by Jordan Dane
“It’s a…damned fortress.” she whispered, after she saw more uniformed men with dogs patrolling the grounds. “What is this place?”
“This is my home,” he said.
Zoey forgot to breathe.
Chapter 9
Laramie Mountains
North of Cheyenne, Wyoming
Evening
Mercer Broderick pulled the Lincoln Navigator into one of the bays and lowered the garage door before he turned off the engine. He stepped out of the vehicle and opened the rear cargo hold to let Karl have his freedom.
When he reached for his duffel bag, a large hand intervened.
“I’ll take that and put it in your room.” Stetson Debenham, his number two man, yanked at the straps of the canvas bag and hoisted it over his shoulder with a grin. “Good to see you in one piece, compadre.”
“This is Zoey Meager. She’s my guest for a few days. I’ll fill you in.”
“That would be a good idea.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Zoey put out her hand and Stetson shook it. “But I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t throw it, ma’am, but nice try. Good to meet you.”
Shy by an inch of Mercer’s six-foot five, the tall lanky Texan wore faded wranglers with rattle snake cowboy boots and a maroon and white A&M ball cap. The man was a die-hard Texas Aggie. He had a deep baritone voice that made him a hit with the ladies and an easy-going style that deceived most men into underestimating him.
“I’ll take care of your four-legged amigo,” Stetson said. “Come on, boy. I bet you could use a good pisser.”
Mercer escorted his guest into the house through a series of secured doors with high-tech cameras that followed every move. Zoey ran fingers through her dark hair. As much as she wanted to keep her head down and avoid ‘big brother’ watching, she couldn’t help but stare at the slick high-tech measures.
“In case you’re wondering, I don’t have cameras in every room,” he said. “You will have your privacy here.”
“Yeah, that’s a load off my mind. I thought I’d have to get creative in the shower.”
When Mercer entered the estate through the foyer, Nilah Rolstad waited for him with her hand out. He’d texted her before he arrived and knew what she wanted. Mercer handed over the cell phone he’d taken off the man at the warehouse. Nilah had the skills to do a complete analysis. With any luck, he would have locations to check out, with men who’d be higher up the food chain in the organization.
“Run a GPS history on this phone. I want to know every move the guy made, even if he took a dump.”
“You got it.” She smiled at Zoey and didn’t bother with the pretense of an introduction. “Good night. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Uh, yeah. What time is check out?”
Nilah grinned, but didn’t stop. The petite blond wore her straight hair in a tight ponytail and had on tattered jeans, a purple hoodie, with black and white checkered Vans on her feet. She was his computer expert and white hat hacker. In short order, Mercer would have everything on the bastard who tried to kill him and Karl.
“How many people live here with you? Is this a cult? Should I stay away from the Kool-Aid?”
Mercer marveled at how Zoey’s mind worked as he ushered her toward one of the guest rooms.
“I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up. I took the liberty of arranging for a change of clothes. I hope everything fits.”
He let her pass and Zoey walked into the room with her eyes wide, but she stopped him before he left.
“I have a name for you,” she said. “I call you Mr. January, coldest month of the year.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, fighting a smile.
“I guess I deserve that. Hell, I’ve been called worse.”
“I get it, that I won’t know your name or anyone else’s here, but why all the secrecy if this is home turf?”
“House rules when we have a guest.”
“Not even your dog’s name?” she asked.
“He’s part of the team.” He forced a smile.
Mercer turned to leave her alone, but Zoey called out to him.
“I don’t know how this will help Kaity. I feel her slipping away and all this seems like a distraction. I turned my back on her once. I can’t do it again.”
Her eyes watered and her voice trembled. He fought the urge to hold her in his arms, but he kept his distance for her sake.
“I haven’t forgotten about your friend,” he said. “I brought you here because you’re in danger, otherwise we would’ve said our good-byes back in Denver.”
