Gone at Zero Hundred 00:00 Read online

  GONE

  AT

  ZERO HUNDRED 00:00

  McSwain & Beck, the reluctant sleuths

  CR HIATT

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  AMB

  C & C

  Massachusetts

  Copyright © by CR Hiatt

  Printed in the United States of America

  Author’s Note

  Sutter Beach and Tesoro Island are fictional locations fabricated in the author’s imagination, and used for this series, only. Military bases, military ships and submarine museums—used in stated locales—are also fabricated for purposes of the series, only. Any names, characters, places, and incidents, or other locations depicted are also products of the author’s imagination or used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is coincidental.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  THIRTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-TWO

  FIREWORKS ON THE 4TH

  First Two Chapters

  ONE

  TWO

  PROLOGUE

  Amber Cutter

  THE MAN was out hunting for a new victim. He scoured the streets of Hollywood, California, in search of the runaways that wouldn’t be missed. He noticed eighteen-year-old, Amber Cutter, the minute she stepped off the bus from Sweetwater, Tennessee. He didn’t know if she ran away from a troubled home, or if she was just another wannabe actress vying for a spot on a reality show, American Idol, or one of the many talent shows, hoping for her fifteen minutes of fame? They all came to hang out near the Hollywood Walk of Fame hoping to get their big break.

  He smirked. He didn’t care. She was the one he wanted.

  He continued to watch her.

  Follow her.

  Stalk her.

  She was a tall and thin brunette beauty with sparkling amber eyes, and a look of innocence that summoned his attention. She was new to the streets, so she was feisty, but that would change. After a few days, he was familiar with her routine, where she hid her stash of money, which alleys and doorways she chose to sleep.

  On the seventh night when she fell asleep, he paid a vagrant to steal her money. On the tenth he paid someone to steal her belongings. On the fifteenth he paid someone to rough her up, but avoid leaving any visible marks.

  Soon, she wouldn’t have food, or money to buy more. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to sleep, for fear of what might happen when she did. He could take her now, but she still had a fire in her. He’d wait until desperation set in. Desperation made them hunger for anything other than the streets.

  After a few weeks, he knew it was time. She had been hungry for days, rifling through dumpsters for scraps, sleeping in parks during daylight hours. At dusk, he made his move. She was walking aimlessly about, looking in the doorways of the shops for a place to feel safe, to close her eyes for just a moment. The wop - wop - wop - wop sound of an LAPD chopper hovered overhead drowning out the sounds on the street.

  The man retrieved a handkerchief, with an acrid-smelling substance on it. When there wasn’t anyone around to care, he approached Amber from behind, wrapped an arm around her slender frame and placed the rag over her mouth.

  Shocked, but not beaten, she struggled to fight him off. She kicked and punched, but he was too strong, the smell overpowering. When she was limp as a rag doll, he tossed her over his shoulders and carried her to the white Cadillac Escalade ESV, with a driver waiting nearby.

  To the vagrants on the street who might have noticed the expensive white car, or the occupants who looked like models off the cover of a popular magazine, it was just another person picking up a runaway sibling.

  There wouldn’t be anyone out looking for Amber.

  There wasn’t anyone who cared.

  Soon, she would be long forgotten.

  Now, she belonged to The Privileged Ones.

  ONE

  AN ARMED mercenary shoved Ace Carter face-down on the floor of a decrepit cell in a run-down prison somewhere in Mexico. Ace did a quick recon of the hell hole looking for a way to escape. All he saw were concrete floors of ash and walls without any windows. It looked like the place had been burned to a crisp, but was still left standing. Rats and cockroaches scurried into the hall at the prospect of new roommates.

  “Nice joint,” Ace said sarcastically.

  I wasn’t too far behind. “Get your filthy hands off me, you brute,” I yelled at the other merc who held me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I kicked, screamed, pulled at his thick-greasy hair, dug my nails into his neck and finally, bit a chunk out of his ear.

  The merc dropped me to the ground, and yelled out in pain.

  I spit the chunk of skin out onto the pavement, and was threatened by the barrel of a rifle from another merc.

  “Slava, she bit off my ear!” the merc whined. He grabbed his ear to stop the blood and scrounged around like a madman looking for the missing section.

  That’s when the meanest looking dude I had ever seen stepped into view. Slava’s bulging muscles were so huge he could have been a member of the WWE Wrestler’s Association. His black hair was pulled back into a pony-tail, revealing a tattoo on his right temple: Live Fast, Die Young. The pupils of his eyes were black and looked like shiny, glass marbles.

  “You can’t abduct innocent people off the street,” I hissed at him. Pretty brazen for an eighteen-year-old girl, or pretty stupid, some might say.

