Shattered Legacy (14 page)

Merrick stepped away as the Lanton backed out of the parking space. She waited, watching, until Lanton had driven to the end of the level and disappeared around the corner.

She walked over to his van on the other end of the level. Rather than move boxes of material, it was easier to swap identical vehicles. As the months had gone by, the two had exchanged trucks so often that Merrick lost track of which vehicles were actually her own.

She glanced around to make sure no was watching as she unlocked the door and climbed inside. Then she settled in and reached down to adjust the seat.

She was about to place the key in the ignition when a muffled groan startled her.

She twisted around to look behind the seat. Her eyes widened as she saw a naked man lying across a large sheet of clear plastic on the floor. His wrists and ankles were bound with thin wire. Blood crusted where the restraints had lacerated the skin.

She stared at him for several moments.

“Well, what do we have here?” she muttered. She twisted out of her seat, squeezed her way into the back, and squatted down behind the semi-conscious man. She roughly turned him over. The man's head rolled listlessly to one side, revealing a bloody, ruined face. His forehead and scalp were crusted with dried blood. A strip of duct tape covered his mouth. Slowly his eyes blinked open and rolled into focus. Merrick stared at the wretch for a several moments before she recognized him.

It was Kevin Bailey, the driver of her captured truck. She shook her head. He had worked for her for a few months now. The man was quiet, obedient, and smart enough not to ask questions. Merrick had not seen him since she learned that his vehicle had fallen into the hands of the FBI. Fortunately, he had followed procedure; he had abandoned the vehicle and had probably intended to stay in hiding for at least another day before attempting to contact her.

However, it seemed that Alan Lanton had found him first. From the looks of the man, Lanton had interrogated Kevin thoroughly. There were large bruises on his arms. Cigarette burn marks pocked his bare chest.

With some regret, Merrick knew what he she had to do. She had promised herself to tie up all loose ends on this operation. No exceptions.

She reached into her jacket and whipped out a small switchblade. Kevin's eyes widened as the blade snapped open inches before his face. He snorted through his nose. Merrick leaned down, shadowing the man.

“Quiet,” she whispered. She raised an open hand and motioned for him to settle down. “I want you to tell me something.”

Kevin blinked in acknowledgement. Beads of sweat speckled his brow. He wriggled back until his back and head were pressed against the van wall.

Merrick leaned close. “Did you tell him about me?”

The man shook his head violently, grunting through the thick tape.

“Are you sure?” Slowly she lowered the knife tip to the man's neck. “I want the truth. Did you tell him about me?”

He shook his head again. His eyes squeezed shut, and then opened again as the blade tip pressed against the exposed skin of his jugular vein. He tried to move away, but could only twist his head to one side. Slowly, Merrick ran the blade against the side of Kevin's neck, tracing the tip up the main artery to just under the ear. Then she stopped and slowly, carefully, pressed the tip into his flesh until a dark bead of blood bubbled up.

“Why does this have to be so complicated?” she whispered.

The man shuddered as a drop of blood rolled down his neck.

Merrick pulled the knife away. Without bothering to wipe the blade clean, she snapped it shut and returned it to her jacket.

“Okay,” she said in a regular voice. “I believe you, Kevin. Unfortunately, that makes what I’m about to do even harder.”

She leaned forward and reached over Kevin's head. Something rustled. Kevin craned his neck to see what she was doing behind him.

Suddenly, he jerked upright as Merrick pulled a corner of the clear plastic and clamped it down over his face. His eyes bulged as he wriggled back and forth, grunting, trying to breathe. He lifted his knees in a futile attempt to knock Merrick aside.

Angling for advantage, Merrick planted her knee on his chest and pressed the heavy plastic tighter over his mouth and nose. Finally, his resistance lessened and he went limp. After another full minute, Merrick lifted away the plastic. She backed away and slumped back against the opposite wall of the van, panting.

“Damn you, Lanton,” she muttered.

She crawled back to the body, rolled it to one side, and wrapped it in the plastic sheet. She used the remaining roll of duct tape to bind up both ends.

