Chapter Five #2
He waited for her, making sure she was steady, and stifling the urge to slip an arm around her shoulder. He needed a distance reset, and he wasn’t likely to get it. “Inside. Now.”
The double glass doors slid open and Ty Drucker, their medic, strode through.
“What do we need?” The man defined steady.
Compact and bald with an affection for humorous t-shirts, he was dressed all in black without a bit of humor anywhere.
His clothes described the last twelve hours if anything did.
Alanna glared at him, apparently not happy with the fuss. Tough.
Mackey handed the man her emergency room release packet. “Let’s get her upstairs to the clinic.”
The man was nothing if not efficient. “Harrison briefed me.” He signed to Alanna to follow him, and for a moment she hesitated as if digging for defiance. In the elevator, she leaned against the wall.
With Drucker, Mackey, and him staring at her, he took pity on her situation. He leaned in to force her eyes to his.
“We need his name.”
Lani’s face turned to stone, and her eyes held an expression he couldn’t identify – anger, fear, reluctance.
“Mercer.”
Quaid stepped out of her space. “First or last.”
“I don’t know. Probably military, though.”
“When did you first meet him?” This slow talking for her to read lips was a bitch.
“I was fifteen. Years ago. And I wouldn’t describe it as meeting him.”
The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, but Quaid didn’t move. “Where?”
“Here. San Diego.”
Quaid contained his surprise. He had no idea she was originally from San Diego. “You used to live here?”
She sighed. “Yes. Four long years. Arizona before that. I lived with my grandfather.”
“You left San Diego?”
“Yes, for college.”
“How many times did you see Mercer here?”
“Once.”
Mackey touched his arm. “Let’s get off the elevator and have the rest of this conversation in the office.
But Quaid stayed in place.
She was close to shutting down. Her eyes sagged with fatigue, deep lines creased her forehead, and her lips were red from chewing them.
This wasn’t the strictly controlled FBI Agent.
This was the real woman with all her vulnerabilities hanging out.
He wanted to know this woman, but he would have to earn it.
In the meantime, he’d protect her and her secrets as best he could.
“Tell me one other thing to help us find him.” He held up his forefinger. “One thing.”
She sighed deeply, grief streaking across her face. “Find Daniel Whitaker.”
“How?”
“Daniel Boone Whitaker. He goes by Whit. Streets.” She brushed past him to stand with Drucker. “I’m done.”
The medic led her down the hall to the clinic.
Mackey patted his shoulder and let the door slide shut. Pushing the button for floor three, Quaid didn’t speak until the doors opened again on the Operations/Admin level. “We have two names now, and we’re both safe. Let’s start hunting.”
&&&&&&&&&&
QM International Flash Alert: 13:45:15 12/15 – San Diego HQ.
Investigation active. HQ facility secure. All personnel accounted for. Security Level 3 in force. ?
The guts of QM always hummed with activity. Night and day someone was on shift. Ambient light, white walls, dark blue carpet, black desk cubicles, monitors and smart boards spread across every surface. All the wall space represented QM’s professional intent. Every case was managed through here.
Quaid had an office in the main hallway, as did Mackey, used for guests, clients, and personnel business, not cases.
He checked the monitors and noted they were using his Operations workspace to manage the hunt for the assassin.
That he and Alanna’s situation was an active investigation made him battle his temper.
Mackey walked to the cubicle and leaned to study what Kerry Jahle, their computer genius, was doing on her three computer screens. Quaid followed to listen in.
Info flashed in rapid fire across her screens, and Quaid rubbed his eyes to banish the fatigue.
Harrison’s office light was on, but the space was empty.
Casey Miner, a former cop and his deputy, was across the room working with Dave Johnson, their financial investigator.
They did have cases pending. They couldn’t grind everything to a halt to solve this.
Mackey would, but they couldn’t afford to drop the ball anywhere.
Quaid joined them, choosing silence.
Mackey took point to brief. “Name is Mercer. First or last, we don’t know. Might be military.”
Kerry frowned, then grabbed a tie and twisted her hair to the top of her head. “Oh, that’s so vague as to almost be useless, but let’s see what we get. I’ll try as a last name first, but this could be an alias, too.”
“Can you find any reference to an assassin using only that name?”
Kerry raised her brows. “Telling me how to do my job, boss?”
“Wouldn’t think of it, but the sooner we find him the better. I have another name.”
“Do tell.”
Quaid dropped his silent pose. “Daniel Boone Whitaker. Known as ‘Whit”, San Diego streets. Alanna lived in San Diego in high school. Knew these two when she was fifteen.”
“So we’re talking back a ways and if they were street, well, you do love giving me a challenge, don’t you?” Kerry slipped a pencil behind her ear, chose a database and typed in Whit’s name.
Mackey crossed his arms and blanked concern off his face, but Quaid saw it. “You should go get some sleep. I’ve got this.”
“Not tired,” he lied.
“I talked to you at three a.m. You did not sleep. I’ll wake you if we find anything.”
The Operations door opened and Delaney came in, opened the storage cupboard, and dropped the keys to the car they’d been using. “Need me for anything else?”
“Uh, guys?” Kerry rapidly scrolled through screens, clicking at a pace that defied description.
“What?” Quaid wished he hadn’t growled, but a headache was building behind his eyes.
“There’s an active police report on this man from two weeks ago. His blood was found in an alley near the mission downtown, and there is a second blood type they can’t identify. I mean a lot of blood. They think he’s dead. Case is still open, though. No body. For either one apparently.”
Mackey leaned in. “Can you get us a full background on this Whit person?”
Delaney came across the room to their cubicle. “Why are you searching for Whit?”
Mackey reared back. “You know him?”
“Yeah. Works the mission. He’s been gone for a couple weeks. Nobody seems to have a clue where he went.”
Quaid pointed at the police report. “Hurt. Possibly dead. They aren’t sure.”
Kerry scrolled back to let Delaney read the file. He straightened and shook his head. “Whit was Green Beret. No way he lost in a street fight. He’s always taking care of any street riff raff that bother the kids. Most people avoid him because they’re afraid to get into it with him.”
“Not you, though?”
“He knew I’d been Army, too. But with my arm, I couldn’t do much to help him. Once in awhile I’d shelter a kid for him. But the man could fight.”
“Where did he serve?”
“Iraq, mostly. Syria. The Middle East region. We never crossed paths. My tours were all in Afghanistan.”
“Have you heard the name Mercer?”
Delaney thought for a few seconds and finally shook his head.
“Nope, not in this context. I had a private named Jason Mercer in my platoon in Afghanistan, but this couldn’t be him.
He was barely out of high school, got injured in an IED explosion, and broke his back.
Last I heard, he’d gone home to Indiana. ”