“I don’t get you. You seem like a compassionate man. I’ve seen it in your eyes. I don’t think I’m wrong.”
“Looks can be deceiving, Zoey. Dinner will be in an hour.”
Mercer closed the door behind him to give her privacy—and block out the expectation and vulnerability in her eyes. If he couldn’t find Kaity alive, he knew how Zoey would look at him then. He had no future with a good woman like her, or anyone else, yet he’d let her under his skin. He’d invited her to his home—to what should have been a sanctuary.
Nothing good could come of it.
What the hell is wrong with you?
***
Forty minutes later
Dressed in jeans and boots, a dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, and a vest, Mercer swiveled in a leather chair behind his desk in the darkened room. He listened to a woman’s disembodied voice chastising him over the phone—a secured encrypted line he had in the War Room, an underground bunker command post. If his estate were attacked, he had enough provisions, weapons, communications, and back-up power to sustain him and his team.
The Danish woman on the line helped build the complex that he’d started. Eva Henriksen had invested in him and his vision of swift justice, unrestrained by jurisdictional or international borders. She had a network of high powered people of influence across the globe that would disavow him in public, yet secretly turn a blind eye to his vigilante ways. Mercer straddled a tenuous line between law enforcers and law breakers to do what police and Feds couldn’t. At odds with both sides, he’d have a collective bull’s eye on his back if the public knew.
“I hear you almost got yourself killed, and now you brought home a stray,” the woman said, with her distinct Danish accent. “She could jeopardize everything we’ve worked for.”
Fatigue robbed him of words. His wound ached and he needed sleep and something to eat.
“She’s part of this, too. I believe the people I’m searching for have a friend of hers. It’s just a hunch, but from everything she’s told me, we could be hunting the same traffickers.”
“So why do you need her?” the woman asked. “You’ve got everything you require. She can only get in the way, or worse, she could distract you.”
“They would’ve killed her. She had a target on her back because she stuck her neck out for me. I couldn’t leave her behind.” He rubbed his temple to soothe a burgeoning headache. “I appreciate your concern, but mission ops are mine.”
“I suppose that’s your polite way of telling me to buzz off.”
“I would never use those words.”
“No, you’re too much of a gentleman,” she said. He heard the smile in her voice. “Get some rest. You sound exhausted. Sleep well, Mercer.”
“Good night, Eva.”
After he ended the call, he sprawled deeper into his chair and shut his eyes. He relished the silence of the bunker, but when he sensed a presence, he spoke without opening his eyes.
“I don’t want to hear it, Keiko. She’s here. She’s staying until I say otherwise.”
He slowly opened his eyes as his bodyguard specialist emerged from the shadows—an ethereal beauty with a soft-spoken, measured way of speaking. Keiko Kayakova was raised by her Japanese mother, but trained in martial arts, weapons and tactics by her Russian father who had wanted a son. She had the lithe body of a dancer with pale skin the color of flawless ivory
. Her straight black hair—as shiny as a raven’s wing—made a vivid contrast to her ice blue eyes, her father’s gift.
“Take off your shirt.” She crossed the room and knelt at his boots, carrying a bundle in her hands. “Your dressing needs changing.”
He didn’t move at first. Keiko often had an agenda not easily foreseen. Mercer kept his eyes on her and unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time. When he winced after he tried shrugging out of his vest, Keiko helped him remove his shirt.
“I am indebted to your guest,” she said. “She helped you when I could not. I will care for her like I would my dearest sister.”
“You were an only child.”
“Don’t wield facts against me like a weapon. You should be grateful I am in a generous mood.”
Mercer gritted his teeth while Keiko worked on him. Despite her outward appearance, she was not a delicate flower. Sometimes she inflicted pain simply because she could.
***
Keiko had been rougher on Mercer than she’d wanted to be. Why couldn’t she be soft for him like other women? She disposed of his bloodied dressing and put away the medical supplies, but as she walked past the kitchen and saw Stetson making dinner, she knew it would be for Mercer and his guest—and she smiled.
