In Too Deep: A Romantic Suspense Novel (36 page)

I couldn't deny his points, and sat back. "Babe, I don't want to sound too nosy, but just how much money are we going to use to set up this facade?"

Mark grinned and looked over at me. "Who says it's all a facade? If we do this right, we'll end up with more money than ever. But up front, I was thinking in the fifteen to twenty area."

"Fifteen to twenty thousand?" Tabby asked. "Your repairs to Mount Zion are going to be more than that."

I shook my head and turned around to look at her. "He means fifteen to twenty million."

I'd never seen Tabby's jaw drop the way it did when the numbers rolled over her, and she grasped just how much Mark was worth. Finally, she just shook her head and looked down at her tablet. "Go upstairs with him, I said. Go have some fun. Good luck, I hope he's a nice guy, I said. Sheesh, and I ended up being dry humped by a thirty-year-old loser with a mortgage," she muttered to herself, and I had to chuckle.

"You give good advice, Tabs."

"Yeah, yeah. Think someday I could get an advisor's fee out of it?"

"You keep bringing us targets like you have, and you're going to be a very well to do business advisor within four years," Mark replied. "What you decide to do with that money, well, that'll be the kicker, won't it?"

The warehouse was bigger than I'd expected, but wasn't the largest on the block. The bottom floor had just over five thousand square feet of empty space with thirty foot high ceilings. The second and third floors could be reached either by stairs or a freight elevator near the back of the huge space.

"We're going to have to take the stairs, the power's off right now," Tabby said, leading us over. We climbed up the steel grating steps, our footsteps echoing in the empty air. "I haven't been here yet personally, so I don't know what the space is like."

"So far so good though," Mark replied, looking around. When we reached the second floor, Tabby produced a key which she used to unlock the door. With the stairwell, the second floor was smaller, but still spacious, and had obviously been a shipping office as well as what looked like a break room and cafeteria for the workers at one point. There were even some tables still sitting around unused. "I like it. Third floor?"

The third floor was almost totally empty, with only a single folding chair off in one corner. We walked the entire floor, our feet crunching on the dust and dirt that covered the concrete floor, and I looked around. "Well, it could become an office if we wanted," I said. "A few coats of paint, one of those potted plants in the corner, and we'd be good to go."

"I agree," Mark said. "All right Tabby, get the documents drawn up. Once we have the building title, I want workers here within two weeks. Until then, we'll use Mount Zion as our office, and gather up some more businesses. In the mean time, it's time to draw out Owen Lynch's friends."

"And how are we going to do that?" I asked, happy that Mark was taking my idea of a baited trap to heart.

"Two things. First, I'm going to crash a party. Next, you're going to take a photo, and then, we're placing an Amazon order."

T
he night was
perfect as I walked up the flagstone walkway to the Mayor's official residence. It hadn't taken much to wrangle an invitation to the Fall Benefit for the city's youth. It was the Mayor's current pet project, and with Marcus Smiley already making headlines for the past two weeks, I could easily go. I only wished Sophie was with me, but according to our plan I needed to attend by myself. It would be vital for the timing of everything.

I checked my tuxedo, and chuckled to myself. Before meeting Sophie, I'd worn a tux less than ten times in my life. Sure I'd worn suits, some of the best money could buy, but a tuxedo sends a different message. When you wear a tux, you want to stand out, and as a hitman, that's not something you want to do.

Now though, as Marcus Smiley, I had to play a role on top of being my normal self. In some ways it was great. I could invest money cleanly, and make a difference in public. I felt like in that way I was helping to take down the criminal empire that had infested the city. Maybe I was buying some atonement for my sins, but then again, I've never been a churchgoing man.

"Marcus Smiley," I said to the assistant at the door, who was checking off names against a master list on the iPad she had in her hands. She looked like your standard intern, probably a college student who was majoring in political science and getting some kudos along with most likely a job recommendation when she graduated. She was cute in that innocent college co-ed kind of way.

