by G. K. Parks
“No.” Dragging the chair and Welks back into the office, Mercer shut the door, knowing that whenever the police arrived, they would search the warehouse and discover the private investigator. Hopefully, they would protect him and his wife, Teresa, in the event Mercer hadn’t resolved the issue by then.
Closing the door against Welks’ undignified, screeching pleas for freedom or death, Mercer composed himself and strolled across the expanse to Isaac Armann’s prone form. He towered over the killer for hire, but the man merely stared up at him, his blue eyes hard and cold. Despite the layer of perspiration that covered his face, a sure sign infection and maybe sepsis were setting in, he didn’t flinch.
“Why do you insist on being such a tough nut to crack?” Mercer asked. “Shall I offer you the same consolation you gave me?” Mercer squinted. “Because I don’t think you deserve for this to be quick or painless.”
“It’s just a job.”
“Bullshit.” Mercer ground his teeth, tilting his head from side to side as he worked out an imaginary kink. “But since you insist it’s just a job, who hired you?”
“I’m not sharing my client list.” He smirked. “The last thing I need is some other former military hack setting up shop. I asked you to leave nicely. That was your only chance.”
“And yet you’re the one deteriorating from a gunshot wound. Care to reconsider?” Mercer’s voice remained even, and he forced his breathing and pulse to remain steady. This was only a conversation.
“You don’t have the stones. You’ve had far too many chances.” Armann let out a wheezing chuckle and spat on Mercer’s shoe. “Fuck off.”
“You’re sloppy. You pretend to be methodical, but you couldn’t even make yourself appear professional without hiring two actors to accompany you on the shooting. And despite your failed attempts to eliminate your target, you have a secondary agenda. Elaborate and we’ll discuss whether or not you have a future.” Mercer wasn’t one for words, but years of negotiations did come with a few benefits.
“Follow the fucking breadcrumbs then,” Armann retorted, yanking his bound arms and legs so he could roll onto his side. He struggled to get to his knees, the only other position the restraints allowed aside from flat on the floor. “There isn’t a goddamn reason why I should tell you anything.”
Mercer was smart enough to realize Armann wanted to negotiate. “What will it be? Medical attention, money, drugs, something to make you feel real good?” The ire was seeping into his vocal pattern, and he forced it down. “A bloody commendation for a job well done?”
“Styler’s dead?”
“How could he be? You didn’t even make it into his hospital room.” Julian watched a slight grin erupt. “Who else is in play?” Armann remained kneeling, a sick grin on his face. “You failed. You won’t get another chance, so tell me who hired you.”
“I want a fair chance to escape.” The contract killer was trembling from the exertion of holding himself up, and the wound in his side was seeping blood and, from the smell, pus too.
“Fine, tell me who hired you, I’ll remove the restraints, and if you manage to make it out alive, then so be it.” Armann looked skeptically up at Mercer. “I give you my word.”
“Oh, aren’t you the honorable one,” Armann scoffed. Mercer remained silent; the only obvious sign of his displeasure was in the clenching of his fists. “Fine. Untie me first.”
Mercer assessed him for a long moment. Armann no longer posed a danger. He was damaged, hanging on to consciousness with nothing more than stubbornness. “If you try something, you will regret it.” Mercer unhooked the numerous locks that held the restraints around the warehouse piping, taking his time, wary of every shift and sound Armann made. Once the killer was free, Mercer stepped back. “Name.”
“Daniel Pierce. Now run along and play. Maybe you can reap some fringe benefits by consoling that piece of ass that’s been at Styler’s side this whole time. She seems to be pretty good on her knees. And she’ll need a shoulder to cry on when Styler’s no longer in the picture.” He winked. “You’re welcome.”
Julian didn’t hesitate. He pulled his weapon, shooting Armann in the knee. The move was calculated. A blown out kneecap was excruciating and would never heal properly. In the event Armann survived, every day from here on out would be a reminder that he screwed with the wrong man. Furthermore, it was torture, and the thought of this broken man dragging himself through a pool of his own blood to cross the dirty warehouse floor would satisfy the promise Mercer had made to Katia, not to mention the fact it would greatly impede any chance of escape.
Armann howled in pain, and Mercer saw red. Unable to do anything but give in to the bloodlust, Julian braced his palms against the back wall, stomping and kicking the living daylights out of Armann, breaking his ribs and causing vastly more damage to the preexisting wounds. When Julian’s vision cleared and his internal rage was back in check, he stepped away, lifting the phone and dialing Detective Rowlins.
“I suggest you send a team to collect the remaining rubbish,” Mercer said, providing the address and walking out of the warehouse. “That swine has been dealt with.”
Thirty-three
“Mr. Pierce, we need to have another chat,” Mercer said. He was waiting in the corner of the darkened office. As soon as Pierce walked inside, Mercer moved behind him, blocking the door. “Where is your brother?”
Jack turned, startled. Flecks of dried blood covered Julian’s clothing from the middle of his chest all the way to his shoes. Gulping, Jack took a few steps backward, intent on reaching his desk phone and calling for help. Mercer remained still, watching as Jack listened to the sound of silence in the receiver.
