Condemned (Julian Mercer Book 1) Page 3

  “Fine,” she huffed, opening the back door and throwing her camera bag and briefcase inside before maneuvering around Mercer to get to the front passenger’s side door. “But if you think I’m riding in back and giving you a tip, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  He held his snide comment at bay, looking smug as he went around the car to the driver’s side. Some things were predictable. “What destination did you have in mind?” he asked, checking the mirror for signs of trouble or a tail before pulling out while making a mental note not to drive on the left side of the street. Damn Yanks.

  “The hospital. I want to see Ben.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “Why did my father hire you? We have enough security at home. Am I really expected to have a babysitter for the rest of my life?”

  “No,” his eyes diligently continued to monitor the traffic patterns and mirrors, “once this situation is sorted out and the threat is removed, my team and I will be on our way.”

  “Are you investigating?”

  “The police ought to be. My job is far more simplistic.”

  “What is your job?”

  “To make sure you remain breathing.” He tossed a glance at her.

  “My hero.” The bitter sarcasm hung in the air. “How convenient that a bodyguard happens to appear at such a perfectly opportune time, right after Ben was shot.”

  “Is that an apology for leaving me in lockup over night?” Mercer queried. She had reasons to be suspicious, but he wasn’t her enemy. “Is it wrong to assume you took my business card and gave it to your father?” He caught her eye. “You’re not fooling anyone, princess. You’re scared, and you think I’m a bloody knight in shining armor. Let me make one thing clear. I’m good at what I do, but I’m no one’s hero.”

  The rest of the ride was in silence, and by the time he cut the car’s engine, she was twenty feet ahead of him, making her way to the hospital’s entrance. Mercer kept an eye out but didn’t fathom anyone would make an attempt on her life in such a populated and public location. He caught up to her at the elevator, and they rode to the appropriate floor without a word.

  When the doors opened, she read the signs to locate Ben while Mercer glanced down the corridor, spotting Hans sitting in a chair outside Styler's room. Bastian doled out assignments to ensure the safety of Carlton, Ben, and Katia until they had a firmer grasp on what was going on and who might be targeted. Katia turned and headed for Ben’s room, oblivious to the constant presence just feet from her fiancé’s door.

  “No wonder she needs protection,” Hans whispered. “She’s bloody clueless.”

  “Or in denial,” Mercer responded. “Any updates on his condition?”

  “In and out of consciousness. They think he’ll live, but they’re monitoring him closely.”

  “How’d you find this out?” Mercer asked.

  “I might have charmed the pants off a nurse.” He smiled wickedly. “American women love the accent. Can’t we consider permanently relocating to the States?”

  “Stay focused,” Mercer berated, following Katia into the room.

  Inside, Katia took a seat next to Ben. Silent tears fell from her eyes and threatened to streak the mascara she wore. Mercer remained standing near the door, completely out of place. His normal aloof demeanor retired, and he was intrigued by the amount of emotions this one woman expressed. Love, fear, hope, anger, pain, and if Ben opened his eyes, a good chance for passion. As a general rule, Julian tried to shut off his feelings, and for the most part, the only one he regularly contended with was anger. So it seemed strange to see such blatant displays in front of him.

  “What’s your problem?” she asked, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “You just stand there like a goddamn statue, gawking at me. Haven’t you ever seen anyone cry before? Are you a fucking sadist? Do you intend to go home and jack off to this?”

  “I’m not your enemy.” His words were quiet, knowing that anything she said was simply the result of lashing out against the situation and not at him. She stared at him, silently pleading for something only he could promise. “Do you know who did this?” he asked, sensing she knew more about the situation than she had bothered to share.

  “What will you do to them?” Her tone became cold and calculating. And in that instant, it was apparent she wanted revenge.

  “Whatever you want.”

  “I want you to kill them. I want them to suffer. To scream.” The tears were falling much more rapidly, fueled by her anguish and rage. “I want you to torture them,” she trembled and struggled for air, “for the torment they’ve caused by hurting Ben.”

  She burst into loud, gasping sobs, and Mercer closed the gap between them and held her in the confines of his arms. He rocked her back and forth as she fought against his grip. Eventually, she gave up struggling and clutched his shoulders, sobbing into his shirt. He picked her up and sat down in the chair with her on his lap as she continued to cry into his chest.

  Hours later, the pitiful mewling noises she was making ceased, and he no longer felt the need to continue the swaying motion to try to calm her. Instead, he looked down to find she had fallen asleep. The emotional toll had become too much for her to bear. Getting up, he carried her out of the room and into the hallway.

  “Now what did you do?” Hans asked.

  “Come on,” he jerked his head toward the elevator, not breaking stride, “Bastian’s too concerned about playing defense. I’m still your CO, and I make the decisions. The plan’s changed.”

  Without protest, Hans followed Julian down the hallway. Hospital security could keep an eye on Benjamin Styler for the immediate future.

  Inside the elevator, the ding roused Katia, and she opened her eyes, embarrassed by her hysterics. “Put me down,” she insisted, and Mercer gently released her legs so she could stand next to him. “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

  “You mean your handkerchief?” he teased, and she looked away, embarrassed. “It needed a good washing anyway.”

