“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Wyatt said.
“It’s time to earn your fee, Mercer. I heard Hunter is out there, and you know Travis will provide additional backup if you need it.”
“I appreciate the heads-up.” Wyatt stared at his phone. The thing about a solo assassin was that all it took was one bullet to make the kill. An army of bodyguards would be useless if he got a clear shot at his target.
Chapter 19
A professional assassin was after Beth, and she had no idea how to stop him. The killer could appear from nowhere, and it could be over before she ever saw him coming.
Wyatt appeared calm, considering the circumstances. “We have to be prepared. That’s the most important thing. I’ve dealt with killers before.”
He must mean overseas on deployment—but this was civilian life. The situation was different. Beth didn’t know if she should stay or run. Yet there was nowhere to run; the assassin would seek her out wherever she went.
“It’s hopeless.”
“No, don’t talk like that.” Wyatt took her hand. “Take a breath; slow it down. We have the edge because of the advance warning.”
“I can’t just hide. I can’t stay out of sight…forever. Sooner or later, I’d have to show my face,” Beth said. “There is no escape.”
“Let the guy come. He might think of this as an easy job, but he’s wrong—he didn’t count on me.” Wyatt’s expression revealed determination, igniting a spark of encouragement. “Right now, you’re okay.”
Beth took a deep breath.
“The restaurant was one you haven’t been to before, and this bench is a safe spot for the moment. It’s out in public, not where a killer will look for you. Being visible can be a good way to hide, as a pursuer misses the obvious.”
“You sound so confident,” Beth said. “I’m just…not ready to die.”
“No one is talking about dying.” Wyatt’s eyes were hard. “I’m here to protect you, and that’s what I will do. You aren’t alone…remember that.”
Beth nodded. “But how do you prepare?”
“I’ll guide you, and make sure we do all that we can to defend you,” Wyatt said. “I hate that you’re at risk, but stay strong. You’re going to make it through this.”
Beth’s stomach was in knots, but she was unwilling to show weakness. “I have to make it; too much depends on it.”
“Okay, then.” Wyatt scrolled on his phone.
“Who are you contacting?”
“Travis…we need some gear, starting with bulletproof vests. He can set us up.”
That was some consolation, but there was still a yawning chasm between Beth and safety. Wyatt seemed to know the right things to do, so she trusted him to protect her. Meanwhile, she could figure out how to dismantle her uncle’s operation. She’d leave him to his area of expertise, and she’d focus on hers.
On the way to the tactical gear shop, Wyatt enlightened her on his close protection strategy. “Guarding isn’t about brute force, or showing off. It’s being smart, making yourself a difficult target.”
Beth glanced at the cab driver, but the radio was on and he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them. “I’m all for being a difficult target.”
“You have to know who you’re dealing with, so you don’t underestimate his skill,” Wyatt said.
Beth doubted that she would do that; if anything, it was the opposite.
“A man who kills for profit views you as a target, nothing more. And he is deadly because he can melt into the background.”
“I can’t conceive of a man who murders for profit,” Beth said.
“He has a detached view, and is able to compartmentalize his feelings.”
“You know a lot about it.”
Wyatt didn’t flinch. “I’ve learned from experience; I’ve dealt with such men before. It’s important not to think a killer will show mercy, or care about morality. That’s a mistake that can get you killed.”
No doubt the assassin would need to keep a cool head under stress. Beth had witnessed Wyatt in emergencies, and he’d been in control—relaxed, even. It must be a skill he’d perfected, and she doubted a paid killer could rival him on that score.
“Personal protection, self-defense, or any effective security depends on the ability to think like the opposition,” Wyatt said.
“I have to be a mind reader?”
Wyatt laughed. “That’s what you have me for…my tactical ability.”
The cab waited while Beth was in the store with Wyatt getting fitted with gear. The white Kevlar vest she tried on could be worn underneath clothing. It fit snugly, but didn’t constrict her movement. Wearing it didn’t make her invincible, but it helped.
