Men of Mercy: The Complete Story

by Cross, Lindsay

  “With that attitude, I'd say it’s safe to assume she's okay. Why do you care anyway? Weren't you just telling me you don't want her?”

  Don't want her? I fucking can't draw a breath without thinking about her. “Yeah. Here, take a right, then another right on Berry Road. He lives right next to campus.”

  Merc didn't move, he just propped an arm on the steering wheel and turned to face Hoyt. “When are you going to wake up and smell the damn roses?”

  “Screw the roses. Let's get to Latham's house and find out whether or not he's our local terrorist sponsor.”

  “Fine.” Merc slammed the Hummer into drive and did a ninety out of the parking lot.

  Hoyt's shoulder slammed against the window. They sped down the lane, leaving the frat house behind. If only Hoyt could lose the memories of that place as easily. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the sight of those guys touching Hayden. And that word...

  Monster.

  It was exactly what he feared he’d become, and the word taunted him as Hoyt guided them to the professor’s house. This close to campus, streetlights illuminated the sidewalks and paved roads every few feet, almost negating the need for headlights. House after house sprang up on the left in between perfectly manicured shrubs, picture-perfect sidewalks, and low-lying iron fences.

  A place like this is where someone like Hayden belonged. Two kids and a dog. Barbecues in the backyard. A husband who clocked in to his boring job at nine a.m. and clocked out at five o'clock sharp, eager to get home to his wife and kids.

  Hoyt would have done anything to be that guy for her. He would have clocked out early every chance he got.

  But that possibility had vanished. It was a life for the old Hoyt, not the man he’d become.

  He lived for his team now, for killing and vengeance. And he was going to start with a college professor who thought he could outsmart the U.S. government.

  “Turn left here. It's the third house on the left.” Hoyt unholstered his pistol, dropped the clip and reloaded. In case things went south, he wanted to have as much ammo at the ready as possible.

  Merc pulled in about a block down the road and killed the engine. Latham's house hung back and to the left, the windows dark. Hoyt glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard—just after midnight.

  Merc pulled out his weapon and chambered a round. “Intel?”

  Hoyt reopened the laptop and pulled up a search. “Dr. Latham. Age sixty-seven. Wife deceased from cancer twenty years ago. No known living relatives or associates. Professor at Mercy University for thirty plus years. On the tenure track. Doctorate in psychology.”

  Hoyt stopped talking, and silence permeated the cab as the two soldiers stared back at the colonial-style brick house behind them. Dead wife, no friends, no family. Nothing to lose.

  Something like dread crawled through Hoyt. The small baggie of Valium in his pocket seemed to burn a hole through his jeans into his leg. He carried the pills to remind him he was just one dose from oblivion. From being that man who’d almost taken his own life in an act of desperation.

  One little white pill, and he'd be off the Team. That was all the motivation he needed to embrace the raw pain of his skin being too tight for his body.

  “You ready for this?” Merc's hand covered the door handle. His body tensed as he waited for Hoyt’s response.

  Hoyt patted his pocket, but no matter how much he wanted to curl up into a bottle of pills, he had to do his part to protect Hayden, protect his team, protect his country.

  Hoyt nodded. “Ready.”

  The two men eased around the side of the professor’s two-story brick house, melding into the shadows like they had been born and bred there. The backyard was a miniature replica of the front—trimmed boxwoods and landscaped dwarf trees. A paved back patio, bare of furniture. Nothing to mark that the man even lived here.

  Hoyt approached the back door and placed his hand on the cold brass knob. A faint beep filtered through the door and he paused. Another beep. “It's wired.” As carefully as he’d reached out to touch it, Hoyt pulled his hand back.

  He didn't want to set off any alarms with his less than stable fingers. “Merc?” Hoyt bit out, impatience lining his words.

  “Can't do shit ’til you move out of my way, man,” Merc said.

  Hoyt stepped aside, allowing just enough room for his partner to squeeze past him and peer around the side window. “Looks like a model 7000. About a year old.”