“What’s on the menu?” she asked.
She eased up behind Stetson and put her arms around his waist, hugging his back. She loved the hardness of his body and his dominating height. He reminded her of Mercer. If she couldn’t have what her heart desired, Stetson made a satisfying physical surrogate.
“Red meat night. I’m grilling.” He turned to hold her. “Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?”
“We don’t have time for what I’m hungry for.”
She smiled and ran her fingertips down his chest, playing with his buttons. In her mind she pictured Mercer in her embrace, but he had rejected her advances more than once. When he needed a woman to share his pain, he did not choose her. Mercer had assumed that she’d inherited her father’s tough skin and she had, but when it came to the one man she wanted, Keiko turned to tofu.
“Let me finish dinner. You should help Nilah. I have a good feeling about that cell phone she’s working on.”
“Are you sure?” He kissed her cheek and she closed her eyes, pretending the lips on her skin weren’t his.
“Yes. Now go, or dinner will be late,” she said. “Get out of my kitchen.”
She kissed him hard and he cupped his large hands on her ass and lifted her onto his hips to caress her in his strong arms. Now that Mercer was home—to serve as a constant reminder that she wasn’t good enough for the one man she wanted more than life itself—she would need Stetson to satisfy her urges. She had plans to drain him dry.
When she was alone, to finish the menu Mercer had asked for, she decided to size up his guest. An overdose of hidden wasabi in a suitable appetizer might do the trick. There were many ways to inflict pain that were far more gratifying.
***
Mercer tapped on Zoey’s closed bedroom door. When she didn’t answer, he tried again. He knocked and said, “Zoey? I came to escort you to dinner.”
Sounds came from inside the room, feet moving across wood floors and a low groan of frustration. Mercer leaned against a wall and crossed his arms, fighting to hide his amusement. When the door opened, Zoey had a sheepish smile on her face. She tried to block his view, but at his six-foot five height, she didn’t stand a chance.
The clothes and shoes he’d furnished were strewn across her bed as if there’d been an explosion.
“I couldn’t decide what to wear. It’s a woman thing, mostly.” She squeezed out the door and shut it behind her. “I could eat a horse. You ready to go?”
Mercer pursed his lips and didn’t say a thing.
He followed Zoey down a hall and watched her move. She’d chosen a dress that looked great on her. It flounced in all the rights places for a man to wonder what was underneath and her bare legs in sexy heels were tanned and shapely. Mercer would have to thank Ciara Flowers, his logistics and weapons expert, for her taste in clothes.
Mercer escorted Zoey to the formal dining room and at the entrance he waved a hand to let her pass. His team had overdone the ambience as if he were on a date, but he appreciated their effort. Lighting had been dimmed and candles flickered warmth across the room. A fire crackled in the stone hearth and a floor to ceiling window stretched across the breadth of the room and looked onto the expansive grounds.
“This is the most beautiful home I have ever—” Zoey stepped into the room, whispering, as if she were in a church.
“Can I get you some wine?”
“Yes, please, whatever you’re having. I don’t know much about wine, but in a room like this, I figured it’s mandatory.”
He poured two glasses of a fine Cabernet and handed her one, but before his guest took a sip, a door opened and Keiko rolled a cart into the dining room, making a show of her body. Mercer cringed.
“Dinner is served. Please have a seat.” Keiko placed a small tray of sushi on the table, with soy sauce, pickled ginger and wasabi. “We start with my personal favorites.”
Mercer knew from the look on Zoey’s face that she wasn’t a fan of raw food. He’d expected steaks, but Keiko had other plans.
“Please serve the main course,” he said. “Then we would like privacy. Thank you.”
“But sushi is brain food.” She shifted her gaze to Zoey and said, “You could benefit from it.”
Mercer glared at Keiko’s obvious ploy to mess with his guest’s head.
