A Form Of Revenge

A Form of Revenge The Columbus Archives III Trey Stone © 2023 Trey Stone All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. Disclaimer This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Edited by Dakota Rayne.Book cover by Les @GermanCreative. This book is dedicated mostly to myself, for finishing what I started. (And a little bit to all those who helped me see it through.) Warning: This book contains graphic description of physical violence, substance abuse, and death. Part I Chapter 1 Jordan Greer Jordan Greer picked up his phone as he entered the front door of his red-bricked building. The rising sun burned the back of his head. "I'm beginning to feel harassed," he said as he started the steps up to his floor. "What do you want?" "Good morning to you too. I've been calling you all weekend!" Dana Norman's familiar voice shouted at him through the tiny speaker. If he was being honest, he had missed hearing her yell at him. Not that he would ever admit that to her, but it had been a part of his day for so many years. It felt like coming home. "Yeah, I know. I figured the fact that I wasn't picking up would give you a hint, but clearly you're not as bright—" "Where have you been?” He could hear her pull her hair back as she huffed. She was angry with him, but he bet she was smiling. "Why does it matter?" "I talked to Callaway. I'm still trying to get you back on the team.” Sean Callaway. Special Agent with the FBI, leader of the Critical Response Unit—the CRU—and Jordan Greer's former boss. "I've arranged a meeting. I need to go through it with you, plan how you're going to present your case, and—" "Dana, stop." Greer had rounded the corner of the wooden stairs on the second floor and was starting up the last set so he could open the door to his home. "First of all, thank you. I appreciate what you're doing." "I… Greer, I don't think you've ever thanked me for any—" "Second of all, fucking stop it. I don't want to get back in the Bureau. I'm done. I know you're trying to be a friend, but don't. I'm tired. I don't want to do those things anymore." "Greer, shut up. You saved my life last year, there's no reason you shouldn't be given a second chance." "I broke dozens of laws and put people's lives on the line." Greer stepped up to his front door, shoved a shiny little key in the lock and swung it open. "I'm lucky I'm not in prison." Norman paused. He could practically hear her thinking. Norman would fight everyone and their dog for the right to put Greer back on the CRU. She would never back down, he knew that. At the same time, he doubted she had ever considered the fact that it wasn’t something he wanted. "We need you on the team, Greer." "No, you don't. You need someone who can profile criminals. A third wheel between your investigative brains and Martin's dumb brawn." Gerard Martin was in every way the muscle of the CRU. A veteran of the SAS—the British Special Air Service—and arguably one of the most elite types of solider in the world, Martin was a weapons expert, and their go-to guy for special ops. He was anything but dumb. That was just Greer ripping on him. "The CRU isn't the same without you, you know that." Greer flicked a light switch and went straight for his bar cabinet. "Maybe you're right, Norman." He grabbed a bottle of bourbon, popped the cap off with his teeth, and sunk down on the couch. "But maybe it's not meant to be. You're not seeing the opportunity you have to make the CRU better. I was never a good agent. I'm not even a good person. Stop trying so hard." The line went silent, a pause that felt a bit too long. "Are you drinking again?" Greer smiled as he swallowed a large gulp of bourbon. "You know me, Dana. I never was a quitter." "You need to start going to your meetings again. You were good for a while. You're not touching any of the hard stuff, are you?" She was, of course referring to drugs. Last year, before he was kicked off the Bureau, Greer had been involved in an undercover drug operation. More than a few bags of cocaine had passed through his hands, and as a chronic alcoholic and drug aficionado, plenty of those bags grazed his nostrils on their way to the evidence lockup. "Nah, the drink does all I need it to do." Norman sighed on the other end of the line. "Let me help you, Greer. Come out on a run with me. Let's get you into rehab. If anyone can turn their life around, it's you." Greer's hand clenched around his phone. "The only problem with that, is that you assume I want to," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't want to start a new and better life, and I certainly don't want to go fucking running." "What if I want it, though? What if I want all of this for you? What if I want to help because I want my friend back?" Greer clenched his jaw tight, hesitating. "You never told me where you were all week." Her voice was calmer now, almost frail. "Just did a bit of soul searching." He exhaled heavily, letting his anger