  He caught the perplexed look on Hans’ face. The younger man hadn’t seen his boss in such a good mood in the last two years. Whatever happened inside that hospital room might be the first step to getting the old Julian back.

  “Did you mean what you said?” Katia asked meekly.

  “Yes.” Mercer judged her expression. “Are you certain that’s what you want?” She nodded. “Make sure because there is no going back once it’s done.”

  “I’m positive.”

  Her conviction was unsettling, and Mercer realized how easily he could relate. He didn’t get to exact revenge on his wife’s murderer. Not yet. And he spent countless nights wanting nothing more than to watch the man slowly and painfully bleed to death, but instead, the assailant was still walking around free, someplace safe from Mercer’s hand.

  “Okay. Once we identify the party responsible, the rest will follow.”

  “There are things that I haven’t told the police,” she admitted. “Maybe some of it will be useful.”

  “Hans, call Bastian and have him meet us at the hotel. We need to work out a new strategy.”

  Five

  This was the most talkative and animated Mercer had been in a long while. He paced the room, rubbing his five o’clock shadow and willing the computers to work faster. Katia was seated on the bed, her back against the headboard and her knees pulled up against her chest. Bastian was entering every bit of relevant data he could think of to get the technology to cooperate while Donovan and Hans cleaned and reassembled their weaponry. If Katia was frightened by the two assault rifles, sniper scope, and box of ammunition, she didn’t let on.

  “Let’s go over this one more time,” Mercer insisted, turning to face her. He grabbed a chair and sat down. “You said Ben owed money to some people. Were they his drug dealers or his bookies?”

  “He’s off the drugs,” she insisted, chewing on a hangnail. “But he mentioned being indebted to some people for a few grand. I told him I’d lend him the money, but he said it wasn’t a
big deal.”

  “How much?” Donovan asked.

  “A couple thousand. I don’t know the exact dollars and cents,” she retorted, glaring in his general direction.

  “Why did he owe them money?” Mercer asked.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “He said he made some bad investments and needed some help out of the mess.”

  “Sounds like a loan shark,” Bastian muttered.

  Mercer nodded but didn’t turn around to face the other man. “When I found you in that alley, you mentioned you thought they came back to finish what they started. How many of them did you see before the shooting started? What did they look like? Did anyone say anything?”

  “Two or three guys, maybe. I barely even saw the gun. It happened so fast.” She pressed her chin against her knees to hide the telltale quiver before more tears could fall. “We ducked into this little alcove for some privacy. I didn’t notice them until after the shooting, and I certainly never expected anyone to do something like this. All at once, someone called Ben’s name and said something like ‘you had your chance’. I don’t remember exactly.” She blinked back the tears. “Then BAM.” The sudden increase in her volume made Bastian jump. The other three remained unfazed.

  “Just one shot?” Mercer inquired.

  “How many should they have taken?” she screeched. “He’s fighting for his life right now. A second one surely would have killed him.”

  “Hell of a shot,” Hans murmured. “How far away was the shooter?” Katia looked confused, so Hans stood up and pointed his thumb and index finger at her. “Was he closer than this?”

  “No.” Her brow furrowed. “Maybe twice as far. Perhaps farther.” She shook her head and squinted, trying to recall some details. “We were walking back from dinner and stopped in the alley to…” She blushed. “It doesn’t matter, but the shooter never came into the alley. He stayed on the street.”

  “About six to eight meters, assuming they didn’t go deeper into the alley after the shooting,” Mercer supplied, estimating the distance from the opening to where he found Katia and Ben on the ground.

  “Tight quarters,” Donovan interjected. “I’d love to run trajectories, especially with the angles from the buildings.” His mind was on determining the perfect vantage point. “Did they say or do anything else afterward?”

  “No. Ben just crumpled, and they disappeared.” A sob escaped her lips, and she swallowed. “He collapsed onto me, and I just kept screaming for help. It felt like hours before anyone showed up.” Her eyes focused on Mercer. “You showed up.”

  “Did you call the authorities?” he asked. They arrived seconds after he did, and assuming the scream he heard while on the train had been her, then she must have been out there for at least a half hour while Ben continued to lose blood.

  “No. I couldn’t find my phone, and I was too afraid to let go of Ben.” She got off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom to get a tissue and wash the ruined makeup off her cheeks. Maybe she just wanted a moment alone, away from the prying eyes of the four men.

  “And no one did a damn thing,” Bastian said in a hushed tone.

  “Surprised?” Julian asked, irate at the entire human race. “People are apathetic. They don’t give a shit.”

  “So we have a group consisting of two or three men. One shooter. One shot fired. No follow-up threats or additional demands,” Donovan surmised. “Shall I go to the hospital to ensure Ben isn’t visited by any more of these wankers?”

  “Go.” Julian jerked his head toward the door, and Donovan disappeared before Katia emerged from the bathroom.

  “I’ll go have a chat with the coppers,” Hans offered. “Maybe they can be persuaded to offer up their leads.” He exited, and Bastian leaned closer to Mercer.