"Marcus..... Smiley?" she asked, recognizing the name. She looked up at me, and I had to give credit to the newspaper reporter who Sophie was doing most of the dealing with. She had that star struck look in her eyes, I hoped from the good press and not from my looks. "Ah, yes, you're right here. Donation box is there on the right, and enjoy the party."

It was a masterful move on the Mayor's part, I thought. By making the pledge box sealed but transparent, there was technically no reason for someone to even donate. However, if they did, there was the tightrope that everyone walked. For a minute at least once your slip fluttered through the slot, it could land face up on the pile. If you donated freely and generously, it would be noticed and you'd get commendations socially. If you were a tight-ass, that'd get noted as well. It encouraged donations that would get the sort of quiet kudos that these sorts of events were famous for.

Striding up to the box, I took a quick glance at what was inside, and saw that most of the donations were in the five thousand dollar range. Not bad, considering the party was over two hundred people, with three corporations that were controlled by Owen Lynch already publicly stating they would absorb the cost of the event itself, but I wanted to really make a splash.

Taking the pledge slip from the pile, I smirked as I wrote my name in very bold, very dark letters across the top. In the donation slot I wrote smaller, but still clearly, twenty five thousand dollars. Owen Lynch might have been a criminal, but the mayor was actually trying to do something good. And the number was just high enough that it would get the attention I was looking for.

The party itself felt perhaps more dangerous than some of the hits I've done. Every face that greeted me, every person who shook my hand sized me up, every smile and every word uttered felt like there were multiple levels to the conversation. All in all, I enjoyed some of my meetings with criminals more than I did with the social elite of the city. At least with the criminals you knew they were trying to stab you in the back.

"Ah, Mr. Smiley!" I heard behind me. I turned, and saw the face of the man I had wanted to get the attention of all night, the man whose attention was worth twenty five thousand dollars to me.

"Deputy Mayor Lynch," I replied, offering my hand. I was nursing a single flute of champagne in the other, having drank about a third of it. I normally detest alcohol, but there was no way to get around it in this situation. I refuse to partake in a substance that dulls my senses. However, lots of repeated bringing the glass to my lips without actually taking a drink led people to believe I was drinking along with everyone else. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Why thank......" Lynch said, his voice faltering. He could see something in my face, which is exactly what I'd hoped for. The secret behind successful plastic surgery is not in dramatic reconstruction. People who go overboard end up with work that looks, well, plastic. The key is in subtle reshaping and changes. It was the type of work that Sophie and I had done. It was enough to fake most photo analysis done by computers, especially if the image used was of poor quality or taken from a distance.

Up close was different however. For example, think of a movie where one of the characters undergoes aging. I'm not talking a bad movie, I'm talking one of the real high quality ones that even may use a bit of CGI for the effects. You watch the movie long enough, and you can tell who the actor is under the makeup and effects. There's certain things that can't be changed without risking disability or death, such as the distance between your eyes, that just cannot be screwed with. It was why I made sure the few photographs that had been taken of Marcus Smiley had me wearing non-prescription glasses or other things that disguised the shape of my face more.

Owen Lynch was going through that now. For years, I'd been one of the best hitmen in the entire city, and aligned with the Confederation, although I'd also done work for him through third party contracts as well when they didn't conflict with the Confederation's own goals. I was dangerous, and one of those faces that he wanted to learn just to protect his own ass. It may have been four and a half months since Mark Snow had last been seen in town, but now here I was, standing less than two feet from him.

I smiled, putting just a bit of the predatory creature I am into it. "No, the honor is all mine Deputy Mayor. You look a little peaked, let's get you a drink," I said, grabbing a flute of champagne off the tray of one of the circulating waiters. Putting it in his hand, Lynch still looked perplexed. My plastic surgery was enough that he couldn't be sure, but there was still that little voice in his mind telling him he knew who I was. "Tell me, sir. I'm new to this fine town, and I must say it's more than lived up to its well earned reputation."

