken in a truck stop. One in an alley. One at a New York brownstone. And the pièce de résistance, the half-burned, corpse-ridden remains of a private airfield.
“Let’s see,” Stone said. “A kidnapped child returned to her family. A New York City criminal empire dismantled. Fifty-two people dead and a survivor who says his finger was pulled clean off of his hand. And by all accounts, it was the work of one man. Yeah, we’re pretty sure it was Matthew Riker.”
Morrison sighed again. “He was doing so well. It’s been six years. Our investigators said he appeared to be happy with his new life.”
“Come on, boss. You think a guy like Riker was ever going to be happy with the simple life? It was only a matter of time.”
Morrison thought for a moment. “It’s clear there were special circumstances here. Riker always had a strict moral code, even back in the old days. These people violated it, and they paid the price. Child trafficking…it’s almost understandable what Riker did.”
Stone pushed the papers aside and leaned forward, looking Morrison in the eyes. “Boss, I read the agreement he signed. It was crystal clear, and there was no exception for special circumstances. Don’t tell me you’re going to let this slide.”
“No,” Morrison said. “As much as I’d like to, we don’t have a choice here.”
“Good,” Stone said with a nod. “So what’s the move?”
“He broke the contract, and now he has to pay the penalty. We’re going to North Carolina. It’s time to pay Riker a visit.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thanks so much for reading THE IMPORT. Matthew Riker has been living in my head for quite some a while. It was only a matter of time before he fought his way out onto the page.
I hope you enjoyed getting to know Riker. If you did, I’d like to say thanks by offering you a free short novelette about Riker’s time with QS-4. It’s called NO LOOSE ENDS.
Click here to join my reader group, and I’ll deliver your copy of NO LOOSE ENDS to your email box right away.
Thanks again, and happy reading.
J.T. Baier
Table of Contents
Title Page
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
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
Epilogue
Author’s Note
J T Baier, The Import
