Chapter 15
Mercy stared at Michael, in shock at his words. “Nice timing?” she whispered. She shook her head and continued in a barely audible voice, “It doesn’t matter. That was way too damn close. And now we’re in deep shit too.”
The smile fell from his face. “Are you going to be fired, do you think?”
She thought about it, rubbing her temple. “I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t see a No Fraternizing among Employees sign.” She shrugged. “I’m sure Martha will have a rule against it though.” Mercy frowned, her mind working the angles. “You think that’s why my sister was killed? Because she started a relationship with Sammy?”
He walked over and gently wrapped his arms around her, tucking her close against his chest. “I hope not. I would doubt she’d die for something so simple.”
She winced. “I keep wracking my brain, wondering if she would get involved in something shady like this. The trouble is, I can’t answer that question. When she left, I would have definitely said, ‘Yes.’ She was into drugs, men, and the fast life. She probably stole, shoplifted—hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t involved in some shooting or breaking and entering back then. But we didn’t hear from her for a long time, and she grew up somewhere along the line. To think she was here for several months cleaning like I’ve been cleaning”—she shook her head—“it boggles the mind. She never would’ve been caught doing menial labor before.”
She pulled back from Michael’s embrace, hating that lassitude overcoming her, wanting to stay nestled close to him. “What about the rest of the night? Do you think I should return to my place?”
He shook his head. “Hell no.”
She frowned. “I left my toiletry bag in the bathroom.”
“Is it that important?” he added quietly, “It’s past 10:00 p.m. curfew.”
The two stared at each other as if across an impasse. Then she shook her head. “It’s not, but I don’t want to leave anything of me behind. I know that doesn’t sound right, but it feels right to say it. There is something so very wrong about this place that I want to make sure I take away everything that’s me.” He raised an eyebrow at that, but he didn’t mock her, for which she was grateful.
“In the morning I’ll walk over with you, and we’ll get it.”
“And what is your excuse?”
“I wasn’t planning on using an excuse,” he said. “If I have a lady stay for the night, I always make sure she gets home safe.”
She frowned at him.
He raised a hand when she went to argue and said, “No arguments. We need sleep.”
“Ha, like I could sleep now.” She walked back into the bedroom, the sheet falling slightly. When she’d dashed from the bed, she’d pulled the straps of her bra off her shoulders. She quickly pulled them back up. In her panties and bra, she tossed the sheet back on the bed and remade it. “We’ve already destroyed your bed tonight.”
“So no reason we can’t destroy it again, is there?” he asked with a devilish note in his voice.
She shot him a smirk. “You should be so lucky.”
He pointed to her shirt, still over the camera.
She nodded.
He quickly divested himself of his jeans while she watched, her heart speeding up at the bulge in his underwear. She deliberately closed her eyes and pulled the blankets up against her shoulders. Because the truth was, she did want to roll over and welcome him into her arms and rip up the sheets. But that was hardly the best idea right now.
And she’d never want an audience.
She lay there pondering the ins and outs of relationships as he got into bed behind her. She held her breath as the bed swayed as it took his weight. Finally, she rolled over and whispered, “I don’t think the bed can take any more shenanigans as it is.”
He gave her a startled look, then a shocked laugh. “I’m not that heavy,” he whispered in protest.
She chuckled but hopped out and stood, looking at the bed frame. She motioned him out of the bed. “Get up and help me lift this mattress,” she murmured.
Obediently he got out of bed and checked out the footboard and underneath the mattress frame. Cracked, he mouthed.
He held up a finger and then pointed at an odd crack in the frame. He bent over the footboard. She scrambled around the side of the mattress where she could take a look. Something was jammed in there. Michael pulled out his tools.
“It must be from the way you sat down,” she whispered, her tone flirty.
Michael muttered, “Like hell.”
She grinned, but her eyes were sharp as she watched him pull out dog tags.
Pain whispered across his face.
She knew instinctively they were Sammy’s dog tags. And there was nothing she could do to help him through this moment.
He dug in again with his tools for anything else, and, sure enough, a slim USB key fell out.
He snagged it and put it with the dog tags, checked to make sure the little hiding space was completely empty, then as quietly as possible, they replaced the mattress and remade the bed. When they were back in bed, he plugged in the USB to his laptop and took a good look at what Sammy had stored there.
Photos.