Wyatt’s vest was thicker, and he wore it over his clothing. “Seeing the vest can be a deterrent. It offers some advantage. And I plan on being between you and any bullet, so I’ll opt for this thicker version.” He picked some add-ons to protect other body parts, but explained that his gear was heavier. “I need you in something you can walk around in.”
“As long as it protects me, that’s all I care about.”
“The layers of fabric catch a bullet in flight and disperse the force of its impact. It can stop bullets from most handguns and shotguns.”
Beth understood Wyatt had told her that to make her feel safe. Yet having to wear a bulletproof vest was a reminder of the severity of her situation.
Wyatt ushered her back into the cab, then directed the driver to go to Mercer Resources in Lower Manhattan. “While we were in the store, I got a text from my brother,” Wyatt said to Beth. “I asked for a favor, and it looks like he came through.”
Beth hadn’t been to Mercer in a while, but it looked about the same. It was several buildings attached by overhead walkways. Employees were visible through the windows as they crossed from one building to the other. Beneath the front walkway the company name was prominent in raised lettering on the concrete support.
The complex was formidable, as was the company and the wealth it represented. Oil and natural resources had supported the Mercer family for generations, much like shipping had for the Fosters.
When they entered the spacious lobby, the receptionist asked them to sign in. Shortly, Jeremy appeared, wearing a dress shirt and slacks. The shirt was a bit wrinkled, and he had the sleeves rolled up, giving the impression that he’d been working hard that morning.
Jeremy’s office was a mess, with stacks of papers covering the desk, and chairs askew.
“Did we interrupt a meeting?” Wyatt said.
“No, that was earlier. Please, sit down.” Jeremy waved a hand toward the chairs.
Beth tried to imagine Wyatt working in such an office, dealing with the daily flood of memos, meetings, and negotiations. The picture was all wrong. There was no way she could envision him in that environment. He’d been wise to stick to other pursuits.
Jeremy sat in his executive chair and leaned on the desk. “Rumor has it that the DEA has eyes on Foster International.”
“That’s certainly going to put pressure on Martin, and tighten the screws on an already explosive situation,” Wyatt said.
“Plus—and you didn’t hear this from me—the agency has a person undercover at Foster, who is feeding them information.” Jeremy rocked back in his chair. “The employee discovered a few of Martin’s suspicious actions, after his brother vacated the management of the company.”
“Vacated is misstating the fact,” Wyatt said. “But that’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later.”
“And dealings with Beth, how she was treated, and why, has piqued interest—although I don’t see how that relates to the DEA’s interest in illegal drug activity,” Jeremy said. “But it’s not for me to figure out. I’m just relaying what I gleaned from picking my friend’s brain. He wouldn’t have offered any of this information, but when I probed, he seemed willing to share. I suppose when the agency is hot on the trail, they aren’t immune to pride of accomplishment.”
“The agency hasn’t accomplished that much yet,” Beth said. “But we might be able to help them along.”
Jeremy continued, “Once I had my friend talking, I just let him talk. His person on the inside mentioned that Martin keeps close tabs on Kyle, even has IT monitoring his activities. Can’t say I understand that one either. Your brother isn’t in on this, is he?”
“No, he’s not,” Beth said. “But my uncle can’t afford to take any chances.”
“Is it usual for the agency to recruit an undercover asset from within a company of interest?” Wyatt said.
“I can’t say what’s usual. In this case, the employee contacted the agency and agreed to feed information, on an ongoing basis.” Jeremy paused. “That’s what I have for you so far.”
Jeremy looked at Beth. “You mentioned helping the agency? Do you know more about the smuggling operation?”
“I think I can put together more evidence.”
“The DEA is already looking,” Jeremy said. “Given more to go on, they’d put more resources into the investigation, I’m sure.”
