Chapter 2
Surprised that she actually got the job, but understanding she’d been taken on temporarily as the housekeeper was short staffed and desperate, Mercy started in her sister’s old position while her references were checked. Her fake resume and fake references. But it was hard to relax. Not only was it a new job, but she was here under a guise. Something that made her uncomfortable. She was honest and moral and this went against everything she held dear—but her sister had been murdered. And the answers were here. She knew it. And she refused to walk away because it was ‘wrong.’
Then there was the unexpected emotion attached to walking in her sister’s footsteps.
Expecting someone to notice the resemblance to her sister every moment although they had little familial resemblance growing up, she kept her head down and her hands busy.
Taking her sister’s place at the big house was fine in theory, but the reality was a whole lot dirtier. Mercy scrubbed the floors, dusted and wiped the moldings, and was now washing and wiping the tops of window frames and doors. Even though she’d been raised by an Italian mother obsessed with cleaning, this was a whole new level. Mercy didn’t know if the housekeeper was obsessed with catching every last dust mite or if this was the owner’s obsession. He wasn’t married, so there was no wife to blame.
It didn’t matter. Mercy had done nothing but clean since she’d arrived forty-eight hours earlier. She knew she was blessed as the job gave her an opportunity to check up on her sister’s last-known whereabouts, but Mercy had been so busy she’d barely had a chance to think. The housekeeper had been extremely vocal about making sure Mercy didn’t dawdle.
Dawdle? Jesus, she’d never worked so hard in her life, thinking how hellish her sister’s career choice had been. Yet, she had lasted here six months. Mercy was afraid she wouldn’t last the week, much less three of them. And she could never get her sister to clean the room they shared when they were growing up. How had Anna appeased Martha all those months? Her sister’s idea of changing the bed had been to straighten it instead of taking off the sheets.
Which reminded Mercy, she had to change out the linens in the guest bedrooms today as company was coming.
Mercy’s employment here included room and board. She was sure she was sleeping in the same room as Anna had been. She hadn’t had a chance to rest long enough to check it out though. Supposedly she was allowed to stay in the maid’s quarters for her first three months, but staying longer was a discussion Martha would have with Mercy after her trial period ended.
That didn’t sound normal.
But nothing was normal about this place. She asked about the previous maid but had gotten no reaction from anybody. She pinched her lips shut and kept going.
Another new employee had been hired the day after Mercy had arrived.
They should hire another maid, but that was unlikely at the moment. The housekeeper had mentioned in passing about big changes to come but Mercy wouldn’t be here by the time those changes were put in place. So the two of them worked hard. The new guy was working as a gardener, a pool boy, and a chauffeur, plus other odd jobs. A lot of work for the new guy. Especially since the estate covered ten acres. Located outside of Houston in one of the wealthy suburbs, it was far enough away from Houston to have privacy but close enough to have access to all the amenities a big city offered.
And it was run by a fanatical housekeeper.
Mercy didn’t have much time to ponder why. She had to head to the owner’s office and return to cleaning. The guest coming today would be in the owner’s office a lot of the time. This gave Mercy a chance to snoop in Mr. Freeman’s business, because anything estate-related might be connected to her sister’s murder and needed digging into. Not knowing was consuming her thoughts. She might be scared to take this step but to not find out more about her sister’s murder and then to have regrets about that for the rest of her life … well, that would be impossible to live with.
Mercy wasn’t a troublemaker by nature. In fact, she went out of her way to be nonconfrontational. It was one of the reasons she was well-liked at work—she didn’t buck the system. She was a team player when she had to be, but she preferred to work independently. Often she took the lead on new projects. Then, when she had to, she’d set out the rules and expect others to follow. But here she was in the subservient role, bringing up all kinds of horrible and traumatic childhood memories. She had a new appreciation for menial labor workers though.
What if Mr. Freeman—or worse, Martha—caught Mercy snooping in his office? She had yet to meet the owner of the house, although she’d seen him in passing. So far he’d ignored her. She gathered she was not deemed worthy to speak to.
She walked into the office and stood in the middle of the double doors, studying the huge dark mahogany style office. It was somber, sober, and depressing. She walked to the curtains and opened them. She checked to see if clouds of dust rose with the movement.