“In Mexico, they have a special word for sushi,” Zoey said. “They call it…bait.”
The Japanese woman shrugged and rolled her eyes, but when she opened her mouth for round two, Mercer shot her a look that put an end to her game.
Keiko left the room, but came back shortly with two sizzling ribeyes, baked potatoes, and asparagus spears. She did not normally cook or serve food to anyone. Others on his team were handier in the kitchen. It was a shared duty and he had a rotation, too. But Keiko had picked her spot to toy with Zoey. As long as he shared his home with his guest, Mercer knew he hadn’t seen the end of Keiko’s antics.
Zoey cut into her steak and sipped her wine, but couldn’t take her eyes off the heavily-treed property as she watched the last remnants of the day. The pastels of sunset and the soft flicker of candlelight played well on her skin and made him want to touch her. Zoey told him more about Kaity—the good memories—and she shared her life in the foster care system. She had an endearing way of telling a story that touched him. He loved the sound of her voice and the way she laughed.
But she unearthed bittersweet memories in him that hurt worse than being shot. He wasn’t sure how he felt about a woman who stirred feelings in him that he thought were dead and wounds that never healed.
When they finished dinner, he went to the bar to refill their wine glasses, but Zoey had a look of agony in her eyes that he recognized, something he saw whenever she spoke of her friend.
“My instincts tell me you’re a good guy,” she said. “I know you want to help Kaity, but no offense, you don’t love her like I do. She’s the one person on this earth that I would do anything for.”
Mercer fought the emotions Zoey had triggered in him. It was as if she’d seen through the labyrinth of walls he had erected to keep other people out of his life. Her compassion and fearlessness pierced straight through him and she held his heart in her hands.
“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” he said. “Sometimes it can be a weakness that clouds our judgment.”
“No. I don’t believe that. You brought me here because you wanted to protect me, but I can’t stop thinking about Kaity. She’s got nobody if she doesn’t have me.”
A tear slid down her cheek and glistened in candlelight.
“I’m here in complete luxury, having the best meal of my life with a mysterious and handsome man, but I feel like I’ve betrayed her.” She reached for his hand.
“I’m not doing enough. I haven’t been able to sleep and I can’t see my life without her in it, not when I can do something about it.”
“I promise you, I can help. Give me a chance.”
Her eyes welled with tears and she stared at him, without saying a word. Zoey said more with her eyes than she did with words. She broke his heart, but when Stetson Debenham barged into the dining room, he interrupted the moment.
“Sorry for the intrusion, but I need to borrow your dinner companion, ma’am,” he said to Zoey before he directed his gaze toward Mercer. “There’s something you need to see, jefe.”
Chapter 10
Laramie Mountains
War Room
9:10 p.m.
Mercer hated leaving Zoey alone on her first night in his home, especially as vulnerable as he’d seen her over dinner. Exhaustion and worry had taken their toll on her, but if she knew what he’d ditched her to do, she would approve and anxiously await news.
With any luck, the cell phone he’d given to Nilah Rolstad to analyze would reveal its secrets and give his team a target to focus on. He’d been working up the ladder of a shadowy and violent organization of human traffickers, working with his four-legged partner, Karl.
His team had assembled in the War Room, a below ground bunker and command center, located in the bowels of his home and accessible only by an elevator with an optical scanner. Keiko sat next to Stetson at a large conference table. Maddix McLeish, his high-tech security expert—the guy who had taken the stolen van off his hands—sat beside Ciara Flowers, his logistics and weapons expert and women’s fashion diva. Karl had come with Ciara and arrived late to the party. He hopped onto a swivel chair next to his master, his reserved spot.
“Glad you got the memo, Karl,” Mercer said. “Nice of you to join us.”
The dog lowered his head and licked his junk.
“Now he’s just showing off,” Stetson muttered under his breath.
Without formality, Nilah held up a plastic bag with a phone in it and got down to business.
