by G. K. Parks
“Look what the cat dragged in. Should I reset my security passwords?” he teased.
“It’d be easier to take your key back, instead of going through all that trouble.”
“Never.” He leaned down for a kiss, but I turned away. He pecked my cheek, confused. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and I can’t even get a good morning kiss?” The hurt tone was hard to ignore.
“I’m catching a cold,” I lied. Even though it was imperative to lock lips with Tommy in order to maintain my cover, it still felt like cheating, semantics aside.
Martin was confused by my unannounced visit this early in the morning, especially when he had to leave for work soon. Despite the fact he was CEO of Martin Technologies, a multimillion dollar corporation, he knew I’d never ask him to take the morning off. We were both workaholics, and I often insisted that our careers came before our relationship. It was my way of excluding him from the dangers associated with my line of work.
Before the request formed on my lips, I reconsidered asking for one of his cars. He would bend over backward for me, but 100K was something I could never repay. My work as a private investigator and the occasional stint as a police consultant barely provided enough to afford the rent for my office space and my bills, and even though Islind promised to reimburse all affected parties, Martin shouldn’t be subjected to acting as my sugar daddy, even if it was just a temporary loan.
“So you just stopped by for a cup of coffee?” He sounded skeptical, popping a bagel into the toaster and pouring a glass of orange juice.
“Apparently.”
“Liar.” He put the juice down in front of me. “What’s wrong?” I shook my head, regretting showing up. “Are you still working a case?”
“Yes.” I slowly exhaled. “The reason I stopped by was to ask a favor, but it’s too much.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” He smirked. “I’m game for most things, but oddly enough, I’m drawing the line at a threesome. While sexy in theory, someone’s bound to be left out at some point, and I have zero desire to share you with anyone.” The smile tugged at my lips, despite the juvenile nature of his comment. “Not to mention, we’d probably need a world-class athlete to keep up with the two of us,” his timbre lowered, “especially when it’s been a few weeks since we’ve spent any time together.”
“I need a car,” I confessed.
“Did someone shoot through your engine block again?”
“No,” I took a deep breath, “it’s for the job, and it has to be worth at least a hundred thousand.” He whistled and went to the toaster to retrieve his bagel. “Like I said, I changed my mind about asking. It’s too much.”
“Red or blue?”
“Whichever you like the least. There’s a good chance you’ll never see it again.”
“Blue then.” He went into the other room and came back with a set of keys. “I’m not entirely certain if you’re required to pay gift taxes on this, so we won’t report it to the IRS.” I shook my head, refusing to take the offered keys. “It’s just a car. I don’t have any particular attachment to this one. It came out this year and can easily be replaced.”
I hated doing this. “I’m almost certain you’ll be reimbursed for any loss or damage the vehicle sustains.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’d be committing insurance fraud if I report it stolen?” He was only teasing, but I put my finger to his lips to stop the banter.
“No. I don’t want it. I’ll figure something else out. I must have been out of my mind to come here and ask you this.” Hugging him, I hoped he would forget the whole thing; instead, he dropped the keys into my jacket pocket. “I can’t.”
“You will.” He looked into my eyes. “Although, I do drive a hard bargain. I’d like that kiss now.” As I looked away, he brushed his thumb across my cheek to get my attention. “I’m not worried about catching a cold.” How could I tell him I spent the past week making out with some slimeball car thief? He saw the guilt in my eyes and backed away. “Alexis, you’re scaring me a little.”
“This job’s starting to take its toll. There have been some questionable things that I’ve been forced to do, and it makes me sick.” Shifting my gaze to the ceiling, I couldn’t look at him.
“Like ask for a car?” Sometimes letting him believe he knew everything was the best plan. When it was over, we’d talk about it. “Really, it’s not a big deal, but I won’t force you to take it if it’s going to create friction between us.” He grinned. “And not the good kind of friction.” His gaze momentarily snapped to the clock on the wall.
“Get to work. I need to go home and sleep. I’ve been up all night.” Taking his car was the only real option, unless I stole another car, but there was no guarantee I’d be able to pull that off. This would solidify my status with Gregson and put me that much closer to closing the case. “You’re sure?” I held up the keys. My indecisiveness was giving me whiplash.
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll do my best to get it back to you in one piece.” Temporarily silencing my guilty conscience, I kissed him.
“Alex, just make sure you come back in one piece.” His tone held the slightest edge of worry and sadness. My career had the unfortunate habit of making relationships harder than they had to be.
“I love you, and it’s not because of your material possessions. I don’t want you to think I’m only with you because of this.”
“I know exactly why you’re with me.” He winked. “It’s my sculpture worthy physique, brilliant mind, and god-like stamina.”
“You forgot to mention your modesty and grace.”
“That goes without saying.”
He left for work in his chauffeured town car, and I elected to leave my car in his garage and drive the newly acquired sports car home. I just had to figure out where to leave it for pick-up tonight, but right now, I needed to get some sleep.
