Bulletproof (Unknown Identities #1) (2 page)

“Whatever
they
want,” John stated, in case he didn’t get his point across the first or second time, “I’m not interested.”

What the hell? John was done. He wasn’t a hero anymore. It had taken some time to get used to the reality of who he was
not
. He was squarely there now. Like an alcoholic teetering on that twelfth step, moving up was not an option and going back would be a monumental mistake.

Messenger flattened his palms on the table and leaned forward. “Not even for redemption, John?”

The word seemed to bring the world to a dead stop.
Redemption
. For nearly a decade now, he had existed, nothing more. All but the last two years doing
their
bidding. Accepting missions and new identities until the man he had been was gone... gone for good. Carrying out orders no one else dared execute. All to achieve that one thing promised to him so long ago.

Exoneration.

But it hadn’t come.

He’d accepted that fact. And then he had given up and accepted his lot in life.

Who did these bastards think they were sending this asshole to rattle his cage again?

John rammed a hand into the pocket of his jeans and snagged a couple of bills. He stood, tossed them onto the table. “We’re done.”

A long-fingered hand snaked out and latched around John’s forearm. Anger, bitterness, desperation – all coiled into one – exploded in his veins.

“That,” Messenger advised, his tone going from light and amiable to dark and deadly in one word, “would be a very bad decision.”

“I’ve made bad decisions before.”

Messenger gestured to the chair John had vacated.

His body throbbing with fury, John lowered back into his chair. He forced his body to relax, one hyper-tense muscle at a time. Killing this bastard here and now would only send him back to prison. Not happening. This guy wasn’t worth it.

“The assignment is truly quite simple,” Messenger reiterated. He cocked his head and studied John. “Far easier than perhaps you deserve.”

Naturally. The ass kissing hadn’t worked so now the messenger showed his true colors.

John motioned for the arrogant prick to get on with it. Might as well get to the end. The sooner Messenger had his say, the sooner John was out of here.

“You would act as a personal security specialist, providing protection to this woman. When your mission is complete, you will, without delay, be absolved of all past crimes.” He leaned forward. “This is what you’ve always wanted. What we promised. We are now prepared to deliver on that promise.”

Since escaping that hellhole south of the border, John had spent a good part of his time indulging in man’s every known vice in hopes that one damned thing or another would kill him. He hadn’t gotten that lucky.

Maybe, he considered, he’d kept on breathing for just this moment. The opportunity to stick it to this SOB. Screw the redemption.

“Explain,” John snapped. “Without all the bullshit.”

Messenger gave a nod of acquiescence. “Keep the woman safe for as long as it takes. That’s it.”

Yeah. Right. “I’m a construction worker, not a bodyguard. I haven’t done that gig in years.” He was rusty as hell – at a lot of things.

He took the jobs he could get that kept him under the radar. Construction crew leaders didn’t care where a guy came from or what he’d done in the past, as long as he showed up and worked hard for ten or more hours.

Apparently his under-the-radar strategy had failed big time.

Messenger withdrew a business card from his jacket pocket. “I’m certain it will all come back to you.” He placed the card on the table. “Her name is Amelia Bennett. She will call you. Remember, John, all you have to do is keep her alive. That should be inordinately simple for someone who has survived death so many times.”

Responding to that would be a waste of energy.

“As usual,” Messenger went on, “under no circumstances are you to divulge the details of your employment to this woman.”

John picked up the card that boasted his name, proclaiming him a personal security specialist, and listing the number of his cell. He could change numbers and carriers, names and addresses a thousand times and the bastards would always find him.

“Why me?” This didn’t make sense. He’d done his time. Hadn’t worked a mission since Mexico. Besides being rusty, he’d lost his edge to booze along the way down to his present position in the gutter. “There are others.”

“You are aware,” Messenger allowed, “that you have always been a favorite.”

Resentment tightened John’s lips. “Actions speak louder than words.” He rubbed at his wrists... at the scars inscribed there. “I wasn’t feeling the love on my last assignment.”