  Slava gave me an amused look and waived his hands around, motioning toward the dismal surroundings I was now in. “My dear, it appears I can.”

  Ace said, “Let me handle this, Syd.” He glared at Slava, while continuing to size up the situation out of the corner of his eyes. I’ve seen him do that before. It amazes me, the uncanny way he can see the area around him, while he appears to be focused on what is directly in front of him.

  “Couldn’t you have handled it before we landed in here?” I countered.

  Slava snorted. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

  I glanced at Slava; then bac
k at Ace with a look of confusion on my face. “What? What don’t I know?”

  Slava roared with laughter. “Priceless. You Americans…”

  “Ace…?”

  Ace helped me to my feet. “Syd, there’s no easy way to tell you this. I - I’m a spy… and …. I’m your father.”

  I stared at him for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a matter of seconds. “Y - you’re what?” I spat out at him with a mixture of confusion and curiosity at the same time. I clenched my fists at my side, trying to control my anger. Ace Carter my dad?

  Slava watched the exchange with amusement. The other mercs chuckled.

  “I just turned eighteen, and this is the first I’m hearing of it?”

  Ace shrugged. “I wanted to protect you.”

  I motioned toward the thugs in front of me. “Then what’s this, my coming out party?”

  “You’re angry,” Ace said, as if he was having a casual conversation with me in the comfort of my home.

  “Angry? Why would I be angry? My whole life’s been a fake… a fraud … a major lie…”

  Ace and I locked eyes.

  Scheming…

  Plotting…

  “So who’s the scumbag?” I said pointing toward Slava.

  “A terrorist. Who. Just. Won’t. Die…”

  Then, with lightning speed and skill, before Slava and the mercs knew what was happening, Ace clasped his hands together in front of his body. I leapt up with my left foot and catapulted over Slava, matrix style and scissor kicked the other mercs upside the head. They went down.

  At the same time, Ace dropped down on his hands and swung his leg around, knocking Slava’s feet out from underneath him. He landed on his ass.

  We both stood in a martial arts defensive posture ready to square off with them, when they sprang to their feet.

  “Atta girl Syd…”

  TWO

  “SYDNEY MARIE McSwain!”

  My blue eyes snapped open, and I was suddenly wide-awake, hearing the sound of my mother’s voice yelling my name. My full name, which meant she had been yelling at me for some time. I looked around. Yep, I was in bed, in my own room, at home in Sutter Beach, California. Slava and the mercs, they were just a dream. The law enforcement scanner I use as an alarm clock roared to life, in case I needed further proof that it was time to wake up. I bolted upright and caught a look at myself in the mirror.

  “Yikes.” I’ve never been obsessed with how I look, but my long hair was a rat’s nest. I didn’t look forward to getting a brush through that.

  “Open the door,” my mother yelled.

  “Hang on. Jeez.” I reached for a remote on my nightstand, and pushed a button. ‘Storm Trooper Alert’ echoed from my computer.

  I know. Don’t laugh.

  I installed the device when I was twelve-years-old so my mom couldn’t traipse in whenever she wanted to, and without me knowing it. Now that I was eighteen I had pretty much outgrown the thing, but I never got around to removing it, mostly because it still irritated her. What teenager didn’t thrive on annoying their parents, or in my case, parent?

  The door swung open and my drop-dead gorgeous parental unit, Anna McSwain, marched through the door. Who can compete with those looks? I know I can’t, so I don’t bother.

  She was dressed in her usual garb: white blouse tucked into a fitted black skirt, with a gun belt attached at her hip and knee-high, black leather boots, looking as perfect as a porcelain doll. A wireless earpiece was attached to her ear, and she was talking to someone on her cell phone. She could have been a model at five-feet-nine and legs that went on for miles, but instead, she was a licensed investigator. She handled some high-profile cases for the residents of Sutter Beach, the coastal city where we live.

  “The storm trooper says move your buns.”

  I rolled out of bed, stepped into a pair of tattered Levi’s and threw on the pink and white t-shirt that I had on the night before. “Good morning to you, too,” I said.

  She ignored my sarcasm, which she usually does.

  I pulled my hair back into a pony-tail. High school was done for me. All I had to do today was attend a quick prep meeting in the gymnasium; then my senior class would do a quick practice run for the graduation ceremony. A shower and my unruly hair could wait until then. I stepped into a pair of cowboy boots.

  “Is Sutter P.D. ready to roll?” My mom said to whoever was on the other end of the phone. “Okay, on my way.” She disconnected from the call, and glanced at the attire I chose to wear for the day. “How anyone believes you’re my daughter is beyond me,” she said, and she shook her head to show her displeasure.

