The Courier (San Angeles) (31 page)

I tucked the comm unit into my jacket pocket and started moving down the stairs, lost in thought. The jacket was uncomfortable without a shirt, and chafed under my arms and on my waist. I had just rounded the corner to the stairs when I heard a familiar voice call out.

“It’s her, the courier.”

My heart leaped into my throat. How had they found me so fast? I looked up and saw William Clark and two other men walking up the stairs, and relief flooded through me.

The one who had called out twisted away from the third guy and ran. I watched as he was taken down by a kick to the back of the knees.

William looked up and extended his hand. “Kris! I’m glad to see you alive. When Miller was taken, I feared the worst.”

I kept looking at the man on the ground, one side of his face raw and bleeding from scraping against the concrete. His voice sounded familiar.

“That’s Devon,” I said, pointing at him.

William stopped, his hand returning to his side. “Yes, it is. And how do you know that?”

“He called Miller, telling him ACE was shutting down. That there was no one around who would be able to remove my tracker. Why is he on the floor?” William worked for ACE, but so did Devon. What was going on?

William reached for my shoulder and turned me so my back was to the other men. “I’m afraid Devon is our leak. He’s the one that’s been feeding information to Meridian. He’s the reason Nigel is dead, and Miller is in a cell.”

“Miller’s in a cell? But I just saw Quincy and a guy named Jeremy, Quincy’s boss. Jeremy said—”

“Jeremy? Jeremy Adams?” William interrupted. His voice had gone soft.

“I . . . I don’t know. He never used his last name. Quincy phoned him and he showed up in a limousine.”

“Describe him.”

“Uh. Old . . . older than you. Gray hair. Expensive suit. Walked like he had a broom stuck up his ass.”

William chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard his posture described that way. But suitable, I think. Jeremy Adams is not only Quincy’s boss, he’s also in charge of security and defense for Meridian. A powerful man.”

“Was.”

“I beg your pardon?” William’s face drained of color.

“He was Quincy’s boss. Quincy is dead. I . . . I shot him when I got away.” I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the image of Quincy on the floor. It didn’t help.

William looked me over again, a critical look in his eye. “You’ve done some unexpected things, Kris. Very unexpected. The body is still there, I suppose?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll have to send in a cleanup crew. No point in having the body found before it needs to be.”

I described the location of the warehouse, using the turns and distances without knowing the names of the streets.

“I think we can find him. Now, what do we do about you?”

“I want to find Miller!”

“I already mentioned that Miller is in a holding cell. The police will let him go once our lawyers are done, and then he’ll disappear, get a new identity.”

“Jeremy said he had him. He said he was going to take care of him.”

“Really?” William looked back at Devon still lying on the ground
with a knee in his back. “We’ll have to do something about that. We’ve already lost too many assets over this.”

Assets? Is that all he was to them, all I would be? Right now, it didn’t matter. “I want to help.”

“Young lady, you are not trained. You don’t have the skills the extraction would need.”

I stood straighter and moved away from William. I might not be trained, but I had made it this far. “I didn’t do too badly.”

“True. A mixture of luck and spunk, I think.” He looked back at me and stared quietly for a few moments, moving from my bloody knees to my bruised face. “Okay. You deserve to see this through to the end. If you survive, I think we at ACE will want to have another conversation with you. Do you have a comm unit?”

“Yes, I have Miller’s,” I said, pulling it out from my pocket.

“Good. Someone will call you on it.”

“So I can help?”

“Possibly. You’ll most certainly be there.”

That was good. I deserved to be there. Needed to be there. Needed to know Miller was okay.

The back of the limousine was luxurious. A little above and beyond Jeremy’s normal lifestyle, but if he was going to be in the city, he might as well make the best of it. In fact, this was the first time in years he actually looked forward to the trip.

The briefcase sitting in front of him was the sole source of his pleasure. He cracked it open and stared at the contents. He hadn’t used this in decades, but everything still shone like new. You had to take care of your equipment, or when you really needed it, it would
fail you. Much like people. He ran his fingers over the small implements, some of them resembling dentist’s tools, others eerily similar to various kitchen utensils. The cold metal seemed to come to life under his touch, stirring feelings buried deep in his soul.

Jeremy laughed. He was getting sentimental in his old age. No worries though, a small night’s entertainment and he’d be back in the Sat City, sipping a twenty-five-year-old Bowmore Single Malt Scotch and reminiscing about tonight’s events. Then he’d figure out a way to get rid of Yang. The president, nosy bastard though he was, could be handled. Yang could not, and therefore had to be eliminated.

He looked at his watch. Quincy should be done by now and on his way to the rendezvous point. Jeremy would have stayed and worked on the girl, but the thought actually revolted him. She was not worthy of what he brought to the table. But Miller. Miller was.

Anyone who could take out Abby had to be good, very good. He leaned back in the seat, staring at his tools and drinking some bottled water. It was interesting. The revenge aspect added a whole new sense of urgency to the job. It brought it down to a personal level that was entirely unexpected. Yes, this would be a good night.

The limousine pulled in front of the police station. First things first, he needed to get Miller out of there. His call to the Police Chief earlier in the day should have done that for him. A simple prisoner transfer from San Angeles to the Sat City’s facilities. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that Jeremy himself was doing the pickup.

He strode into the building, looking for the elevators. Miller was in a holding cell on the third floor. He rode the elevator, his excitement reaching almost physical proportions.

There was no receptionist on the third floor, not at this time of night anyway. He walked through an open door into a room filled with desks and stood there for a moment. No one appeared to notice him, so he walked over to the nearest desk and announced himself.

“Meridian Corporation. I’m here to pick up a prisoner.”