Wiping her hands on a loose rag, Merrick climbed to the front of the van. On the passenger seat, Lanton had left behind a plain, brown briefcase. She snapped open the latches. Inside were stacks of wrapped bills. Hoping that Lanton had meant ‘cash’ when he said he left her a parting gift, she was disappointed when a quick count came to just sixty thousand dollars.

After leaving the parking garage and paying the parking fee with the ticket stuck above the visor, Merrick pulled onto the street. At the first red light, she set her cell phone to hands-free and dialed a number. A moment later, the line picked up. “Samson Tyler.”

“What's the difference between a lawyer and a sperm cell?”

“Is this Merrick?”

“The sperm has a one-in-a-million chance of becoming human.” She chuckled. “Good one, huh? “

He didn’t reply.

“You, sir, need to acquire a sense of humor.” The light turned green, and she took off, moving with the flow of traffic. “Things aren’t looking so well for you,” she said. “The U.S. Attorney’s office has stepped up their investigation. They're going to be hitting your other facilities very soon. You may want to prepare for that.”

There was silence for a few moments. “How do you know all this?”

“It’s enough that I do. I want to help.”

“Merrick, I’m uncomfortable just speaking with you.”

“I understand,” she said, realizing that she had probably strung Tyler along enough with the cryptic phone calls. She didn’t want to frustrate him to the point that he shut her out. “Let’s meet in person.”

“Where and when?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll find you.”

She disconnected and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose at the strong blood and urine odor. The body would have to be disposed of carefully. But before she would do that, she decided to return to her safe house for a digital camera.

For although he was dead, Kevin Bailey could still be of use to her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Samson Tyler stared at his reflection in the men’s room mirror, tilting his head this way and that. A little dark and baggy under the eyes, but otherwise he looked decent. He should have been exhausted, but even with just three hours of sleep, he still felt alert. He knew the feeling wouldn’t last, but he was determined to ride it out as long as he could. With a stick of deodorant, an electric shaver, and the spare change of clothes he kept in his office, he could pass himself off as presentable for the executive briefing.

He left the restroom and returned to his office. He saw that Cindy had arrived. As he passed her desk, she stood up, and handed him his messages.

Tyler noted her reaction and flipped through the messages. None of them was particularly important, nor were they from the people he wanted to hear from at all.

“You have visitors,” she told him.

Tyler was about to ask who it was, but stopped short before the closed door as he heard voices from inside his office. He swiped a hand across his chin and glanced back at Cindy. He didn’t like people in his office when he wasn’t there.

He opened the door to find his three visitors. Two suited men were seated, each taking notes on small pads. The third person, a woman, was standing behind Tyler’s desk, talking to them while admiring the view. Her face was angular and broad, matching the cut of her ‘80s-style power suit. Her ash blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail that fell straight down her back. She immediately noticed Tyler standing in the doorway and stopped talking. Tall and lithe, she strode across the room with the grace of a dancer and held out her hand.

“Lynn Anholt,” she said, her hazel eyes interrogating him carefully. She handed him a business card. “I'm a private security specialist. These are my associates.”

“That’s nice,” Tyler replied with a frown as he stepped inside. “What the hell are you doing in my office?”

“We’re in the process of arranging your transfer.”

“Transfer? What are you talking about?”

“I'm sorry, sir,” she said as she walked to the door and closed it. “I assumed you were told about this. Your company has ordered us to put you under protection. We’re moving you to a secure location.”

Tyler held up his hands. “Whoa. Secure location? What’s going on?”

“Again, this isn't my idea, sir. Your people called us in and asked us to provide you with security.”

Tyler folded his arms across his chest. “My people? What people? Who else is being provided with ‘security’?”

“As of this moment, only you.”

“This is ridiculous.”

Lynn scowled. Clearly, she was not a woman who was used to being challenged. Tyler realized that the ‘security specialist’ towered over him by several inches. But he held his ground as she attempted to stare him down.

