Michael’s Mercy Read online

  “Are you suggesting she might’ve gotten involved with Sammy, and both of them were taken out?”

  “I can only surmise that. Sammy was always a ladies’ man. If anything was going on between them, it’s plausible for the group to take her out on the suspicion she might’ve known too much. If they wanted to make Sammy disappear, they would have taken her out anyway. Less people to ask questions.”

  “Was it just the two of them?”

  “Yes. Both were buried in shallow graves, although buried is probably not quite the right word. They certainly weren’t fully covered.”

  “Odd. Burial interrupted maybe?”

  “It doesn’t matter why. What matters is that we find out who did this to Sammy and that we get the intel we need on those behind the terrorist cell.”

  “Sammy was still active. So why isn’t his team going in and finding out?” Michael shook his head. “I understand keeping this quiet, but there is off-grid, and then there is off-grid.”

  “I have permission to go completely off-grid. I can have anybody with a dissociation to Sammy.”

  “Then I’m not your man. Anybody who checks my background will know perfectly well that Sammy and I served together.”

  “I have a new identity for you, ready to go. We’ll keep Michael for your first name, but you’ll need to darken your hair and skin for a bit more Mexican-heritage look. It helps that you speak Spanish already if necessary.”

  Michael thought about that for a long moment. “Won’t have to do too much to my skin. I’ve been outside a lot lately.”

  “Good. Are you in?”

  Michael thought about it long and hard for all of thirty seconds. But there was really no other answer. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL, and he never left anybody behind. Sammy had gone down in the line of duty. But, if he had any chance to find out who had done this—and make sure they paid for it too—then Michael was there. In a curt voice he said, “I’m in.”

  *

  Mercy Romano stared at the small envelope of personal possessions gathered from her older sister’s body. After the shock of identifying the body as Anna, all Mercy took away was a heavy heart and this small 6” x 9” brown envelope.

  She entered her apartment, boiled water for tea, prepared her teapot and sat down heavily at her kitchen table. “Anna, what kind of trouble did you get yourself into?”

  Of course, there was no answer. There was never an answer. Her sister had been a wild card. Running fast and loose in her teen years, experimenting with everything from married men to hard drugs. When she’d taken off the last time, that had been it. Mercy had never seen her sister again. Her mother had refused to talk about her as well, leaving Mercy as the only child left. The only child who was expected to be perfect, to do better than her sister had done, to be the one who succeeded. Mercy had grown up watching her sister’s failed attempts to meet her mother’s stringent expectations. Punished, trying again, failing, punished, and finally not even bothering to try. Instead, she’d gone in the opposite direction: completely wild.

  “I hope you at least had some good years in there, girl,” she said out loud as the teakettle whistled, and she steeped her tea.

  Her words brought tears to her eyes. Nobody should have to bury their sister. Especially not one she’d tried so hard to find so they could reconnect. And with considerable effort. Her sister had even changed her name to Gardini to distance herself further from her family. When Mercy did find Anna, every attempt Mercy made had been completely shunned. Obviously, in her sister’s mind, Mercy was in the same category as her mother and, therefore, intolerable.

  Mercy had to admit it had been a pretty rough childhood for herself as well. But she had survived. She was now an adult and alone in the world. Her mother had wanted Mercy to be a doctor or a lawyer. That didn’t work out so well. She never got the marks to make it. So she worked in marketing. Far enough away from mother’s choice to feel Mercy had made that choice herself. But it was stressful, each new job something she had to do perfectly or her job was on the line. Maybe after this she’d change her line of work. Find something easier. Less stressful. As it were, she often came home and unwound by dancing her evening away.

  Belonging to a dance troupe in Houston had been the only outlet in her life that she never let her mother interfere with. Mercy was good, but she would never be a good-enough professional dancer for her mother.

  She loved the group she danced with. She loved the fact she could go out several nights a week and blast away stress from work. She could use a session right now as she looked at all she had left of her sister.

  The envelope held nothing personal. Nothing to say where she had lived before or how she’d lived. Mercy had yet to see her sister’s belongings. Although what belongings Anna could possibly have, Mercy didn’t know. Her sister had been reported missing from her job as a live-in maid at John Freeman’s residence, the up-and-coming politician, investment banker, and a local celebrity. So no furniture, no pets, probably some personal clothing other than her maid uniform, and what else? Anna was never one for hobbies or reading.

  Mercy shook her head. “Did you enjoy that job? Were you happy sweeping and vacuuming, washing windows and walls? How ironic is that? One of the biggest fights between you and Mom was you refusing to do any housework, and yet, that’s what you ended up doing as a career.”

  Oh, Mercy wished she could talk to her sister. With a cup of tea in her hand, she wondered why so much had gone so wrong in Anna’s life.

  Mercy presumed Anna had personal possessions, and so Mercy needed to contact Anna’s boss. Mercy picked up the phone, still looking at the odd assortment of items given to her in the envelope. A necklace, a cheap ring, keys, and a couple crumpled one-dollar bills. Nothing else.

  Where were the rest of her sister’s things?