* * *
Before parking the sports car in the garage used by one of the more affluent five-star hotels in the city, I disengaged the security system. Martin was smart enough to utilize the best technology and most reliable security measures, much better than the crap my current employer was selling. Thankfully, I knew his codes from my days serving as his personal security consultant. Disconnecting the device, I removed all of the vehicle registration information and made sure there were no personal effects left inside. Considering he had a fleet of vehicles at his disposal, I wondered if he even drove this car for any real length of time. The interior was spotless, and the outside was polished to a reflective gleam. It was a pity it would be chopped.
Stopping inside the hotel, I gave the desk clerk Martin’s name since he kept credit cards on file at the most prestigious places in town and asked if it’d be okay to leave his car here for the evening. Flashing my old Martin Technologies ID card at the woman, she smiled and called for a valet. That was easy enough.
Hailing a cab, I went home and locked Martin’s vehicle documentation in my gun safe, changed into jeans and leather, and clipped on some earrings. I already had the scars from where a few extra holes had been punched through my body, courtesy of being shot and stabbed, so I didn’t have any real piercings. Hopefully, these expensive facsimiles would continue to go unnoticed by Tommy.
After applying some blood red lipstick and shimmery black eye shadow with thick eyeliner, I hailed another cab and went to the hospital to pick up my rental. On the ride over, I left Martin a voicemail asking if Marcal and Bruiser, his driver and bodyguard, could drop my car off at my place when they got a chance. In the interim, there was always public transportation or taxis.
My phone rang, and I glanced at the caller ID. “Yo, Tommy,” I responded, laughing internally at my attempt to sound like a mobster’s lackey. “What’s going on?”
“Hi ya, babe.” He was flicking his lighter in the background. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake yet. I hope you had some sweet dreams.” There was something sleazy about his tone that grated on my
nerves, but I ignored it.
“Always. Just dreaming of some fast cars and you. Do we have time to grab dinner before our scavenger hunt?”
“Music to my ears,” he replied. “Want to go to Franco’s and we’ll scope out the city after splitting a pizza?”
“Sure.”
“See you in thirty?”
“Can’t wait.”
Franco’s was a pizza and beer place a block from the bar where we first met. Since Tommy always tended to stay in the same neighborhood, apparently he never learned not to shit where he eats. Everything from Gregson’s repair shop, which I was certain doubled as a chop shop, to the bars and restaurants Tommy frequented were all within a ten block radius of his apartment.
Maneuvering into a spot that was half a foot too small for my car, I knew the two cars I parked between would curse and likely ding the front and back fenders, but it didn’t matter. The joys of having a rental. Maybe if Islind felt particularly generous, he’d reimburse the rental agency for the possible damage that was likely to occur.
When I stepped inside, Tommy was already waiting in a back booth. There were two pints on the table, and he smiled appreciatively, waving me over. He was anxious, and that was made obvious by the tapping of his fingertips on the tabletop. I wondered if it had to do with the impending heist or the promise of what would follow. Between now and then I had to find a way out of that potentially sticky situation, but like I insisted the previous night, work comes first.
We made small talk while we ate, and he pretended to be fascinated by my job transcribing medical records and filling out insurance forms. He asked dozens of questions about my family, friends, and hobbies. The former federal agent in me was wary of all the questions, but I reminded myself that as far as Tommy was concerned, tonight was the equivalent of the coveted third date. He wanted to appear attentive and interested, just like any suitor would. Still, I deflected the questions, knowing that anything I said would be a lie that I had to remember in the future.
After we finished eating, he offered to drive around and point out the hot spots for the rich and famous. We checked out some gated communities, the exclusive clubs and restaurants, a couple hotels, and the financial district. There were quite a few options available, but I needed to steer him in the right direction without giving away the plant.
“Hey, what about these hotels?” I asked as we went by some valet parking stands. “The problem with restaurants and businesses is no one’s around in the middle of the night. That means they won’t just leave their cars behind.”
“How many times have you done this?” he inquired, glancing out of the corner of his eye.
“Boosting cars?” I shrugged. “Not that often. I’m an upstanding citizen with a day job. The problem is the day job isn’t paying the bills ever since they cut my hours.”
“How did you get started?” He sounded suspicious, and I made sure to repeat the same cover story I used when we met.
“The guy I used to date was a car aficionado. He drove a fancy car and always had cash. I thought he was rich, and we’d get married. Turns out he was a thief. We had some fun, and he taught me a lot.” I sighed dramatically. “But the whole thing became so complicated. We’d boost a car, but unless a buyer was already lined up, we’d be stuck sitting on a hot ride for weeks. It was too dangerous.”
“What happened to him?”
“He got pinched on our seventh GTA. At least the bastard never gave me up.”
“I don’t imagine anyone would willingly give you up, babe,” he muttered, circling through another parking garage.
“What about that cute little silver number?” I asked, drawing his attention to a BMW.
“Good eye.” As he looped around, he pointed out a black Audi and a classic yellow Corvette. “But you got to pay attention to the security cams. There’s way too many in here, so we gotta look elsewhere.” We left that garage and checked three more before he drove into the right parking structure. “Hey, check out that royal blue number.” Martin’s sports car caught Tommy’s eye, like I thought it would. Men were so predictable, sometimes.