The detective looked up from his paperwork, the look on his face a mixture between boredom and disinterest. “Name.”

“Jeremy Adams.”

The detective seemed to lose himself in his display for a minute, scrolling through the list of prisoners in the building. “
Prisoner’s
name?”

“Oh . . . Miller, Ian Miller.”

After a few more seconds lost in the display, the detective looked back up and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Detective Stevens,” and he went back to the paperwork on his desk.

How quaint, Jeremy thought as he headed over to the only other desk with a person at it, they still use paper.

“Detective Stevens?”

“I’m Stevens.” The woman stood up and took Jeremy’s proffered hand.

“I’m from Meridian, I’m here to pick up Miller.”

She looked at him again, eying his suit. “You’re a bit high on the evolutionary ladder to be picking up a prisoner, especially at this time of night.”

“Meridian’s interest in Miller is fairly high in the food chain, Detective. Can we get on with it?”

“Yes, of course.” She indicated an empty chair by her desk. “Please sit. We’ll get started right away.”

By the time the paperwork was done, forty-five minutes had passed and Jeremy was starting to feel irritated. This was too much crap for a pre-approved transfer. When he finally got Miller, his tolerance for bullshit had reached an all-time low.

“Keep the restraints on him.”

The restraint was a plastic zip tie around Miller’s wrists. A simple piece of equipment that was extremely difficult for the prisoner
to remove, though one of Jeremy’s tools would be able to cut through it like butter. He grabbed Miller’s elbow and walked him to the elevator banks. The detective kept watching from the doorway to her squad room, until the elevator doors had closed.

“You know who I am?”

“Jeremy Adams, Meridian Defense.”

“Good. If you behave, you’ll get through this just fine.”

“Yeah, right.”

Jeremy looked at him. “All I want is to find out what ACE knows about the package.”

“Like I know.”

“We’ll find out.”

When they got in the limousine, Jeremy made a show of closing his briefcase. He saw Miller’s eyes widen, his nostrils flare.

A smile, brief and small, crossed Jeremy’s lips. The session had begun.

The limousine pulled away from the curb and merged with traffic.

“I believe you know Abby?” Jeremy asked.

“Abby? No, I don’t think so.” It was obvious Miller was trying to look anywhere except the briefcase, and he was failing.

Irritation flashed in Jeremy’s eyes. “You killed her in the hospital.”

“Oh, her, yeah.”

“Yes, well, she was a personal friend of mine. I’m going to miss her dearly.”

“So this isn’t about the package then, is it?” asked Miller, his gaze moving to meet Jeremy’s.

Jeremy sat and thought about it for a while. Miller was right. It wasn’t about the package anymore. “No. The package has done its job. The information in it is now ‘in the wild,’ so to speak.”

Miller remained silent for the rest of the drive while Jeremy watched him.

The driver turned off the main road and into a small, quiet community. Most of the houses were dark, their owners safely ensconced and unaware. The limo turned into a driveway and pulled into a large garage.

“A safe house,” Jeremy said at Miller’s look. “One of ours, of course. Yours have all been . . . compromised.” He lifted a gun and pointed it at Miller before pulling a set of small manacles out from a drawer under the seat and throwing them at Miller. “Put these on. I don’t want you trying to run.” As Miller bent down and snapped them around his ankles, he said, “Nice and tight, like a good boy.”

The car door opened and light flooded in from overhead.

“Take the rest of the night off, Thomas. Come back to pick me up at eight a.m.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thomas helped Miller from the car and, as Miller and Jeremy entered the house, drove off down the street.

“I’m surprised Quincy isn’t here yet. We’ll have to start without him.” He pushed Miller backward, forcing him onto the kitchen table. “Lie down. If you try anything, I’ll shoot. Oh, not for a kill. That would be too quick. But I guarantee you won’t enjoy it.”

He tied Miller’s hands first, bending them uncomfortably over the corner of the table and zip-tying them to the leg. He went around and did the same with Miller’s feet. When Miller lay tied down, stretched from corner to corner, Jeremy put the gun down on the kitchen counter. “I’ll leave it here, just in case.”

He reached down and picked up the briefcase, laying it beside
the gun. “Now, where will we start? Oh, and you can scream all you like, the house is soundproofed. I’ve had the opportunity to use it once or twice. Long ago, of course, back when I was in my prime.” Another fleeting smile.

He turned back to his briefcase and pulled out the first tool before turning back to face Miller. “Is there anything you want to say before we start?”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ll change your tune before too long.” He raised the first tool above the level of the kitchen table. “First, I’ll need to clear the work area.”

He had a pair of scissors in his hand. The look of terror, and then relief, that flooded through Miller’s eyes made him chuckle. He still had it; even after all these years, he still had it.

He started at Miller’s feet, slowly cutting through the pants and underwear before starting on the shirt. When he was done, Miller lay naked on the table. A fine sheen of sweat covered his torso. Jeremy could see the fear was really beginning to set in. Good. He tugged at the corner of the bandage covering Miller’s gunshot wound and slowly peeled it off. Clotted blood pulled away with the bandage and Miller’s shoulder twitched. Jeremy turned and placed the scissors back into their sleeve and returned them to the briefcase.

“I don’t want to ruin my suit. Excuse me while I change.” Jeremy left the kitchen.

And where the hell was Quincy? He was spending too much time on the girl. Usually, Quincy’s tactics were quick and abrupt. He wasn’t one for delaying the inevitable. Jeremy had tried to teach him, but it never seemed to work. The enjoyment, the raw pleasure, was before the kill. Before the soul left the weakened and mutilated body. He gave a shiver of delight and moved into one of the bedrooms. The closet already contained surgical gowns and gloves.