“If we put a package together,” Wyatt said, “will you deliver it to the agency?”
“I’ll be glad to coordinate that for you.”
Once outside, Beth grabbed Wyatt’s arm. “It has to be Susan…the employee working undercover. She’s loyal to Foster, and has been with us for years. She wouldn’t tolerate a traitor in our midst.”
“Plus, she backed you up, even after Martin booted you.”
“She knows which side she’s on,” Beth said with a smile. “And she’s going to help us win.”
Wyatt took her hand and headed for the cab.
“It’s good of your brother to help.” Beth glanced at Wyatt. She had learned to read his expressions. He had softened toward his brother, and it was clear that Jeremy wasn’t like their father. It was satisfying that the brothers were on good terms, despite what the impetus for that had been.
Before Wyatt opened the car door for her, he said, “You can’t go home.”
“How did I know you were going to say that?”
“You catch on quickly.”
“Yep, vary my routine, don’t go to the usual places,” Beth said. “You pick the hotel. I don’t really care, as long as I can take this vest off for a while. Wearing it is going to take some getting used to.”
Wyatt chose the Inn At Irving Place, which offered Victorian-inspired rooms in twin brownstone buildings. It housed a restaurant with a list of specialty cocktails, and a luxury tea service in the late afternoon. He signed in using a fake name and paid with cash.
“This isn’t the type of place I would have guessed you’d select.”
“It’s not the sort of establishment that anyone looking for you will think of either.”
The hotel was furnished with antiques, making its décor appear authentic. Before going upstairs, Beth couldn’t resist Lady Mendel’s Tea Salon. The tea was brewed in flowered pots, then served with a tray of biscuits.
Wyatt sat across from her, holding his porcelain cup in both hands. “This is quite a place.”
Beth slid a finger through the handle of the delicate cup to take a sip of the Earl Grey. “I appreciate you being a good sport. This isn’t exactly your style.” She smiled. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Promise?”
Beth drank her tea and nibbled a biscuit. “I’m tired of being on the run. I just want all of this to be over, so I can go home.”
“It will be over soon.”
Whether that was true or not, Beth preferred to think so. She finished her tea and went up to the suite. The historical theme transported her to England, and created a romantic mood.
Beth kicked off her shoes and took off her shirt. Then she removed the vest. Wyatt’s gaze locked with hers, and he proceeded to strip away the rest of her clothing, then his own. His skin was taut over rounded muscles, and his body was hot. She had no will to resist him.
He made love to her on the Victorian-styled bed that creaked under his weight. Beth was swept up into the thrill of the encounter, and a slow, delectable climax washed through her. Undeterred by the décor or time of day, Wyatt stroked into her with a ferocity that left her weak.
There was a forbidden nature to making love in the afternoon that added to the allure. Sighing with pleasure, Beth relaxed against him, and he held her close. She listened to the beat of his heart and nestled into his warmth.
“Impending danger hasn’t dampened your appetite,” Beth said, and looked into his eyes.
“Not so far,” Wyatt whispered, then brushed his lips against hers. “We’ll see how the rest of the afternoon goes.”
*****
The next morning over tea and scones, Beth faced reality. She couldn’t just sit around, waiting for an unknown assassin to make a move. That was foolhardy. While she had the opportunity, she had to take action.
She’d realized the depth of her uncle’s betrayal. He must have agreed to the attacks on her, even if he hadn’t personally wielded the weapons.
That was enough. And Martin had to be operating in cooperation with the mob. The gangsters wouldn’t have allowed him to tread on their turf otherwise. She wasn’t familiar with the Triad, but suspected the group was similar to any mob. They were territorial, and didn’t condone anyone skimming their profits.
But there was one thing her enemies hadn’t counted on, and that was that she’d still be alive. That was such an unwelcome fact that the powers that be had seen fit to sic a deadly assassin on her.
With a price on her life, she didn’t have much to lose. If she didn’t give her all to taking out her enemies, then they would surely take her. With the mob’s backup, her uncle had her outmanned.