“I disconnected your phone and computer. Your secretary was told to take a long lunch, and building security is preoccupied with an unrelated issue on another floor. I believe there was a slight fire that broke out. It appears to be electrical in nature,” Julian continued. “I’m not here to hurt you. Just tell me where your brother is.”
“What do you want with Daniel?” Jack asked, his eyes continued to dart around the room.
“Answers.”
Jack sucked on his bottom lip, considering his options for escape or the chances of fighting off Mercer. He possessed a valiant streak, but from the looks of the man who was currently holding him hostage with a gun protruding from his open jacket, he wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d win in a fight.
“The last I heard, he was still working for a newspaper. This building has plenty of security. I’ve filed a police report. If anything happens to me, they’ll find out who you are and what you did.”
Mercer smirked and approached, placing a business card on the desk between him and Jack. “That ought to make it easier for them. However, I’m here to help you. Your brother is seeking revenge. You stole his seat on the Board and the favored position with your father.”
“Dad doesn’t have favorites.”
“No? So it’s just an ugly rumor that says he disowned Daniel and crowned you heir apparent?”
Jack sighed. “I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t ask for any of this.” He gestured around the room. “After my investments started to turn a profit, I pitched a fantastic business plan for the coming year and was promoted. There was no favoritism involved.”
“Except until that time, you were shunned because of your childish antics with Styler and your poor investment skills. Your brother stood to gain everything.”
Narrowing his eyes, Pierce thought about his previous encounter with Julian. “What does any of this have to do with Ben?”
“Daniel hired a hitman to eliminate Ben and hoped to frame either you or Carlton Rhoade for the murder.”
Jack scoffed. “Why would my own brother do something like that?”
Mercer gave him a look. “Asked and answered.”
“We’re not Cain and Abel.”
“Fine,” Mercer stepped toward the door, “but now you are aware of the situation. I would suggest y
ou take measures to protect yourself. This is about revenge. Warn your father and anyone you care about. Your brother is not to be taken lightly.” With those ominous final words, Mercer walked out of Jack Pierce’s corner office.
Considering Jack’s unhelpful comments, there was only one other location Mercer could think to visit. He had yet to phone Bastian to fill him in on these new developments, and frankly, he didn’t want to. He was sick of his friend acting as his conscience. It was demeaning and unnecessary. Mercer was a big boy. He could handle matters on his own, even if there would be some disagreement amongst his team concerning the tactics he employed against Isaac Armann. However, no one could argue that the ends didn’t justify the means. And honestly, wasn’t that the only thing that actually mattered?
Pulling up to the curb, Mercer left his vehicle illegally parked and strode into the newspaper building. Rhoade’s paper took up an entire high-rise, and Mercer ignored the row of receptionists, heading for the elevator. Before he made it there, security stopped him. Based upon their dark suits and earpieces, Mercer wagered they were probably members of Carlton’s personal team instead of the normal rent-a-cops that provided building security.
“Mr. Mercer,” one of them said, “Mr. Rhoade would like a word.”
“As would I,” Mercer replied. His gaze flicked to one of the cameras in the corner. “But first, I would like to know the whereabouts of Daniel Pierce.”
The bodyguard remained silent, but another four men soon joined the ranks, crowding Mercer from all sides and escorting him into the elevator. Mercer’s eyes shifted around the tiny metal box. It was close quarters, but there was a fair chance he might be able to subdue these clowns. Then again, this wasn’t about Carlton’s accusations concerning his treatment of Katia. This was about completing the mission. After all, Carlton hired Mercer and his team to identify the party responsible for the near-fatal shooting and protect Katia, regardless of the cost. And Mercer’s team had done both of those things. It wasn’t his fault if Carlton got antsy and tried to change the play after the game had already commenced.
The elevator doors opened, and Julian was led down the hallway by the entourage of dark suits. Upon reaching their destination, Rhoade’s personal assistant glanced up from her desk. She nodded to the men, offering a small smile to the one on the left, before gesturing toward the open office door.
“Mr. Rhoade will see you now,” she said in a professional tone, as if Julian had requested a meeting through more formal business channels. The men in suits remained in the reception area, and Mercer glanced back at them. “Right inside,” she said, returning her attention to the computer.
“Close the door,” Carlton ordered. His back was to Julian, and he was staring out the large window. As soon as the door clicked closed, he spun, no longer exhibiting the posture or demeanor of a business professional. “Where is my daughter?”
“She’s safe.”
“You will return her immediately.”
“I was hired to protect her.”
“Not from me,” Carlton bellowed. “We will not have this conversation again. You will either have someone bring her to this office while you wait, or I will have you arrested, interrogated, and thrown in jail until you change your mind.”
“We don’t have time for this. The man responsible for nearly killing Katia’s fiancé works here. For you. And if I’m not mistaken, we even brushed up against one another the last time I was here.” Mercer took a steadying breath, forcing his anger to remain in check.
“What are you talking about?”
Julian took a seat in the client chair across from Carlton’s desk. “You hired John Welks to investigate the source of the extortion. He discovered who sent the photos, and for a while, I believed you hired Isaac Armann to kill Benjamin Styler.”