  I shrugged. My mom and I were worlds apart on our dress codes. She shopped at Donna Karen for sophisticated skirts and blouses, and claimed I owned stock in tattered Levi’s, as if there was something wrong with that.

  I smirked. “Just tell them my dad is Hell’s Angels. I take after his side of the family.”

  “Fitting...”

  “I wouldn’t know, since we never met.”

  The topic of my dad was a sore subject between us, and one I liked to bring up…a lot. You see, I have no idea who he is. But I wanted to, desperately. I knew he was in the military when they met, and possibly still was, but that was all I knew. It seemed to be top secret information, which was why I always dreamt about a fictional dad - Ace Carter being the fictional vision in my head.

  My mom handed me a large envelope. “Do me a favor and put this in the safe. It’s for a case I’m working on.”

  She followed me over to the closet. I opened the doors, and pushed the hangers to the side. A SentrySafe was built into the wall. If you’re wondering why there was a safe in the closet, we live in an old firehouse. It was the first working firehouse for Sutter Beach, but was put up for auction when the town built a new one next to city hall. I guess the volunteer firefighters needed a place to hide their stuff when they went out on calls. My mom got the firehouse cheap - real cheap, and we’ve been renovating it ever since.

  I snatched the Victorinox Swiss Army Knife out of my backpack, and proceeded to pick the lock - a hobby I picked up from watching her. The knife was an antique and as old as the hills, but it had every tool you could think of, scissors, nail file, saw blade … well, I could go on and on. Let’s just say I never left home without it - but don’t tell the school resource officer who would have recommended immediate suspension if he had caught me bringing a weapon into school.

  Always the perfectionist, my mom stood by my side and observed, ready to correct me if I made a mistake.

  I waited for the sound of the click; then pulled the door open and gave her one of my sarcastic smiles. Ha! I placed the envelope inside, then closed the door and turned the dial.

  “Why is it we don’t speak of my dad, again?” I continued.

  My mom shook her head. “Syd, we’ve been through this, more times than I care to remember.”

  “Yeah, and every time you give me the same bullshit,” I countered. “You get a letter every month from some secret location. I know it’s from my father, yet you keep his identity from me.”

  Ignoring my outburst, she kissed me on the forehead and headed out of the room - tuning me out, once again. “And watch the language.”

  “Sometimes, life sucks,” I said.

  “Sometimes, it does,” she responded.

  THREE

  I DROPPED the knife into my backpack; then snagged my truck keys off the desk and marched after her. “We never finished the discussion about the graduation bash, either. Can I go?”

  My mom opened a bureau in her room, retrieved a .38 Smith & Wesson from a locked box of investigation paraphernalia; then slipped it into the holster at her hip, and headed back out with me right on her heels. Her bedroom walls were covered with photographs of the two of us when I was younger. Not too many, lately.

  “We’ll talk about that later,” she said. “I have to meet Carter. Sutter P.D. is serving a warrant based on evidence I o
btained.”

  Yep, you guessed it. The Ace Carter I fantasized as my dad is real. He’s a Detective with the Sutter Beach Police Department. He and my mom had been working together a lot, lately. She did the initial investigation; then he swooped on in when there were legal issues, or an arrest was warranted. Like today, I guess. I’m not sure why he showed up in my dreams as my dad. Maybe because he’s always been pretty cool to me.

  I trailed her into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water, and an apple. “You always say we’ll talk later, but later never comes. There’s always another case, or another company that needs your services.”

  Then, I slid down the fire pole and met up with her in the office of McSwain Investigations, which my mom set up in the firehouse garage.

  “I’m an investigator, Syd. That’s what I do. We have bills. Two vehicles that won’t run on their own, they need gas. Then there’s electricity, phones, the food, the clothes we put on our backs - even though you could probably find yours at the local Goodwill.”

  “Ha, ha, ha…”

  She grabbed a stack of manila folders off the desk, opened the garage door and walked toward her vehicle. “College classes will start in September, so you’ll need books and supplies. It all costs money. Somebody is responsible for all of that.”

  “I don’t need to take the classes. I was a lousy student in high school. I’ll be a lousy student in college. I could work with you full time, instead of two days a week, and help with the bills. It’s not like I don’t know how. You just won’t let me. You don’t let me do anything I want to do.”

  Anna paused at the door of her leased Chevy Tahoe, and glanced back at me. “This isn’t the life I would want for you, Syd. The world can be a dark place, with some very bad people. You just don’t know it, yet. I want you to get an education so you have choices.”

  “You can’t protect me forever.”