  Mercy stared at phone and slumped in her chair. Now what? The police had been pretty noncommittal, saying they had no leads at this time, but they were working on it. If they had no leads, what the hell was she supposed to do to find out more?

  She dialed Detective Robertson who had contacted her regarding her sister’s death. When he answered his cell phone, she asked, “Where would the rest of Anna’s personal belongings be?”

  She could hear the confusion in his voice when he said, “I don’t believe any were handed over to us. We searched her room at the mansion. However, it was already cleaned out. Are you looking for something in particular?”

  “I won’t know until I see it,” she said. “I wanted to keep something as a memento of her. A sweater, a blanket, a shawl. … Something to remember her by.”

  “Let me get back to you.”

  He hung up, and she sat with her phone on the table and stared at her notepad. “None of this makes any sense.” She rose and poured another hot cup of tea. By the time she sat down again, teacup in hand, her phone rang.

  “I just confirmed with the estate,” Detective Robertson said. “They said her belongings were handed over to us. I, however, can’t find any notes about that, so I need to track down those possessions. The housekeeper also said that, if she finds anything else, they will call us.” The detective’s voice lowered. “Do you know a Sammy Leacock?”

  She shook her head even though he couldn’t see her, then said, “No. I don’t know that name, but I haven’t spoken to my sister in a long time, so I have no idea what her friend group looks like now.”

  “Okay. If we find out anything, I’ll notify you.”

  And she had to be satisfied with that. Or did she? She stared at the phone number she’d called first. She had three weeks of compassionate leave—only the first week was paid—which she could take to figure out what happened to her sister. Although she wasn’t allowed to muddle into the police investigation, a vacancy for a maid had just opened up.

  Surely she’d get answers that way.

  Chapter 2

  Surprised that she actually got the job, but understanding she’d been taken on temporarily as
the housekeeper was short staffed and desperate, Mercy started in her sister’s old position while her references were checked. Her fake resume and fake references. But it was hard to relax. Not only was it a new job, but she was here under a guise. Something that made her uncomfortable. She was honest and moral and this went against everything she held dear—but her sister had been murdered. And the answers were here. She knew it. And she refused to walk away because it was ‘wrong.’

  Then there was the unexpected emotion attached to walking in her sister’s footsteps.

  Expecting someone to notice the resemblance to her sister every moment although they had little familial resemblance growing up, she kept her head down and her hands busy.

  Taking her sister’s place at the big house was fine in theory, but the reality was a whole lot dirtier. Mercy scrubbed the floors, dusted and wiped the moldings, and was now washing and wiping the tops of window frames and doors. Even though she’d been raised by an Italian mother obsessed with cleaning, this was a whole new level. Mercy didn’t know if the housekeeper was obsessed with catching every last dust mite or if this was the owner’s obsession. He wasn’t married, so there was no wife to blame.

  It didn’t matter. Mercy had done nothing but clean since she’d arrived forty-eight hours earlier. She knew she was blessed as the job gave her an opportunity to check up on her sister’s last-known whereabouts, but Mercy had been so busy she’d barely had a chance to think. The housekeeper had been extremely vocal about making sure Mercy didn’t dawdle.

  Dawdle? Jesus, she’d never worked so hard in her life, thinking how hellish her sister’s career choice had been. Yet, she had lasted here six months. Mercy was afraid she wouldn’t last the week, much less three of them. And she could never get her sister to clean the room they shared when they were growing up. How had Anna appeased Martha all those months? Her sister’s idea of changing the bed had been to straighten it instead of taking off the sheets.

  Which reminded Mercy, she had to change out the linens in the guest bedrooms today as company was coming.

  Mercy’s employment here included room and board. She was sure she was sleeping in the same room as Anna had been. She hadn’t had a chance to rest long enough to check it out though. Supposedly she was allowed to stay in the maid’s quarters for her first three months, but staying longer was a discussion Martha would have with Mercy after her trial period ended.

  That didn’t sound normal.

  But nothing was normal about this place. She asked about the previous maid but had gotten no reaction from anybody. She pinched her lips shut and kept going.

  Another new employee had been hired the day after Mercy had arrived.

  They should hire another maid, but that was unlikely at the moment. The housekeeper had mentioned in passing about big changes to come but Mercy wouldn’t be here by the time those changes were put in place. So the two of them worked hard. The new guy was working as a gardener, a pool boy, and a chauffeur, plus other odd jobs. A lot of work for the new guy. Especially since the estate covered ten acres. Located outside of Houston in one of the wealthy suburbs, it was far enough away from Houston to have privacy but close enough to have access to all the amenities a big city offered.

  And it was run by a fanatical housekeeper.

  Mercy didn’t have much time to ponder why. She had to head to the owner’s office and return to cleaning. The guest coming today would be in the owner’s office a lot of the time. This gave Mercy a chance to snoop in Mr. Freeman’s business, because anything estate-related might be connected to her sister’s murder and needed digging into. Not knowing was consuming her thoughts. She might be scared to take this step but to not find out more about her sister’s murder and then to have regrets about that for the rest of her life … well, that would be impossible to live with.