Photos of the cave that Michael had been in tonight and of the men unloading crates of weapons and crates of C-4 explosives. A man stood off to the side, holding a semiautomatic machine gun, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. The second photo was of Freeman, the owner of the estate, standing beside one of the open trucks and speaking to somebody else Michael didn’t recognize. It looked like packets of money were handed over, but the photo was too far away to make that distinction. He studied the photo.
She squeezed his hand, knowing Michael was also dealing with the loss of his friend.
With a smoldering look in his eyes, he leaned over and kissed her. But not just a kiss of Hey, how are you? or a kiss of Hey, we’ll get through this. This was a kiss of Holy shit, I can’t wait to hold you in my arms and devastate your self-control. Most definitely it was a promise. For later. The trouble was, she wanted that promise now. She didn’t want to wait.
What if something happened to her, like to her sister? Life was too damn short for waiting until she knew somebody better. What a fraud she was. She wanted this man any way she could get him. But what she didn’t want was to have him while somebody else was listening in. Decision made, she slipped from the covers and walked to the living room.
She checked the time. It was almost three in the morning. She walked over to the teakettle, filling it with water slowly, soundlessly. She would have to catch it before it whistled too. In the dark she stared at the moonlight outside. A bone-chill settled in. She couldn’t forget the people who had been in this same position and hadn’t survived.
He’d followed her out of the bedroom with his computer and closed the bedroom door almost to the point of latching it. He sat down at the kitchen table and opened the other folders found on the USB key. Waiting for it to load seemed to take forever. “I knew Sammy would leave something useful,” Michael said quietly.
Finally the file opened, and she could see literally dozens of folders. She walked over to make tea for both of them. With two cups in her hands, she returned to the table, sitting beside him, her heart seizing at the very first image. It was her sister. A happier, contented sister. Anna, in Sammy’s arms, stared at the camera at the end of his arm as Sammy took a selfie of the two of them.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “I never thought to have recent pictures of her.”
Michael wrapped an arm around Mercy’s shoulders and urged her closer. She moved the chair until they were touching, and she snuggled up against him. She brushed away the tears as she looked at the sister she hadn’t seen in twelve years.
“She looks so happy. So very different from who she had been when she left home,” Mercy murmured.
“It happens that way sometimes,” Michael said as they continued their whispered conversation. “Think about it back then. She was probably having trouble fitting in, looking for something other than the life you and your mom represented. She went wild, had to find herself, figure out what she was doing. But it looks like she did it eventually.”
“And Sammy? How does he look?” She studied the man in the photo, his face revealing a strength of character.
“He looks like he adored your sister,” Michael said.
“It’s so damn unfair.” Mercy shook her head. “How could somebody kill those two people? They had their whole lives in front of them. They had finally found each other and looked like they could be going somewhere.”
Michael nodded, his chin rubbing against the top of her head. “Sammy was a good guy. He would’ve been good for Anna.”
“And she would’ve been good for him. Help him live a little.”
They flipped through several of the photos, more selfies—the two of them in town, on the estate, and in this very apartment. “I wonder how long they were together?” Michael asked.
“I have no idea,” she whispered. “I tried asking questions about her, but no one was willing to talk to me.”
“Most people probably don’t know the details. And those who do won’t be talking.”
“Of course not.”
There were a couple pictures of Anna alone. And then several of Sammy alone. Each time was a different location. Michael and Mercy studied the backgrounds for any purpose as to the location. But, so far, they weren’t coming up with anything. Then she froze. “Is that the cedar hedge?”
He leaned forward and nodded. “And that one is further down.” He tapped another one. “In the background is the storage warehouse I found.”
Excited they ran through the photos in that file, they went to the next folder. This one held photos of the estate and every one of the security men, all still employed here. A list of their names and notes on each security guard were also in that folder.
“Why would he do that?” Mercy asked.
“Standard procedure. So everybody knows who the players in a scenario are. Just in case …”
She felt sick to her stomach when she realized Sammy had documented his own murder case, fully aware he could become a victim. She shook her head, tears in her eyes once again. “Poor Sammy. Poor Anna.”
Michael wrapped his arms around Mercy and squeezed her shoulders. “Yes, now it’s up to us to make sure they didn’t die in vain. We have to stop these assholes. So they can’t do this again.”
*
The last thing Michael wanted to do was sleep. He had a beautiful woman in his arms, one who had very quickly captured his heart. She was so damn loyal that he couldn’t help but admire her. She was also full of surprises. Like when she’d pulled off her shirt and tossed it over the camera so he had the chance to head out and search the grounds. She also saved him once again when she came out of the bedroom, wrapped up in the sheet. Looking delightful. The woman was prepared to do what needed to be done.