  “Hello, can you disarm it or not?” Impatience clawed at Hoyt. He had to get inside, had to find out what this man knew. If the professor had helped Mr. J... well, the fucker would regret drawing his next breath.

  The lock clicked, Merc slipped inside, and Hoyt heard a long, low hum. “Clear.”

  Hoyt slipped inside without hesitation, quietly towing the door shut behind him and tripping the lock into place. They didn't need an enemy sliding in behind them to pop a cap in the back of their heads.

  Hoyt's gaze shifted left and then right. A plush well-lit library sprawled out to his right, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the walls and a huge rich wooden desk perched in the corner. To his left was a window-lined atrium filled with plants in vibrant shades of pinks, yellows and oranges.

  “Ahead.” Merc nodded and moved forward. Hoyt fell in behind him, pistol loaded and raised at the ready. There was a chance this was all a big coincidence, but an even bigger chance it wasn’t. He’d go in prepared, regardless if he scared the old man.

  Although the front of the professor's house had been dark, the back was lit up like a Christmas tree. Merc listened at the white swinging door dead center in front of them and then pushed it open with his shoulder, quickly darting to the right. Hoyt followed, shifting left, both of them with pistols raised. Darkness engulfed them. The only sound in the room was a slight drip, drip, drip.

  They entered a sprawling kitchen. A long formal dining table was straight ahead and to their right, and an island as wide as Hoyt's living room was to their left.

  The hairs on the back of Hoyt’s neck lit up. He glanced at Merc, whose anxious expression mirrored his own reaction. Something was off. People didn't normally turn off all the lights in the front of the house and forget about the back, not unless they had left in a rush. Or someone had stopped them.

  Merc gestured for Hoyt to hang left, and the men circled the kitchen. Drip. Drip. Drip.

  The water leaking from the faucet hit the aluminum sink, each drop exploding like a tiny detonation in the quiet space.

  His muscles twisted around his bones, nearly crushing them with torque and tension. They were too late. Latham was probably already on a private jet to Kandahar, courtesy of Mr. J. Perhaps he had already done his part by getting all of the players where they needed to be.

  Hoyt yanked open a closed door on his right. Laundry room. Clear. Then he returned to the kitchen. Merc stepped around the other end of the island and the two soldiers faced each other. Both went stiff at the same time.

  Merc holstered his weapon. “Shit.”

  So, Latham wasn't flying to a life of luxury in the Middle East. The poor bastard wasn't flying anywhere.

  Hoyt tucked his gun away and squatted next to the dead body. The light in the vent over the stove highlighted the single bullet hole in his forehead, assassination style.

  “Not good,” Hoyt said.

  Merc squatted near the professor's head and touched his body. “Still warm. Couldn't have been dead for more than a couple of hours.”

  “That means if Malik did it, he would have needed to come here before we saw him at the party. If it wasn't him, then we have a fourth suspect.”

  “We need to call the commander, have our team run the suspects.”

  This wasn't a little operation. Mr. J had already set the wheels in motion. He wouldn't take care of his people, not in the way Hoyt had originally assumed. Mr. J never left loose ends. Ever. “We've underestimated him.”

  “Merc, call it into the commander. I want to make su
re Hunter’s got hands on Hayden. We need to get a team on Malik too, right now.”

  “Got it.”

  Hoyt got Hunter on the phone. “You talk to your sister?”

  “What the hell? You’re supposed to have her.”

  “She left before I got to her, but the Sheriff said he saw her leave and head home. Me and Merc got caught up in a mess here following a lead.” Hoyt turned to watch Merc’s shoulders drop as he talked to Grey.

  “Explain. Now.”

  “We found the suspects, and a new one. They were both tied to this professor that sponsored their visa’s to be here.” Hoyt said.

  “What did the professor say?” Hunter asked. Hoyt heard a baby crying in the background.

  “Nothing, he was dead when we got here, and so are half our leads. Trails drying up except for one guy, I’ll fill you in later, right now we need to find him.”

  Another baby scream and Hoyt cringed. “Hank Jr. okay?”

