Ghost: chapter 1

A/N: This first chapter sets up the crime scene. In chapter two our favorite boys (Nick and Greg) will take center stage as the two CSIs assigned to this crime scene, and possibly a few others. But be aware, I know how this is going to end, and it will be a big surprise for all of you! While you know who did it and how, they don't, and that's the key to this story. Just to WARN you, there will be lots of action and violence, hence the rating. (Think of the movie War with Jet Li that just came out over the summer, and you'll get it.) Anyway, please enjoy, and don't forget to review when you're done! Thanks!

Geoff Baker knew his job and he did it well. As he left his Boss's office and was escorted out of the five million dollar mansion by the guy's personal security team he felt his favorite handgun underneath his jacket and smiled. The two goons dumped him outside the front door. He walked down the white marbled steps toward the red Dodge Viper calmly waiting for him. He unlocked it and got in, started the engine and threw the car into gear before flooring it out of his boss's driveway. His next assignment would be a piece of cake. Even if the target rolled out the welcome wagon.

According to the big Boss man, who liked to go by the name "The Devil", one John Winters would be at the unloading docks of an old warehouse on the edge of Las Vegas in just over two hours. What he had done to piss off the Devil Geoff didn't know, though he knew it had something to do with some sort of drug deal gone bad. Geoff never pressed for details. He only needed the immediate facts that would help him find and kill whoever it was that needed their life ended. He didn't care why. As long as he got paid, that's all that mattered.

He sped through town, avoiding all the traffic at the strip and found himself at said warehouse a few minutes early. This was good. Gave him time to prepare for the job ahead. Hiding the bright red car in the buildings farthest from the specific one Winters would be in, he got out of the car, opened the trunk and pulled out a duffle bag. He stripped out of his shirt and pulled out a stocking cap from the bag, sliding it over his head, but not over his face. One thing he couldn't risk was hair fibers littering the scene when the police showed up. After making sure the silver ring was still on the long chain around his neck he grabbed a fresh shirt and slid it on, covering up the chain and ring. He then took off his shoes, socks, and pants and exchanged them for clean clothes and the special pair of sneakers he wore when he was on the job. He'd found a liquid rubber that dried to a strong, but flexible hold, which he'd used to fill in all the gaps in a regular pair of New Balance sneakers. For sure they would find shoe prints, and know what size shoes he wore, but not what brand. It would throw them for a loop. He threw the old clothes and the bag into the small trunk and looked up at the gun rack underneath the hood, choosing which weapon would work best. This was supposed to be a one man assignment, but there was always the chance he would run into some of Winters' own goons, who would have to go down too. He hoped there would be more than just Winters there. He liked it when fights got interesting, and more difficult. He chose a long AK-47, made sure it was loaded, and added a long black leather coat to his wardrobe to hide the weapon under. He added extra clips to his pockets and checked to make sure his hand gun was still intact and ready to go. If only Winters showed up, one gun shot to the head would do the trick. But if others were there, he'd want the heavy artillery.

He took a quick walk around his supped up car, checking to make sure there wasn't a dent or a scratch on it. The tires looked good too. Strong, sport type wide enough so that his crazy driving wouldn't drag him off the road, and from a different company so that when the tracks came up in the tread database it wouldn't say Dodge Viper. And the license plates were on tight. When he got home he would switch them out again.

Geoff prided himself on his professionalism as he wiped clear his old shoe prints in the dust and got back into the car to wait for his target where he could clearly see the main warehouse in his rearview mirror. He reached into a compartment of the consol and brought out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lighting one he prepared to wait. Not that he needed much calming down, but sometimes his nerves acted up during a job and this helped them to stay calm. Just a precaution. But one he liked none-the-less. He loved the way the smoke blew smoothly through his lips and curled upwards until he could no longer see it. It was a beautiful thing. As beautiful as the body he'd see later, sprawled out on the ground, blood running down the face. He couldn't wait to get back to his post office box and get the rest of his payment. He wondered what he would spend it on this time.

He didn't have long to wait, however, as several cars came rolling in just then, all spewing dust every which way. Geoff got out of the Viper and went back to the trunk. Never mind the handgun, though he would keep it with him because he never went anywhere without it, not even to the bathroom sometimes, he popped the latch and pulled out a second AK-47 and loaded it.

It was time to rock and roll and these bad boys wouldn't have any clue as to what had happened to them by the time he'd hit them and gone. He grinned wider than he had before. He was cleaning the streets of those who didn't deserve to walk them, and it felt good! He walked out of the building he'd hidden in, his head was up, his shoulders back, his strides long, the two weapons in both hands aimed at the sky for the moment.

As the dust began to settle he could see the shapes of men moving from their vehicles to the warehouse in question. Without a moments notice he brought both guns down and started firing. The men screamed, some fell, and others ran for their lives. There was confusion and panic all in a split second. Fearless, he entered the combat zone, picking out targets one by one and bringing them down. When he saw no more movement among the bodies outside, he followed the blood trail into the warehouse, careful not to step in it himself.

So far this had been too easy. He hadn't counted the bodies, though there had been quite a few. Someone had come inside to escape, and they were leaving a blood trail. So, he'd shot them. He almost wish he hadn't gotten them. It would make things harder. Make him take the time to search the guy out. This way, the path was clear. All he had to do was follow the evidence.

A bloody hand print on the stairs to his right led him up those stairs, following the drops and the transfer of the prints to a second level. Everything was large and empty. The evidence lead to a back room where he could hear someone moaning. He walked over and peered around the corner.

There was a man lying on the ground, his hand pressed into his side where blood was leaking out to form a pool around his body. The man's eyes widened when he saw Geoff standing there with his two AK-47s.

"Winters, you made this too easy for me. I wish you hadn't," Geoff said in a conversational tone, after recognizing him from the photo his boss had shown him briefly.

"Who... who... are you?"

"Ah, The Devil sent me. Apparently you have a debt to settle with him."

"Tell him I'll get him the money by tomorrow. I promise!"

"It's too late for that, my friend."

He let one of the weapons face the man before popping him in the head. John Winters' fell back onto the cold concrete and lay still.

"That was so easy the Staples button could have done it," Geoff commented to himself as he turned, and walked out of the building as if nothing had happened.