“Ooh, that’d be the perfect score.” Before he could point out the security camera posted on the wall, I pointed to the support pillar that provided ample cover. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if it did, but I was insistent. “What’s the spot number?” I asked, making a pretense of scribbling down the location. Now the only thing left to do was pick up Martin’s car and take it to whatever location Gregson provided. With any luck, everything would go off without a hitch.
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Condemned, the first novel in the Julian Mercer Series
Everything had become interchangeable. The cities, the women, the jobs, none of them were special. They all blurred together in an indecipherable haze.
Julian Mercer stood on the balcony of his hotel room, staring out over the city. If it wasn’t for the Ferris wheel, he might not have realized he was in London. He chuckled at the absurdity. Having been born an hour outside the city and spending his youth at the most prestigious preparatory academies, one would have assumed he would recognize home. But he didn’t. Not anymore.
The woman he spent the last twenty minutes fucking opened the door and joined him on the balcony. “You got a match?” she asked, holding up an unlit cigarette. She was completely nude, and her breasts were barely concealed underneath her tousled red locks.
“No.” He assessed her as if he had never seen her before. She was pretty. Ginger, as his mates would call it. Pale skin, freckles, and auburn red hair. The reason she left the pub with him was a complete mystery, but he didn’t complain an hour ago. “Smoking will kill you.”
“Bugger.” She ran her hands up his pectoral muscles; her fingers tracing the various scars that littered his chest and arms. “How’d that happen?” she asked.
He looked down, trying to be polite, but completely bored now that their romp was concluded. It had been adequate but not something he had any desire to repeat. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what her name was. It seemed trivial and unimportant, so he couldn’t be bothered to take note of it.
“Thirty-two caliber bullet.” His tone was matter-of-fact.
She stepped back, maybe shocked or perhaps turned on. Another detail he couldn’t concern himself with. “What’d you say you do?”
“I didn’t.” He brushed past her and back into the room. He found his shirt on the floor and put it on. Her belongings he carried to the chair closest to the balcony and dropped them off.
“You’re an asshole,” she snapped, tugging on her shirt and pants. She shoved her underwear and bra into her purse and stomped to the door.
“Thanks for the lovely shag,” he retorted as the door slammed, rattling the dresser. “Birds.” Fastening his watch, he glanced at the rumpled bed and felt the familiar hollow void. Maybe the reason he neglected to notice he was in London was because the city brought back the pain.
Picking up the untraceable cell phone, he dialed the only number stored in its memory. After the second ring, Bastian Clarke answered. “You’ve scared off another one?”
“Bas,” Mercer was losing his patience, “is everything set?”
“Yes, sir. We move in tonight to collect the package.”
“I’ll see you at the rendezvous point at ten. There’s something I have to do first.” Mercer took out his wallet, opening the tiny sealed compartment and slipping his wedding ring back on, and then he went downstairs, bought a bouquet of yellow roses, and hailed a cab.
Remaining out of sight, Mercer waited for the elderly gentleman to finish uttering a few quiet words. The rain had picked up and sluiced through the frigid air in sheets. Another obvious indication he was home. Sure, other parts of the world got rain, but it always felt different in England. Perhaps he was nostalgic. After the man left, Mercer swallowed, bolstering his nerves.
“Michelle,” he put the flowers down, “I’ve missed you
.” He played absently with the silver band on his finger, no longer accustomed to wearing it. “And I’m sorry.” The grey marble slab stared at him, unyielding and harsh. “Your dad still visits on your birthday, I see.” He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. He was a soldier, a trained killer. He wasn’t supposed to be emotional. “This is ridiculous. I’m talking to a bloody piece of granite.” The anger hit hard, as it always did, and cursing whatever deity might be listening and mocking his pain, he kissed the top of the gravestone like always and stormed back to the waiting cab. The sooner this job was concluded, the sooner he could leave. Then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. He could focus on the job and not the excruciating emptiness.
As the taxi meandered through the streets, he stared at his ring, wondering why he kept it and why it felt imperative he put it on before visiting his wife’s grave. “Old habits die hard,” he mumbled to himself.
The cabbie glanced at him in the rearview mirror but didn’t comment.
Each time Mercer returned from a mission for the SAS, he always put his ring back on before walking through the front door. It meant he was home and that he belonged somewhere. To someone. It was his lifeline, a tether to normalcy, but with Michelle’s final breath, he had lost his footing.
Over the last two years, his team, particularly Bastian, had tried to act as his moral compass, but often, it seemed it would be easier not to have to worry about such hindrances. When the four of them were employed by Her Majesty, there were no ethical quandaries, just orders. But ever since being forced into an early retirement from the Special Air Service and becoming a personal security specialist, the lines were quickly blurring. If things continued like they were, eventually there would be no more lines.
The cab halted, and Mercer paid the man, exiting without a word. He trudged back up the steps to his hotel room, planning to spend the next few hours reviewing the building’s layout and memorizing the plan and at least one contingency. Opening the door, he drew his Sig and pointed it at the intruder. The scent of cigarette smoke tipped him off that he wasn’t alone. Constantly on alert, he was trained to decimate anyone who stood in his way or posed a threat.