Siren in the Wind - book one of the MIT2 series

  New York. Three Years Ago. Liberation was a few steps away. Today they’d finally be free. Sharon watched the shoppers spill out from jammed escalators. Long wait times fueled the oppressive atmosphere in the mall. Black Friday posters scattered throughout the pandemonium added to the frenzy. Arisha tugged at Sharon’s jacket, staring up with solemn eyes. “We need to find a seat, Mamma.” She ran a hand through her daughter’s thick black hair. Sharon despised her own wispy blonde hair and always kept it trimmed in a neat bob. Reaching down, she picked up their two small suitcases, nudging Arisha forward. “Then find us one.” The packed food court gave them few options. A man and woman situated nearest the terrace railing cleared their table and Arisha ran up and waited. The lady smiled. Her little girl captivated people, with her mother’s delicate features and her father’s Iranian ancestry. Sharon stepped up, and t

Johnny and Donnie left to trail Evans to her rendezvous with Muller. Once Abigail Evans stepped out, Max snapped up the opportunity to switch out a microphone in her bedroom that had fuzzy sound quality. Max slipped through Evans’s gate into the immaculate garden. Delicate paving ran along the neat flower beds. Rose bushes lined the wall. He’d watched her many times fussing around among her plants. The result was charming. Her dark porch made breaking in easier. It was late, and he was also glad she’d drawn the curtains before she left. Nothing like a nosy neighbor spotting him through the windows once he was inside. South Africa posed more challenges when it came to breaking and entering, so Donnie had acquired a copy of her keys from her bag in the gym locker. In Johannesburg, windows as an entry point were ruled out due to the hefty security bars crisscrossing them. Max clicked open the door mechanism before opening her sliding security gate. The smell of

Where the hell had she parked? Max made his way through two rows of vehicles before shoving in his comms.“Where’s Evans?”Donnie’s voice barked in his ear. “It’s a clusterfuck, someone’s just jumped her.”Max stilled. “Where?”“Back of the lot. North side. Should I break cover?”Max took off. “Negative. I’m closer. Be ready in case I need you!”He moved soundlessly, spotting the distant figures. Was the son of a bitch her contact?“Are they having a meeting?” Max barked.“Not unless the agenda includes sexual assault and bashing her head in.”Anger gushed. The asshole was dead. Could she have parked any farther away?The bastard dragged Evans up by the hair, and all hell broke loose. Max choked on impotent rage, pushing his limits in a full-out sprint. They were gonna watch Evans die. Her attacker ram

A battered taxi blared its horn as it forced its way in front of them, ignoring the rules of the road and veering over the pavement in the process. Anton Vorster slammed on the brakes.“Shee-it!” Johnny white-knuckled the door handle in protest. TIA, buddy, this is Africa. Hell, this wasn’t just Africa. They were heading into Hillbrow, an inner-city neighborhood of Johannesburg riddled with gang activity. Hillbrow was known for high levels of population density, unemployment, poverty, and crime. Max glanced out the back window of the Jetta. It was a Saturday afternoon, and activity littered the streets. Gangs of men huddled on street corners, arrogantly watching over the scurrying locals. Anton pulled up at a light. Street vendors and beggars tapped at the windows, jostling for their attention. “Fok off!” Anton yelled, waving an aggressive window washer away. Anton was a neutral contact who would get them in Mandla Nkosi’s d

It didn’t bother Max that she’d raised her walls up at his last question; that fitted with her profile. What didn’t fit was Abby opening up about her relationship with her family. The file they had on Abigail Evans never included details of abuse. From the intel they’d gathered, Max profiled a teenage Abby as a rebellious pastor’s daughter, leaving the restrictive nest and thumbing her nose at her small-town missionary parents. When questioning the Idaho community, they’d called her parents “saints.” Saying what do-gooders they were. How sad they were when Abby had left the protection of their church and the light of God. Some of the intel hinted that The Unity of Light had worrying cultish quirks, but overall the followers kept to themselves and stayed out of trouble.