She slowly disengaged from his hold to cradle her head in her arms atop the table.
He was worried about her. She jumped first and looked second. She was so concerned about her sister’s life and her sister’s death, but Mercy would have to walk away, leaving the investigation to the professionals. And he knew she had no intention of doing that.
The only thing he could do to help keep her safe was to get answers for her. Answers for the both of them. She wouldn’t like that. She was on the stubborn side. He smiled, realizing he liked stubborn.
“Stop thinking so hard. You’re keeping me awake.”
Her sleepy murmur had startled him.
She had her head resting on her forearms on the table. He chuckled. “Go to sleep so you can’t hear me thinking.”
“I would if I could, but that’s not possible,” she whispered.
“Try again.” He gently stroked her arms up and down in a soothing, comforting motion. She still had her bra and panties on. “You sure you want to keep your bra on? You can’t be very comfortable. Are you chilled? Do you want to get changed? Your clothes are here.”
“I’m fine. I figured it was safer to keep this much on.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “Safer?”
“You’re a little too sexy. I figured any barrier, even a tiny thin one, would help,” she said with a smirk.
He lowered his head and dropped a kiss on the curve of her neck. “And you’re too damn sexy even with it on.” He stood and walked to the couch. He took off the cushions and pulled out a bed, much to her delight. He scooped her up and laid her on it.
She rolled over slightly and raised her heavy eyelids to stare up at him with leashed passion in her gaze. Her lips quirked in a sexy gesture at the same time.
That pulled at his heartstrings. He lowered his head and kissed her on her cheek, then on the tip of her nose. “Go to sleep,” he whispered.
“Sleep is looking further and further away from my mind,” she murmured.
“That’s not good,” Michael said, trailing kisses down her jawline. “You need rest.”
She slid her arms up around his neck, tugged him closer and whispered, “Maybe we’ll sleep a little bit later.” And she kissed him. Unlike his kisses, hers were not teasing or slow and relaxed.
Her heat, her need, met his heat and his need, made his temperature soar. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her full length, pressing his hips against hers.
She curled more fully and settled into his pelvis, gently pressing harder against him. He heard her take a deep breath.
“Well, lady, you don’t fool around.”
She chuckled. “So what exactly is this then?” she teased.
He flashed her a grin. “This is serious business.” He lowered his head and unleashed the passion inside.
It was all he could do to control himself as her hands slid, stroked, encircled him, her tongue sliding delicately over his sensitized skin. Her hot kisses pressed against his neck and with a fervor he recognized—because it matched his.
She kissed him again and again and again with a heat that quickly overtook him. He pressed her into the mattress, their bodies hot, demanding, needy. When she opened her legs and wrapped her thighs tight around his hips, he groaned and pulled back, lowering his head to rest against the curve of her neck as he took several deep breaths.
“I need you,” she whispered. “Now.”
He shook his head “I don’t want it over so fast.”
She tilted his chin up so she could look him in the eye. “Next time we’ll take it slower.”
He bit off an oath when she slid a hand down and circled him, then squeezed. There was no holding back no matter how much restraint he might want to have. Within seconds her panties were ripped off and his boxers joined them on the floor.
With the last bit of his control, he rolled to his side and gently slid a hand between her legs. He found her hot, wet, and more than ready for him. She cried out as he probed delicate skin folds, spreading the moisture on her outer lips. She twisted beneath him, trying to pull him on top of her. Finally, she grabbed his ears and tugged him down, kissing him with a hot, ravishing openmouthed kiss.
With a groan deep in the back of his throat, he moved on top of her and settled into place. She wrapped her arms and legs around him like a monkey, pulling him deep inside her. He froze there for a long moment, then, with a feral cry, moved. There was nothing relaxed or controlled about any of his movements. It was a wild, frantic coupling, as if an elastic band stretched too far had suddenly snapped.
Suddenly she clenched him tight, cried out, and climaxed in his arms. He plunged deeper—once, twice, three times—before he exploded. Exhausted, he propped himself on his elbow for a long moment, then eased his weight to the side while still staying within her. He dropped his head to the pillow, desperately trying to control his breathing.
When he could, he lay beside her, Mercy wrapped up in his arms. Into the silence of the night he whispered, “Do you think you can sleep now?”
But there was no answer. He listened to her steady breathing and grinned.
Apparently she could sleep just fine.