  Mercy wasn’t a troublemaker by nature. In fact, she went out of her way to be nonconfrontational. It was one of the reasons she was well-liked at work—she didn’t buck the system. She was a team player when she had to be, but she preferred to work independently. Often she took the lead on new projects. Then, when she had to, she’d set out the rules and expect others to follow. But here she was in the subservient role, bringing up all kinds of horrible and traumatic childhood memories. She had a new appreciation for menial labor workers though.

  What if Mr. Freeman—or worse, Martha—caught Mercy snooping in his office? She had yet to meet the owner of the house, although she’d seen him in passing. So far he’d ignored her. She gathered she was not deemed worthy to speak to.

  She walked into the office and stood in the middle of the double doors, studying the huge dark mahogany style office. It was somber, sober, and depressing. She walked to the curtains and opened them. She checked to see if clouds of dust rose with the movement.

  But of course not. Her sister had likely cleaned them once a week. Knowing Mercy retraced every step her sister had made before her death brought up nostalgic memories that were hard to keep down. From her cleaning cart, she pulled out the spray bottle, the squeegee and the microfiber cloth to clean and dry the window and to avoid smears and then moved on to the next one.

  “Aren’t you done in here yet?” Martha asked from the doorway.

  Mercy looked at her boss and shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I just started in here.”

  With a heavy and overexaggerated sigh, Martha shook her head. “I don’t know if this will work out so well. We need somebody who’s efficient.”

  Mercy could feel her irritation rising. She stuffed it down deep. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to learn how you want the jobs done. I’ll be better next time.”

  “If you stay here that long.” Martha sniffed. “Mr. Freeman only keeps the best staff.”

  Holding back her tongue, Mercy meekly nodded and pointed. “If you don’t mind, I’ll return to cleaning windows.”

  Martha nodded. “You may. Let me know when you’re done in this room.”

  As soon as Martha left, Mercy turned her attention to the other windows and cleaned her way through them. They had to be cleaned from the outside as well. Even from Mr. Freeman’s office, Mercy could see cobwebs were collecting under and around the exterior shutters.

  She glanced at his desk and wondered if she dared open a drawer. For all she knew, everything here was wired to an alarm. Although that thought did take her paranoia to a whole new level. Still, how would she find out anything about her sister otherwise? And it seemed she only cleaned this room weekly.

  She couldn’t be here for more than the three weeks she’d booked off from work, but it already looked like it would be a very long, hard three weeks. She wondered at her foolishness. But, at the same time, her sister had died because of this place. Mercy wanted to know who the hell was responsible. From Detective Robertson, she understood Sammy had been the previous gardener-chauffeur guy and had been killed at her side. Maybe they had hooked up. She didn’t know, but she wanted to. She didn’t have a clue how to find out.

  Taking a chance, she took a duster to the desk, expecting somebody to jump in and scream at her any second now. She assumed there were cameras in every room, she just couldn’t see them.

  She quickly went about dusting the desk surface, pulling the handles on the drawers, opening them ever-so-slightly to get the layer of dust on the top edge, closing them quickly and moving to the next one. Thereafter, she walked to the large oak filing cabinets, repeating the process. All of the cabinet doors were locked. When finally done, she headed toward the door, only to see the owner standing there, his hands in his pockets studying her, a cold look in his eyes. She froze, then gave him a bright smile and said, “Good morning.”

  There was something almost reptilian about that gaze. Then again she was looking for reasons to not like him. He’d done nothing for her sister. He had treated her as a slave. The man inclined his head gently and stepped out of the way as she rushed past him. She quickly took her cleaning cart farther down the hall to the first of the guest be
drooms.

  She could feel Mr. Freeman’s eyes boring into her back. But she dared not look behind her. She had to appear completely unconcerned, but the timing was suspicious. Did it have anything to do with her working around the desk? Did he have cameras in there or sensors that went off? If he was into anything corrupt or illegal, it would make sense that he did have high security measures in place. And then again maybe he had come to his office to work.

  She put the thought out of her head for the rest of the day. When it was her lunch break, she went to the kitchen, where the cook had set out a sandwich and a glass of water for her.

  In a low voice she asked, “Is there any place outside I can sit?”

  The cook pointed to a small veranda off to the left. “Staff goes there. Do not go around to any of the other verandas.” His tone was hard, but more because he was busy. Not because he was unfriendly. She hoped …

  Taking her water and plate, she went outside, sat in the shade and ate. This was a world so vastly removed from her own. She couldn’t imagine her sister living here.

  Anna was not the same sister Mercy used to know. What the hell had happened? It wasn’t that cleaning wasn’t a good job. But Mercy had never seen her sister work at anything.

  She was almost done with the sandwich when she looked up to see the gardener walking past with great big clippers in his hand and a handful of weeds as he studied the bed to the side of the veranda. Something about his profile caught her attention.

  He had a weathered look to his face, like someone who was outdoors a lot. That certainly fit his role. But the way he studied the bed, as if his senses were on alert, was strange. She finished her last bite of food, grabbed her glass and had a long sip. Swallowed. “Good afternoon, I’m Mercy Romano.”

  He lifted his head and looked at her. Piercing blue eyes pinned her in place. It was almost like he had a computerized brain, cataloguing who she was, what she was, where she was, and why she was here.