Page 15 of Her Mercenary

Seven days to find Samantha, get the USB, and avenge my mother.

Yes, Samantha Greene was my mission, but Conor Cussane was my target.

7

ROMAN

Knowing sleep would evade me, I poured another glass of whiskey, pushed aside the file I knew too well, and grabbed the stack of mail piled on the counter.

Bills, bills, more bills, solicitations.

I ripped open the manila envelope that contained the mail forwarded from my house in the States, next door to Astor Stone’s headquarters in an inconspicuous small town called Berry Springs.

Bills, bills ...

I tossed the stack aside, opened my laptop, and clicked into my multiple email accounts. My fingers froze on the keyboard.

Another one.

With a sigh, I clicked into the email.

Roman, hi. It’s me again. I hope all is well. I would love to hear from you.

I plan to send you your mother’s things this week. I’ve had them in a box in my closet for nearly thirty years now, as you already know if you’ve read any one of the dozens of emails I’ve sent over the years. I don’t know if you’re even getting these messages, or if you care for that matter, but I truly feel like the last of your mother’s belongings should go to you. I believe she would have wanted this.

Please let me know as soon as possible where to send them.

– Freya Doyle

I clicked the delete button. Grabbing my drink, I downed the contents in one go.

I turned, then strode into the bedroom and into the closet to pack a bag of clean clothes. My flight back to Puerto Vallarta was scheduled to leave at five in the morning. Once that was done, I poured another drink and settled on the floor, leaning against the window frame.

Sipping slowly now, I stared down onto the city, as I did every night. I wondered how the prostitutes had fared through their exchange. I wondered if they were high now, surrounded by needles, finally happy and content.

Finally, I pulled the picture from my pocket. The edges were worn, the corner ripped. I stared at the blond hair, the wide hazel eyes, and the smile that could light a room.

Samantha Greene.

I thought of my mother. She had that kind of smile. Sighing, I rested my head against the window frame.

When will it all end?

Soon.

Soon, I promised myself.

Soon.

8

SAM

The sun tricked me that morning.

Thick cloud cover blanketed the sky outside the hopper window, dimming the early morning light. The basement was dark and bleak, but still hot as sin.

I missed the sun that morning, oddly so. It was a little piece of normalcy, a reminder of the world that lay outside my captivity.