“When were you last home?” she asked.

“I’ve been here since yesterday morning. I slept on the couch in the main conference room. I stepped out for breakfast about an hour ago, and I just returned.”

“Then you have no idea what’s happened.”

Tyler stared at her, waiting for an explanation.

She maintained her level gaze, as if she were studying the attorney, appraising him. “Right now we have to get you someplace safe. I'll explain everything on the way.”

“Where are we going?”

“To a hotel, Mr. Tyler.”

He smirked. “Lady, I hardly know you.”

Lynn took another step toward him. Her expression was grim now, her voice low. “There was a fire in your apartment building this morning. It apparently started in your place.”

Tyler glanced over at the other men. “A fire?” he asked with a sudden rush of concern. “What happened? Was anyone there?”

“No one was hurt. Firefighters don’t know the cause yet.”

Tyler heard the words, but the impact had not hit him yet. He stood there thinking, trying to tie it all together. He worked his mouth a moment before the question came out. “How bad was the … damage?”

“I’m afraid you won't be going home anytime soon.”

He headed for the door.

Lynn called after him. “Where are you going?”

One of the suited men stepped in front of Tyler. He was dark, big and bald. Just the simple act of him planting his hands on his waist was enough to give Tyler pause.

He looked up at the man. “I’m going to my apartment,” he growled. “I have to see what’s happened. Ms. Anholt, tell his gentleman to step aside or I will
make
him step aside.”

“You’re more than welcome to try,” Lynn replied, leaning back on the corner of his desk. “If you can get past Perry, then you obviously don’t need
our
help.”

Tyler sized up the larger man. At this point, he was frustrated enough to take a swing at him. It wouldn’t be a smart move. Operating on only a few hours’ sleep, and now dealing with the news that his apartment had gone up in flames, he felt like he really needed to hit something.

But he didn’t.

“Mr. Tyler, going out in public is about the worst thing you can do right now.”

Still staring up at the man blocking his path, Tyler clenched his jaw. Then he took a breath, released it, and turned back around. Since he wasn’t getting out of his office, perhaps they could tell him what he wanted to know.

“Okay,” he said, throwing a final glare at the man blocking the door. “There was a fire in my apartment. How does that justify my need for bodyguard protection?”

Lynn handed Tyler a manila envelope. “This was emailed to several executives in this building two hours ago. This is what prompted your company to call us. You may want to sit down.”

Tyler remained standing. Inside the envelope was a color printout of a naked man lying on a thick plastic sheet. His hands and feet bound with wire, his head tilted back so his face could not be seen. He had obviously been tortured. Large bruises and burn marks covered his limbs and torso. On the plastic was some dark fluid that looked like blood.

He looked up. “What the hell is this?”

“Look near the head,” Lynn told him.

Propped up against the wall near the head was a copy of the
New York Times
. He squinted and realized that the paper was this morning’s edition.

“Look at the message,” Lynn said.

The email was printed with full headers, showing the address of the sender, the recipient, the subject and other information tracing the message through servers on the Internet. Tyler didn’t know what much of the code meant, but the sender address was from an anonymous free email account. The email could have been sent from anywhere, most likely from a public place like a library.

The message itself was only one sentence.

Samson Tyler is next.

He examined the photograph again, uncomfortable staring at a man who appeared to have been beaten to death only hours ago. Because of the angle, it was hard to identify any distinguishing features.

He handed the paper back, frowning. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

Lynn looked at him askance. “I’ve seen dead bodies before, Mr. Tyler, and this picture looks authentic. We’ll be turning this evidence over to the authorities.”

“Do that. I don’t know who that person is. Do you?”

“No. We already checked in with your people this morning, so we know it’s no one from your legal department. Does any of this make sense to you, Mr. Tyler? The timing of the fire in your apartment and this message is not a coincidence. Do you have any enemies?”

Tyler shook his head. “We just settled a lawsuit against an environmental organization, but they’re not hardcore. I don’t know who would want to do me harm.”