  “He’s sick to his stomach and now Evie’s puking too. Dammit. I’ve been trying to get ahold of Hank to help out, but he’s taken Maxi camping and I can’t get a call through. Now you’re telling me you don’t have my sister and you’ve lost the only lead we’ve got?”

  “The trail was dead when we got here.”

  He turned to Merc, “What did Grey say?”

  “He said to stay put, he’s sending in Mr. K’s team. Wants to keep it as quiet as possible. He talked to the sheriff, too.”

  “Good.”

  “Hoyt, what’s the deal?” Hunter asked.

  “We’ve got teams on the way to handle the processing and forensics. I’ll send Ethan the intel at headquarters to start tracking Malik and I’ll go to Hayden’s apartment and make sure she’s there safe.”

  “No, you get her and bring her to me. That’s it, do you understand? If Hank Jr. and Evie weren’t so sick, I’d be there myself.”

  But you’re having to trust the team fuck up.

  “I’ll bring her to you. Don’t worry, I know how this works.”

  Hoyt hung up and immediately called Hayden again. No answer. “Crap. She’s not gonna pick up.”

  “Not after she hung up on you earlier. Want me to call?”

  Hoyt shook his head no. “Let’s do a sweep of the house. Once it’s secure, I’ll go get her.”

  “Okay, you take lead.”

  Merc followed Hoyt through the opposite door and into a grand foyer with a large curved staircase. The opposite room, a sitting area, was open. They cleared it quickly, finished clearing the whole bottom floor. “Nothing.”

  Merc gestured upstairs and took the lead, both men with their weapons raised and ready. The staircase curved around to the right, landing on a huge open area with a red Persian rug that would cost more than Hoyt made in his lifetime. “How much do college professors make?”

  Merc said, “Not enough to afford this.”

  With each second, Latham’s guilt grew. The huge mansion. Student visa connections. Dead body. “Not looking good, man.”

  Merc swung around and nodded to the door closest. Hoyt fell silent and followed his teammate. Their pattern was practiced and flawless from countless operations. Merc opened the white wood paneled door and stepped back for Hoyt to sweep in first, pistol ready.

  The guest bedroom had elevated ceilings and a huge four-poster bed, with a tan and white silk bedspread and a sitting area off to the right. “Damn, this guy had access to some serious cash.”

  “Too bad he’s dead. I’d really like to have a conversation with him about where all this money came from.” Merc studied a large painting of an abstract landscape on a long wall.

  “Come on, let’s finish.” Hoyt waved his teammate out the door and they followed the same pattern down the landing. Check and clear. Five doors.

  “This is it.” They stood before the last one at the end. Hoyt’s hair stood up on the back of his neck. He tried the knob. It was locked.

  Merc stepped back and Hoyt moved over as he kicked the door in. Both men rushed into the room, ready for an attack, but were met with nothing but a dark empty room. Hoyt flipped on the light switch.

  “Damn,” Merc said under his breath.

  The whole back wall was a massive white board. Names, dates, places. They all covered the surface and had intersecting lines drawn from one to the other. Hoyt crossed to the wall. “What do you think this is?”

  Merc came and stood next to him and holstered his weapon. “He’s tracking something. Or someone.”

  Hoyt holstered his pistol and took a step closer. “What’s a psychology professor doing studying the Soviet Occupation of Afghanistan?”

  The dates and names were circled in bright red. The occupation lasted from nineteen seventy-nine to nineteen eighty-nine. Hoyt followed the black line leading over to the next circle. “Here’s another list: 1982 – 1987. Elberd Bekhan, Chechnya. Zafar el Abdul. Holy crap, this guy housed Zafar during the occupation.”

  “Isn’t that the guy we took down last year?” Merc pointed to another large bubble with ISA written in bold letters.

  Hoyt spied another bubble, connected to multiple other names on the board, and froze. “He’s got Operation Blackwing listed.”

  Operation Blackwing was a highly classified mission TF-S had speared last year. They secretly inserted into Russia to help train some of their troops on anti-terrorism. TF-S had helped lead a mission into Chechnya, sorting out the most radicalized terrorists responsible for over a dozen bombings on Russian soil. Most of them had ties to terrorists along the Arabian Peninsula, but not the ones TF-S took down. Elberd Bekhan, their leader, had been killed in one of the U.S. lead attacks, effectively cutting off the largest radical movement.