Messenger turned up his palms. “What else can I say to sway you? We have complete confidence in your capacity to attend to this task. Otherwise, I would not be here.”

Oh, now he got it. John shook his head slowly from side to side, had to laugh. “Confidence has nothing to do with it.” He should have known. “For some reason it has to be
me
.” This just got better all the time. Whatever Messenger was leaving out would come back to bite John in the ass in the end.

“Redemption, John,” he implored, dangling the bait and disregarding the accusation. “It could be yours. Finally.”

He wanted to say no.
Hell
no. But he wasn’t a fool. Messenger knew which buttons to push, but there was an opportunity here that didn’t have jack to do with the sales pitch about redemption.

“I want payment up front. Two mil, not a penny less, wired into my account. The one you emptied,” he added, “while I was in prison. Once I confirm the transfer, I begin the mission. No negotiations.” With that kind of capital he could disappear the right way.

These bastards would never find him again.

Messenger hesitated. He didn’t like losing the upper hand. “That’s far more than the usual compensation. And you know full well that when someone has to be sent in to tidy up a situation, you forfeit payment.”

John wasn’t arguing the point. He shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

Messenger removed his cell from the interior pocket of his jacket and tapped a few keys. His attention settled on John once more. “Done.” He tucked his phone away. “As I said, she will call you.”

The vibration in his back pocket alerted John that he had received a text confirmation of the transaction. He didn’t bother to check it. If Messenger was desperate enough to cave so easily on the terms, they needed this done now. And they needed John.

“However, there is just one small,” Messenger held his thumb and forefinger close together “condition. One we know you can certainly handle.”

“What condition?” The other boot was about to hit the grimy floor. Hard. Maybe he should have asked for five million.

“If during the course of this mission circumstances change,” Messenger said, the look in his eyes empty now, like the bastard’s soul, “your orders will change accordingly.”

Like the bonus features of a second rate movie, more of those long banished memories washed over John. “Including, of course, tidying up,” he added what the other man left off.

“Agreeing to that condition is absolutely essential to the success of the mission.”

No wonder he’d forked over the two mil so easily. This was no simple assignment. Whatever this Bennett woman was into, it was big, deep, and bad.

The series of events required to ensure the crossing of John’s path with this woman’s would already be in motion.
They
were that certain of his cooperation.

And
they
were even more certain he wouldn’t survive long enough to get the job done.

He wondered how long it would take Amelia Bennett to realize she was totally fucked.

Chapter Two

Boston, Back Bay 11:01 p.m.

Her apartment had been ransacked.

No... no. That wasn’t right.

Ransacked was nowhere near an apt description of the damage done. The whole place looked as if a scare-the-controversial-reporter bomb tucked into the sofa had exploded. About the only item still intact was the front door. The same door with – count them – three state-of-the-art deadbolts that were still locked when she arrived home to this chaos.

The intruder must have had a key... or maybe he was a ghost.

Amelia Bennett took a big, deep breath. She forced her respiration to slow, and outright refused to permit her heart to keep up the wild pounding.

The intruder had succeeded in scaring her. Bully for him.

She’d found the mess and called 9-1-1 as she ran out of the building. Like a stunned bystander watching the rescue efforts after a massive pile-up on the Turn Pike, she’d stood outside – in the rain – until the police arrived.

Anger compressed her lips. The first officers on the scene had gotten a good look at Amelia Bennett scared witless. Cutting herself some slack, she had to admit that this was not just another nasty phone call or threatening letter.

This was over the line...
way
over the line.

One thing was absolutely certain...whoever did this wouldn’t get that opportunity again.

In the last hour she’d grabbed back control. Staying calm and rational was essential. Her competition didn’t call her the stone maiden for nothing.

Tomorrow she would have her locks changed and call in a contractor for her own personal security system.