But of course not. Her sister had likely cleaned them once a week. Knowing Mercy retraced every step her sister had made before her death brought up nostalgic memories that were hard to keep down. From her cleaning cart, she pulled out the spray bottle, the squeegee and the microfiber cloth to clean and dry the window and to avoid smears and then moved on to the next one.
“Aren’t you done in here yet?” Martha asked from the doorway.
Mercy looked at her boss and shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I just started in here.”
With a heavy and overexaggerated sigh, Martha shook her head. “I don’t know if this will work out so well. We need somebody who’s efficient.”
Mercy could feel her irritation rising. She stuffed it down deep. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to learn how you want the jobs done. I’ll be better next time.”
“If you stay here that long.” Martha sniffed. “Mr. Freeman only keeps the best staff.”
Holding back her tongue, Mercy meekly nodded and pointed. “If you don’t mind, I’ll return to cleaning windows.”
Martha nodded. “You may. Let me know when you’re done in this room.”
As soon as Martha left, Mercy turned her attention to the other windows and cleaned her way through them. They had to be cleaned from the outside as well. Even from Mr. Freeman’s office, Mercy could see cobwebs were collecting under and around the exterior shutters.
She glanced at his desk and wondered if she dared open a drawer. For all she knew, everything here was wired to an alarm. Although that thought did take her paranoia to a whole new level. Still, how would she find out anything about her sister otherwise? And it seemed she only cleaned this room weekly.
She couldn’t be here for more than the three weeks she’d booked off from work, but it already looked like it would be a very long, hard three weeks. She wondered at her foolishness. But, at the same time, her sister had died because of this place. Mercy wanted to know who the hell was responsible. From Detective Robertson, she understood Sammy had been the previous gardener-chauffeur guy and had been killed at her side. Maybe they had hooked up. She didn’t know, but she wanted to. She didn’t have a clue how to find out.
Taking a chance, she took a duster to the desk, expecting somebody to jump in and scream at her any second now. She assumed there were cameras in every room, she just couldn’t see them.
She quickly went about dusting the desk surface, pulling the handles on the drawers, opening them ever-so-slightly to get the layer of dust on the top edge, closing them quickly and moving to the next one. Thereafter, she walked to the large oak filing cabinets, repeating the process. All of the cabinet doors were locked. When finally done, she headed toward the door, only to see the owner standing there, his hands in his pockets studying her, a cold look in his eyes. She froze, then gave him a bright smile and said, “Good morning.”
There was something almost reptilian about that gaze. Then again she was looking for reasons to not like him. He’d done nothing for her sister. He had treated her as a slave. The man inclined his head gently and stepped out of the way as she rushed past him. She quickly took her cleaning cart farther down the hall to the first of the guest bedrooms.
She could feel Mr. Freeman’s eyes boring into her back. But she dared not look behind her. She had to appear completely unconcerned, but the timing was suspicious. Did it have anything to do with her working around the desk? Did he have cameras in there or sensors that went off? If he was into anything corrupt or illegal, it would make sense that he did have high security measures in place. And then again maybe he had come to his office to work.
She put the thought out of her head for the rest of the day. When it was her lunch break, she went to the kitchen, where the cook had set out a sandwich and a glass of water for her.
In a low voice she asked, “Is there any place outside I can sit?”
The cook pointed to a small veranda off to the left. “Staff goes there. Do not go around to any of the other verandas.” His tone was hard, but more because he was busy. Not because he was unfriendly. She hoped …
Taking her water and plate, she went outside, sat in the shade and ate. This was a world so vastly removed from her own. She couldn’t imagine her sister living here.
Anna was not the same sister Mercy used to know. What the hell had happened? It wasn’t that cleaning wasn’t a good job. But Mercy had never seen her sister work at anything.
She was almost done with the sandwich when she looked up to see the gardener walking past with great big clippers in his hand and a handful of weeds as he studied the bed to the side of the veranda. Something about his profile caught her attention.
He had a weathered look to his face, like someone who was outdoors a lot. That certainly fit his role. But the way he studied the bed, as if his senses were on alert, was strange. She finished her last bite of food, grabbed her glass and had a long sip. Swallowed. “Good afternoon, I’m Mercy Romano.”
He lifted his head and looked at her. Piercing blue eyes pinned her in place. It was almost like he had a computerized brain, cataloguing who she was, what she was, where she was, and why she was here.
When he turned his gaze to look at the door behind her, it was as if he had released her from some invisible thread.