"Well, we work hard at it," Lynch, ever the politician, replied. We were surrounded by the social elite of the city, there was no way he'd risk a confrontation that would expose who he really was to the few who didn't already suspect.

"I'm sure. Although, after spending so much time overseas in warm climates recently, I'm not sure if I'm going to be ready for the upcoming winter," I segued, smiling tightly. "Although my fiancée Sophie is. She grew up in Canada, and really wants to teach me how to build a snowman. Do you know if many people have a snowman in the city?"

Lynch blanched at my words, stuttering for a moment before regaining his composure. "Well, I'm sure there are a few. Winter is not too bad here though. Have you ever been in a very cold winter, Mr. Smiley?"

I shook my head and smiled again. "Nope. I've been to Russia a few times, but only in the summer time."

Lynch nodded, and extended his hand. "Maybe someday you'll get the chance to visit it in winter. I have heard it is very harsh, and very cruel though. People who aren't prepared can be in very big trouble."

"I'm always prepared, Deputy Mayor. By the way, I was wondering, Smiley Consolidated is opening our new offices soon in the warehouse district. If it's at all possible with your busy schedule, I would love it if perhaps you could make an appearance for the grand opening? It would be a great motivator for my staff and such."

"I'd have to check my schedule. Perhaps your secretary could e-mail the information to my office?"

"I look forward to it. Well, I've taken enough of your time. Have a good evening, Deputy Mayor Lynch." I walked away, melting into the crowd before Lynch could have any hired muscle he had on hand converge on me. I had observed five different exits during my time at the party, along with at least a dozen security men, most of whom looked like off duty police. That didn't mean anything though, as Lynch owned the cops as well.

I made a beeline towards the east exit, which was the closest, but about three quarters of the way there turned and ducked around a table full of canapés and darted into the back garden, where a dance party was going on. While better than house music, the Mayor was pretty behind the times, and most of the music was from the eighties and nineties. I guess it made sense, considering his age, but I could have done without Madonna doing
Like a Prayer
. I don't even think the DJ had the original version, but some cover artist version.

I circulated through the group of about fifty or so in the dance area, which was actually a decently laid temporary floor. When
Like A Prayer
ended, I followed a small group of ladies towards the back door, until I could cut around the side of the house. I waited until I was in a very dark area before darting across the side lawn and leaping the wrought iron fence that surrounded the property. I had planned my escape earlier in that regard, and had parked my car not on the property, but in a Circle K parking lot a half mile away. I dropped into the seat and started the engine, glad it was my last night with the vehicle.

I checked my rearview mirror numerous times for signs of being tailed, but I seemed to be clear. Pulling a Bluetooth headset out of my inner jacket pocket, I slid it in my ear and tapped the power button, connecting it to the burner phone I had in on the dash. No use in getting pulled over for using a phone while driving if I didn't have to. "Dial memory 1," I said, pulling up the only programmed number in memory. The phone burred in my ear, and the call was picked up on the second ring. "Done. Now it's your turn."

T
he next day
, just as the clock in the University tower was chiming noon, I was able to meet with a man for the last part of my plan. It seemed strange to conduct a deal such as I was about to do in the middle of the day, but I'd learned that it was, in fact, the safest. During the day time, most of the police in the city were either rookies who didn't know what to look for, or cops who were tired of dealing with the corrupt bullshit that ran the force to do more than the bare minimum to get to retirement. Combine that with the deal going down in an upper-class neighborhood, and I think I could have bought a lot more than what I did.

"So what you've got here is your standard US Marine Corps M-14 rifle that fires a seven point six two millimeter round," the man I was making the deal with said. While the meeting was taking place in the open, I was still wearing a hooded sweatshirt and glasses, and driving one of my backup vehicles I had when I was Mark Snow. It was another calculated risk, but I didn't have the vehicles for Marcus Smiley yet, and I couldn't risk putting it in a rented vehicle, since it was connected to a credit card. "Depending on the round you fire, you can get a minute of angle accuracy out to about eight hundred meters or more."