The mutilated and busted furniture she could deal with. It wasn’t even the end of the world that so many of her most personal belongings, photos, clothes, basically everything, were damaged beyond repair in one way or another. What really made her nuts was the idea that someone had gotten in here so easily and had the balls to leave her a message on the living room wall scrawled in blood.

Knock, knock... you’re dead, bitch
.

According to one of the techs, who wasn’t supposed to tell Amelia anything, particularly at this point in the investigation, it was not human blood.

That
she was thankful for.

Amelia took a mental step back. Dragged in a deep breath. She spent an enormous chunk of her paycheck each month on a Back Bay location. The building had topnotch security and was located on the best block in the area. She’d had two extra deadbolts installed when she moved in. And it hadn’t been enough to stop
this
.

“How long will it take to determine if there are prints or whatever?”

The idea that someone had come into her place and touched her stuff gave her the willies. Banished any patience she attempted to dredge up for the weary detective who’d been here for hours already. He hadn’t offered much in the way of hope for finding the culprit. She doubted any amount of time was going to change that sad fact.

“Depends,” Detective Arnold Fincher scrubbed a hand over the salt and pepper stubble on his chin, “we’ll run everything we get through the usual databases.” He executed another of those listless shrugs. “Techs took photos. Video.” He gestured to the man and woman still picking through Amelia’s stuff. “Soon as we have something, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Detective. I would appreciate that.” As she suspected, his answer told her absolutely nothing.

At her current rate of frustration she, in all probability, would lose her mind if she waited for Fincher to get back to her. Unfortunately, there was little else she could do.

Fincher closed his notepad and stuffed it into his suit coat pocket with a shake of his head. “The really bizarre part is that whoever did this, assuming it wasn’t one of your neighbors, didn’t show up on the security camera at either of the building entrances. The super scanned the video. It’s one of those high-tech systems that only records when there’s movement so he was able to search through the whole fifteen hours in about that many minutes.”

Amelia didn’t know the names of all her neighbors and it was remotely possible that someone who lived in the building had decided to show how he or she really felt about her.

But, she surveyed the chaos, this felt more sinister. More personal. Not to mention the stunning lack of any breaking and entering.

“The usual crowd left this morning, same as you,” Fincher said, dragging her from the disturbing thoughts. “Residents drifted home from work, some later than others. But there wasn’t a one the super couldn’t identify.” He offered Amelia a sad attempt at a reassuring smile. “But don’t worry, Miss Bennett. We’ll get to the bottom –”

Shouting in the corridor outside her apartment hauled Amelia’s and the detective’s attention to the door. Someone was demanding to see her... wait... she listened to the next round of yelling. She knew that voice.

Fincher squared his shoulders and strode with renewed authority in that direction. “What in blazes is –?”

“It’s my boss.” Amelia would recognize his voice anywhere. From the sound of it, he was in uber-pissed-off mode.

This whole ugly mess was about to get worse.

A whole lot worse.

Deep-shit worse, considering she hadn’t called her boss immediately after notifying the police. Amelia snatched the hair clasp from the strap of her purse, which she’d dropped to the floor upon seeing her belongings destroyed, and clipped her rain-soaked hair out of the way. She resisted the urge to roll up her sleeves in preparation for battle, though a battle it would surely be.

While Detective Fincher explained to the officer outside her door that it was okay for Bernard Kessler to enter the crime scene, Amelia steeled for the eruption that would follow his assessment of the situation.

“Holy hell,” Bernie muttered as he surveyed her living room.

Barely as tall as Amelia, her boss trudged past the detective and right into the middle of the disarray. Houndstooth coat pushed to the sides and hands planted at the waistband of his wrinkled trousers, the same ones he’d been wearing at eight this morning, he shook his head at the extent of the destruction.

After an endless moment of deliberation his shock and disbelief landed on Amelia. “This has gone far enough.”

Here we go
. “You don’t know that this,” Amelia gestured at her ruined belongings, “has anything to do with the story.”