“I would never,” Carlton began to protest, but Mercer held up a hand.
“You would. I don’t doubt that, but the pieces didn’t add up. Frankly, I’m sure you were hoping Styler would die or disappear. But your methods to drive a wedge between him and your daughter have backfired. Having Katia under your roof is what led to their semi-public trysts, and it gave the actual killer the perfect opportunity to act. You’re lucky he was only hired to kill Styler, or else it would already be too late.”
Carlton slumped into his executive chair. “Who’s responsible?”
“According to the assassin, he was hired by Daniel Pierce,” Mercer said, watching Carlton’s eyes go wide in disbelief. “Where is he?”
“He should be in his office.” Carlton took a breath. “After the shooting at the hospital, he offered his condolences and assured me that Katia would be fine. I never imagined Danny would do something like this. Are you sure?”
“Delusional bastard.” Standing abruptly, Mercer went to the door. “Call off the team you hired to procure Katia. I gave you my word that I would protect her, and I’ve done precisely that. As soon as I get my hands on Daniel Pierce, this will be over.” Halfway out the door, he called over his shoulder, “You should call the police now.”
Bursting inside Daniel’s office, Mercer was confronted with nothing but empty space. The security guards were at his heels, and they monitored his movement as he sifted through the contents on top of the desk and in the drawers. Not finding anything telling, he proceeded into the hallway.
“Shall we detain him?” one of the guards asked as Carlton caught up with the group.
“No.” Rhoade met Mercer’s eyes. “He’s doing what I hired him to do.” He studied Julian for a few seconds longer. “I called them.” He looked around the room. “Where’s Daniel?”
“Find out,” Mercer growled.
Carlton snatched a radio from one of the security members and barked a few questions into it, waiting for a response. After a couple of staticky bursts, he handed back the radio, his face ashen. “According to the front desk, he left right after our morning meeting and hasn’t been back since, but the police are on the way.”
“I won’t be here when they arrive, but my team will be in touch. We’ll probably need access to Daniel’s workspace.” Mercer headed to the elevator, pressing the down button. “You should have stopped this,” he snarled, speaking mainly to himself.
Thirty-four
“Bloody hell,” Bastian cursed. The team was assembled in the flat. “How long was Daniel planning this?”
“Probably since Carlton hired Welks to investigate the extortion. The private eye got himself in too deep,” Hans offered. He had spent the most time with their first captive, but the man hadn’t offered much. “The gumshoe was smart enough to know whoever wanted to ice Ben could just as easily turn on his inside man.”
“It explains why the funding came from the newspaper and how the e-mails were sent internally,” Bastian said.
“What’s become of the private eye?” Donovan asked, studying Mercer.
“I assume the police handled the situation. It doesn’t matter. Daniel Pierce is responsible. We find him, and we kill him,” Mercer said resolutely.
“Or we turn him over to the authorities and let them deal with him,” Bastian replied. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage today?” His eyes drifted to the blood flecks covering Julian’s clothing. “And get changed before we contract hepatitis or worse.”
“Donovan, make sure Pierce hasn’t hired anyone else to carry out the killing. You’ve made enough contacts with the local private military contractors, so I don’t imagine this task will be too difficult,” Julian said.
“Aye.”
“Hans, collect as much information as you can from all pertinent locations and players. Bas will tell you what he needs,” Mercer said, passing off the command position and excusing himself.
“Bas needs you to stop behaving like a bull in a china shop,” Bastian yelled, referencing himself in the third person and hoping Mercer’s departing back would take the words to heart.
Once Julian left the room, Katia intercepted his retreat, pulling
him into the bedroom. “Don’t worry, I’ll respect your personal space this time,” she teased, attempting to apply levity to the situation. “I heard part of your discussion. You found the shooter?”
“Yes.”
She looked up with her big blue eyes. “You made sure he paid for what he did or what he tried to do?” She dabbed at the tears that threatened to fall. They weren’t tears of sadness or pain. They were the physical expression of her rage.
“I kept my word.”
“Thank you.” She looked relieved and let out a sigh. Standing on her tiptoes, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and returned to the kitchen.
“Birds,” Mercer muttered, grabbing a change of clothes and heading for the shower to wash the remnants of Isaac Armann from his body.
When Mercer returned, freshly showered and dressed in something not covered in blood spatter, Bastian slid a dossier across the desk. Only the four of them remained in the safe house. Hans and Donovan were running errands, and based upon the look Julian was receiving, he knew Bastian wanted a word alone. Mercer took a seat across from him and flipped through the file. All the information he would ever need on Daniel Pierce, the entire Pierce family, their business, associates, and correlation to Benjamin Styler and the Rhoades was spelled out in extreme minutiae.
“Detective Rowlins called,” Bastian said, leaning back in the chair and picking up a handful of pretzels. He thoughtfully chewed, and when the silence continued, Mercer looked up from his perusal. “I’m surprised you didn’t kill Armann,” Bastian squinted, hoping to understand the logical reason for that, “but you let me believe that you did. Why?”