He inclined his head and said in a low voice, deep and soft, “Good afternoon.”
His voice was so at odds to what she expected that she was startled for a moment. “I just arrived here myself,” she said. “We started a day apart.”
His gaze softened ever-so-slightly. He nodded. “Congratulations on the job.”
“You too.”
He bent down and pulled up a minuscule weed that had dared to pop up through the layer of heavy rocks, then walked away.
Mercy stood and stared at the gardener. There was something about him, like he was ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. His movements were controlled and yet casual. She couldn’t quite explain it, but something was so very powerful about his physique. She wondered how it could be so opposite to what she had imagined a gardener would be like. For some reason she thought the gardener would be lanky, relaxed, easygoing—nothing like him at all.
He hadn’t told her what his name was either. Still with time left on her break, she picked up her plate to return inside. Once in the kitchen and under the eagle eyes of the chef, she winced as she loaded her dishes into the dishwasher.
With an apologetic smile she asked, “Is there any coffee?”
At that his face broke into a smile, and he pointed to a coffeepot on the side. “Help yourself. Cream’s in the fridge.”
“Black is fine for me. Thanks.” She poured her coffee and, with a small nod, she said again, “Thank you.” And she walked back out onto the veranda.
She’d return to work early but not too early. It was pretty damn hard to look at the walls she’d be scrubbing next and find any kind of enjoyment in the task. She understood lots of woman found satisfaction in cleaning houses, but there was clean, and then there was being stupid. This wasn’t a hospital. It didn’t need to be scrubbed down the same way, but that was what she felt she was doing. Then again, maybe this was a normal seasonal cleaning event. Or were they erasing signs of somebody having been here, like her sister?
*
Michael headed to the garden shed where he replaced the shears. Normally yard work was something he enjoyed. But nothing was enjoyable about this job. Something was seriously wrong on this estate. Sammy must’ve known. How could he possibly have let his guard down long enough to be caught up in a web that took his life? Michael also didn’t understand the relationship he had with the woman killed alongside him.
The new maid appeared shy, quiet. Then that was probably the right personality for the position. Whereas, he had to work at being deferential. But years in the military helped. Having completed his circle of the large yard, he headed to the huge Lincoln he was supposed to drive the owner around in. It needed a good wash and a vacuum. He set about moving it to where the drains were and brought up the hoses and the sponges. Even though it was lunchtime, and he had yet to eat, he started scrubbing the vehicle on the inside. This gave him an excellent opportunity to examine the vehicle completely. He hoped to find something in the seats or pockets.
By the time he was done, he had found a few pieces of change that had fallen from various pockets, a couple receipts—one for gas and another for something from a local lingerie shop—which he tucked away for further scrutinizing, and a little bit of garbage that wasn’t helpful. When he had the inside of the vehicle vacuumed and wiped down, he turned his attention to the front seat. There he carefully went through the glove box, wiping inside and outside, checking for anything suspicious as he went.
He was hoping Sammy might have left a message of some kind to say what the hell had gone wrong. This was Michael’s second day. He’d moved into the servants’ quarters but had spent the initial part of his first day getting his marching orders from both Bruce, his direct boss, and Martha, the head housekeeper. Afterward, Michael spent the bulk of his day in the gardens, acclimating himself to the layout here while performing his gardener’s duties. Also looking for ground level access to the two lower floors of the mansion that Ice had been able to verify via blueprints and subsequent building licenses for add-ons. He hadn’t found any yet, but he wouldn’t stop looking. So Michael hadn’t had a chance to check out Sammy’s rooms too intently. But they were pristine and empty.
Apparently, there had been a high turnover of staff here. Was it possible that Sammy’s belongings might still be here? Michael hoped they hadn’t been packed up and disposed of yet. It could be on his list of jobs to do, in which case he had no intention of dumping it off just anywhere but going through it all. Still, that job hadn’t been given to him.
He finished detailing the inside of the car, turned on the water and worked on the outside of the vehicle.
The Lincoln was brand-new. It was in great shape, and not a speck of dirt was found after a careful check. Michael was sure no fingerprints were inside. But he also couldn’t find any fingerprints in the back, the passenger section. So somebody had recently wiped down the vehicle. Why?