  “There must be surveillance cameras close by. A busy street like this with shops, hotels, and restaurants must have some CCTVs that caught something. I’ll work on decrypting the nearby networks and see what I can find. Do you need back-up, or do you think you can handle the young lady on your own?” It was snarky, but Mercer ignored it.

  “Here,” Julian reached into his pocket and found some dollar bills and change, “for the vending machine down the hallway. You’re running low on pen caps, and I know you can’t afford to clean out the mini-bar every night.”

  “Cheeky bastard,” Bastian remarked, leaving just as Katia returned to the main room.

  As Mercer studied the darkness outside, he detected a few glitches in Katia’s behavior. She was afraid, grieving, and angry, but the way she turned cold and vicious in the hospital room spoke volumes. When confronted about the incident and the party responsible, she simply asked what would be done to them. She had to know who was responsible and why her fiancé was barely breathing. If not, there would have been no point in asking that question and deflecting the one he asked.

  Her footsteps faltered, and she cleared her throat. But Mercer pretended not to hear, still contemplating his next move. As she stepped closer, the smell of her perfume grew stronger, but he continued to face away. There was something deceitful about this woman, and it was important to make sure she didn’t pose a threat to his team.

  “Where’d everyone go?” she asked, sounding a little panicked. Perhaps being alone in a hotel room with a strange man wasn’t ideal. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

  “No.” Mercer stood in front of the window, watching her reflection in the glass. “My team will determine who’s responsible.” He glanced back at her. “We don’t keep secrets from each other, so I don’t understand why you haven’t given us the identities of your assailants. You want us to find them, and we will. But why are you making this more difficult than it needs to be?”

  “I don’t know who they are.” She looked away, the lie blatantly obvious.

  “Yes. You do.” He spun around to face her. “You’ve been handling this situation better than most. I’ve seen a lot of grief and the different ways people deal with it. You’re calculating. Every word you say is being weighed. I won’t go back on my promise. I intend to exact revenge on your behalf, but no one else is here. It’s time to come clean. I work for you. I was hired to protect you. Whatever you say won’t change that fact.”

  She looked angry and chewed on her bottom lip. “Fine. I’ve seen them before. At least the other two. Not the shooter. They were leaving Ben’s apartment a week ago. When I asked him who they were, he said they were business associates.”

  “What kind of business is Mr. Styler in?”

  “He’s an online day trader.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course, I’m fucking sure. Don’t you think I know who I’m planning to marry?” She was annoyed. “You think you’re just so goddamn brilliant, trying to rip my story to shreds. Everything I’ve said has been the truth.”

  “You knew the men involved in the shooting,” Mercer said, pointing out the flaw in her argument.

  “I don’t know them. I saw them once. It might not even be the same two men. It was dark in that alley, and I was on my knees about to give my fiancé a blowjob. Do you think I gave a damn about some people on the street?”

  “Classy.”

  “Who the hell are you to pass judgment, Mr. Mercer?” Her eyes bore daggers at him. “At least I have someone to love who loves me,” her face contorted, “unless he dies.” She plopped down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what I’d do if…” She didn’t continue.

  “You’ll survive. You might not want to, but you will.” He watched her as she filtered through the emotions, coming to rest on hatred.

  “Why are you doing this to me? Don’t you think I’ve been through enough without being humiliated and accused of lying? Next, you’ll probably say I conspired with them and that I want Ben to die.”

  “Did you?”

  “Screw you.” She stomped to the door, but before she could get it open, Mercer grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face him.


  “You’re angry now. You want blood, and you’re willing to lash out at anyone and everyone.” Admittedly, he had been testing her, pushing her buttons to get this precise reaction. It was important to discover her motivation for concealing the truth. If she was involved, it’d be better to find out forthright. But her emotions were honest. She didn’t want Benjamin Styler to die. “You have to learn to be detached. Unemotional. Right now, you’re a liability. That’s a risk to my team that I won’t allow. Get your shit together and file it away in a box. Only clear thinking will get us the results you desire.”

  “You’re psychotic.”

  He shrugged and released her from his grasp. “Perhaps.” She left the room, muttering curses under her breath. He exhaled and dialed Bastian, requesting he meet Katia in the lobby and escort her home.

  “What the bloody hell do you keep doing to these women?” Bastian asked, and Mercer hung up.

  Six

  Hans received a copy of the police report, but there weren’t any leads. Based on Katia’s initial statement, the police were working under the assumption it was a mugging gone wrong. Clearly, the woman had a tenuous relationship with the truth, but her statement still enabled the cops to be granted permission to view the video footage from nearby businesses and the city’s traffic cams. However, they were unable to identify the shooter. Then again, they didn’t know the whole story.

  Bastian accessed similar footage through much less legal means and caught the briefest glimpse of the assailants. Three men had leapfrogged the couple from the time they left the restaurant. First, one man followed. Then the men switched off, and another pursued for the next block or so. Finally, the shooter took lead, and as the previous two men joined him, he popped off a single shot. Then the three continued on their way as if nothing happened. They kept their heads down and their faces obscured from the city’s surveillance.

  “Do we have audio?” Mercer asked, watching the video play again.