Beth thought about the resources she had at her disposal. She had Wyatt to protect her, and she was grateful for him. Yet that was a defense, and came into play only once the action had started. That might be too late. What Beth had in her favor was what she’d had for a long time, but hadn’t utilized to her full ability.
She was handy with computers, and had no compunction against hacking for the right reasons. She possessed wit and intelligence, and if she wished to tip the odds in her favor, she’d need to use both. Her uncle might assume that she was defenseless against such insurmountable strength. Yet she was not without her own weapons.
Wyatt had commented on her brilliance before, and admonished her for not using it. If ever there was a reason to do so, she had one now. Commitment to purpose stirred fire in her heart. She wasn’t about to let her uncle and some thugs push her around anymore.
Beth let Wyatt know what she intended. The hotel had a business office with a useable computer. She clicked away on the keys and re-created the research on drug smuggling in the harbor. She didn’t need her journal, as she remembered it clearly. And the few facts that needed verification were simple enough to check.
Hour after hour, she compiled the information—only this time she didn’t write a general research document. She focused on Foster International, explaining how the shipping company, with Martin Foster at the helm, raked in illegally gotten gains.
What she didn’t know she left blank, certain that when investigations were ramped up the rest would be uncovered. But she had a damn good story, well documented. When it was complete, she copied it onto two portable drives. One she put in her pocket, and the other she had the hotel lock in their safe.
When Beth completed her task, she briefed Wyatt. “Uncle Martin is content to conduct his clandestine activities, counting on no one getting wise to his tricks, but evil shrivels in the bright light of day. His worst nightmare has been that I would reveal his crimes.
“My best chance is to make this information public, as quickly as possible,” Beth said. “I’m sure my uncle’s unsavory associates won’t welcome seeing their activities broadcast in the media.”
“That’s not their style.”
“I’ve decided to take the story to a small
press, and let them break the news.” It was one thing Beth could do for her friend. “I know a reporter at the newspaper where Amanda Moreau worked. I’m going to give him my research and let him run with it. I’ll think of it as a tribute to my friend, for her loss. The creeps aren’t going to get away with it.”
“You’ve got your uncle right where it hurts.”
Beth smiled. “Trials can drag on, and so can investigations. But the press is so immediate.”
*****
The next day, Beth went to the Bay Ridge Gazette in Brooklyn. She was fond of the small news office, and used to visit sometimes. Amanda and a couple of other reporters had liked her cartoons, and she’d enjoyed chatting about her research. It had been good to find compatriots of a similar mind.
Bay Ridge was on the harbor in the shadow of the Verrazano Bridge, its lofty silhouette a constant presence. The Gazette was downtown in a multistoried office building. The sidewalks were busy with shoppers, and cars were parked in a line along the curb.
Armed with information, Beth strode into the newspaper office with Wyatt by her side. Her friend Camden Johnston was at his desk. He wore slacks paired with a polo shirt, and his hair needed a trim. He removed his glasses then grinned. “I got your message, and I’m anxious to see what you have. Knowing you, Beth, it’s got to be good.”
Beth and Wyatt were in the news office all morning, until well after lunch. Cam sent out for food and then passed around sandwiches. He’d read the information several times, made comments, and asked Beth lots of questions. While she waited, her friend did some background work of his own and made some calls.
Wyatt paced the office like a caged tiger, and frequently peered out the front window.
After lunch, Cam met with his editor. The meeting ran long, and Beth began to wonder what it was going to take for the paper to run the story. She’d provided enough for a week’s worth of articles, and even written one herself, in the hopes that the paper would just run it as written.
Beth had included a couple of her drawings that highlighted drug-smuggling operations right under the nose of the DEA. She’d depicted respectable citizens oblivious to the criminals in their own backyard. It was a nice touch, whether the paper printed the cartoons or not.
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