He still had to do the trunk, but the key was jammed in the lock, making him all the more interested in getting inside it. He quickly finished shampooing the vehicle and rinsed it down again. With a light wax he gave it a good shiny coat. Then he popped the trunk with a screwdriver. After a few minutes of playing with the mechanism, he extracted the broken-off key and got the lock to work again. He turned his attention to the empty trunk.
He took his time fixing the carpet—that looked like it had been pulled out at the back—as he carefully checked under it for any bloodstains. He could only use his experienced eye. To do anything else would raise suspicions from the many security guards about the property. Someone would notice. Hell, it felt like he was watched as soon as he’d arrived. The back of the trunk was cleaned out, and he couldn’t find anything here other than a few scratches but after closer examination they weren’t made by fingernails as he’d feared. More from suitcases or boxes having been loaded and unloaded by someone who hadn’t been as careful as they could have been.
If any DNA was on the inside or within those scratches, they needed to know. Forensic evidence went a long way to making a conviction. On the other hand, how he would get that evidence so it would be admissible in court was a completely different story.
That wasn’t his problem—that was the prosecutor’s. Michael’s problem was to find out who the hell had taken Sammy’s life. If that asshole was still alive by the end of this special op, Michael would be very surprised.
A shadow came from the corner of the house. He shut the lid, turned to see the housekeeper, accompanied by one of the men who worked in the house who had brought down several boxes. Michael walked over to get the housekeeper’s instructions.
“Take all this to the police, please. You’re expected to pick up Mr. Freeman here at four. You’ve enough time to drop them off and return.”
Michael nodded, grabbed the keys, walked over to the Lincoln and backed it up. There he popped the trunk again, having no trouble with it now, and quickly loaded the boxes. He knew already about the tracker on the Lincoln, so he was limited as to how far he could travel without being questioned about any detours. As soon as he pulled out of the driveway, he picked up his phone. Rather than making a call that might be overheard, he sent a text.
He didn’t know if the boxes contained Anna or Sammy’s stuff or something completely different, but Michael wouldn’t have much time or opportunity to check it out. What he needed was somebody to meet him at the police station and take possession of the material.
At the station, he pulled into the back of the building. He hopped out and froze at the sight of two people he hadn’t expected to see here.
One man stepped out from the open doorway of the building. The man waiting off to the side joined him.
Michael nodded his head at Merk and Levi and took several steps off to the side as he punched the button on his key to open the trunk. He knew them by sight, by name and by profession. They had gone private after leaving the military, stepping out of all of it. The fact that the commander had brought them in too was very interesting. He must really need to keep this low-key.
The two men pulled out the boxes from the back of the vehicle and opened the flaps on one.
Michael pointed to a small paperweight, saying, in a low and hard voice, “I recognize that. It’s Sammy’s.”
In a louder voice Levi said, “Thanks for bringing this by.” With a curt nod, he slipped Michael a small piece of paper, grabbed a box and walked into the station.
Michael placed the rest of the boxes on the ground, knowing he’d get any details about their contents later. Now that he’d confirmed at least some of the possessions were Sammy’s, Michael could only hope there’d be something helpful to this op, but he doubted it. It wouldn’t be Sammy’s way. Any information would be well hidden. And that meant in his own apartment. He’d searched it several times, but he’d look again.
Time was running out for him to pick up Mr. Freeman by four o’clock. Michael got back into the vehicle and started the engine. He drove to the parking lot exit and sat there for a moment, letting the traffic pass. When there was an opening, he pulled out.
He thought about all the avenues one could take when one left the military and about all the damn good men he had met over the years. Levi and Merk were two of them.
At the next light, Michael opened the folded note Levi had passed on and read the message. “Good to see you back. Come to work for us when this is over.”
Michael shook his head. I’m not ready for that, Levi.
He drove back the way he’d come to the estate. He’d only re-entered this world because of Sammy.
It wasn’t what he wanted to do again.
And the nightmares … Sometimes the nightmares were crippling. Unless Levi could give Michael a lifestyle that allowed him to move forward with a personal life and still help others while keeping the nightmares to a minimum, then Michael wasn’t interested. On the other hand, it was pretty hard not to see how the adrenaline coursing through his system was what he loved, how much he enjoyed being in the field, how much this lifestyle suited him. He was good at what he did. He was just burned out.
Besides, this wasn’t the time to make decisions about his future. Everything was certainly on hold until he got justice for Sammy.