  Merc cursed and stabbed a finger to yet another bubble. “He’s got all our names, our families names, email addresses and social media accounts listed. This asshole’s been tracking us the whole time.”

  Merc lifted his phone and snapped a picture. “I’m sending this to Ethan now.”

  Hoyt spun slowly, taking in the whole room, his muscles felt like they were crushing his bones they were pulled so tight. “Look, there’s a monitor.”

  Hoyt crossed to a table along the far wall. A large black monitor stood with a keyboard in front of it and papers scattered all around. “The processor is gone.”

  “He’s smart. There are some names over here that have been wiped clean, I missed them at first, but now I can see it.” Merc put a finger to his chin and leaned forward. “What was the name of that guy that tried to kill us with his Hummer?”

  Hoyt picked up a stack of papers and shuffled through them, his hand shaking as he read the top one. Malik Hussein, son of Mohad Hussein. Nephew to Jalal Hussein-Killed in 1989 by suicide bomb. Known ties to Al Seriq. “We’ve got to track Malik down and I’ve got to find Hayden. Now.”

  * * *

  Hoyt left and drove to Hayden’s apartment a few blocks from campus. The complex was small, with tan stucco walls and black wrought iron balconies, with lots of little green plants and flowers filling up corners and hanging over the rails. Hoyt parked at the north end and got out at building C and strode up the staircase, stopping in front of door 2c. He knocked.

  What would she say when she saw him standing here? Probably get the hell out of here. Too bad, he wasn’t leaving without her. Even if she’d finally wised up and started hating his guts, he’d make sure she was safe.

  He knocked again and when there was no answer, he walked to the edge of the landing and leaned over the railing to peer around the thin wall that separated her balcony from the stairway.

  Her blinds were pulled but he could see there were no lights on inside. Hoyt scanned the parking lot. Her car wasn’t here either.

  Had she gone home with Malik?

  His heart hit his chest with a loud whack, knocking the breath right out of his lungs. Did Malik have her now? Hoyt ripped his cell out and dialed her number. No answer.

  Shit. He called again, and again. After the thi
rd try he called Ethan at headquarters. “I need you to track this number and send me the coordinates.”

  “Sure. Give me a minute, I’ll text them to your phone.”

  Hoyt hoofed it down the stairs and jumped in the Hummer. He pulled around to the parking lot exit and put it in park. How could he have let her slip through his fingers like that? If anything happened to her, it would be his fault.

  And it would kill him.

  His phone chirped. Hoyt pulled it open and checked the GPS. The tracker pointed to this complex, on the south end. His stomach locked down. She was here. Not in her apartment. His vision tunneled and Hoyt drove to the other end of the complex, parked and got out.

  She was with someone else. The fact slammed into him and nearly took him to his knees. That’s what he wanted, for her to move on. Then why the hell was his gut rolling and his knees shaking?

  The bottom apartment was lit up and the balcony door propped open just enough to allow a late spring breeze to billow through the sheer curtains. Girls’ laughter spilled out through the balcony door and he followed the sound to the railing. He could make out two figures on a couch sitting against the right wall. One very similar to Hayden. Hoyt pulled out his phone and dialed Hayden, again. Her ring tone went off, his fear sliding into fury as he watched her silence it.

  He might not have the right to anymore, but he was about to teach Hayden some manners.

  Chapter 11

  “I can’t believe you’ve had two hotties after you and I got stuck with Jeremy.” Mandy leaned back on the couch and took a sip of her white wine, careful not to get her green mud mask on the glass. “He took me up to his bedroom and tried to get me to play video games. Can you believe that? What an idiot.”

  Hayden chuckled and nodded in agreement. “He was absolutely clueless.”

  “I mean, how could he be more interested in a video game than this?” Mandy gestured at herself. With the mud mask she looked more like the creature from the lagoon than the sexpot she’d represented earlier.