CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"I've got a hit on our possible running enthusiast," said Code to the morning table. "Topper Scott."

"He's got a record?" frowned Ghost.

"No. I caught his photo in a race. He was crossing the finish line at the Boston Marathon. He wasn't lying. The dude is a big runner. Boston Marathon, New York, L.A., Iron Man, Chicago Marathon. He's even run some extreme races of more than a hundred miles."

"Alright, so where is this Topper Scott?" asked Nine.

"Interesting enough, he rented a place under his own name just outside of the Quarter. A small loft. I'm guessing he doesn't like the company he keeps. He just likes the money he makes."

"Is he signed up for the half-marathon here?" asked Ghost.

"No. But he is signed up to participate in the Hawaii Iron Man. This dude is probably training big time."

"I'll go."

"Fuck me!"

"Son-of-a-bitch!"

"You sneaky Indian bastard!"

"All these years, and you still don't pay attention to who is in the room and who is not," smirked Trak.

"You are right, grandson," said Nathan.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," said Gaspar. "If you're trying to kill us, you're doing a damn fine job of it."

"Nope. Just keeping you on your toes. I'm the runner of the group. I'll park myself outside his place and follow him if he runs."

"Trak, I know you're the best of all of us as a runner, but this guy wins these marathons. He's running less than five-minute miles for nearly twenty-six miles. That's impressive." Trak just stared at Code, not saying anything. "Alright. Do your thing."

"I'm taking Clay and Zeke with me," he said, standing. "He won't suspect Clay and Zeke, and I can circle around him."

"Trak? Don't kill him. We need to know what he knows," said Gaspar.

"Can I kill him afterwards?" he asked with a straight face.

"Maybe. If you're a good boy," smiled Nine.

Trak gave him an eerie smile, and Nine just shook his head. Zeke, Trak, and their sons were probably the best runners on the property. Clay was definitely a close second. Having lost his leg in service, he learned that running was still what he loved the most. The titanium blade limb, developed by G.R.I.P., was designed for speed and helped him to fly when he was running.

"Do you think he'll kill him?" asked Ian.

"I think Scott will wish he had."

Ghost and Ian waited in the SUV while Trak, Clay, and Zeke stood between the old homes, watching for their man to come out. Most runners preferred training and running early in the morning. With this man's line of work, he would need his evenings free. All the more reason to train early.

"This guy might be faster than us, Trak," said Clay.

"He won't be." Clay shrugged, looking at Zeke, who raised his brows. "Here he comes. Go, Clay."

Clay rounded the corner, taking off at a slow, steady pace. He hoped that this would be the direction Scott would run, but he couldn't be sure. When he heard the soft footsteps behind him, he knew the other man was running behind him. As they approached a main street with a traffic light, Clay slowed, running in place.

"Morning."

"Morning. Good for you, man. Still running," said Scott.

"Yep. Good for me. Still running."

"Mind if we run together for a while. I don't have a running partner, and I'm training for something right now."

"I don't mind. Name is Clay."

"Clay. I'm Topper."

"Interesting name." They took off across the street as the light turned green.

"It's a family name. Hate it. But it's mine." They ran for about a mile, then Clay looked up and saw Zeke and Trak running toward them. Parked down the street were Ian and Ghost, just waiting for their pickup.

Clay slowed a bit to allow himself to be behind Scott. As Trak and Zeke got closer, their wide bodies took up the entire sidewalk.

"I fucking hate guys like these," said Scott, looking over his shoulder at Clay. "On your left."

But Trak and Zeke didn't move, slowing to stand in front of the two men. Scott tried to move around them, but they only moved as well.

"What the fuck is your problem? Get out of my way." He snapped at the two men. Topper was tall and lanky, but Zeke and Trak were tall, lean, muscular, and, more importantly, deadly.

"No," said Trak definitively. Scott looked behind him, seeing Clay stopped, watching it all.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Just a conversation," said Clay. "We need to talk."

Scott panicked, shoving Clay in the chest, then sweeping his artificial limb. He hit the concrete and cursed, looking up at Trak and Zeke.

"Go fucking get him!"

The two men took off, chasing the superior runner. Clay got to his feet and followed. The man was definitely fast, but the three men were able to keep up. He ran toward the river, then up the levee to run toward the bridge. When he started to move away, Zeke and Clay cursed, realizing they were going to lose him.

Suddenly, he fell to the ground, screaming in pain.

"Damn, he must have gotten a cramp," said Zeke.

Trak walked up to the fallen man, practically growling at him as he lay in pain on the concrete. He shoved his torso, turning him to lie face down. He gripped the handle of his favorite blade and smiled.

"No cramp. He got a knife."