Undertow

16. Casual Violence

16

CASUAL VIOLENCE

Hana Nakamura.

The Hartford “mole” makes a pass around her tables with a pleasant smile on her face. Her Palmetto Grande uniform fits snugly over her full figure, her dark hair twisted back in a clip like most of the staff here. She’s pretty, probably early thirties, and totally devoted to her job as a server in one of the resort’s upscale restaurants.

A mix of relief and dread washes through me as I watch her work. No wonder their precious “mole” hadn’t warned them about McArthur’s relationship with the RLC. She probably can’t help with any intel, other than small operational insights and guest information.

After just a few minutes of reconnaissance, it’s clear Hana Nakamura is nothing more than a friend or hookup of Tyler’s who may have provided him with some low-level information at some point. She probably didn’t even know she was betraying her employer. Tyler also probably didn’t include any of that information in his bragging.

Not only has his incompetence put me in a difficult situation, he’s endangered this innocent woman for no reason other than his ego.

I get why they locked his inept ass in the shack.

But the damage is done, and now I have a new headache to overcome. I’ve been tasked by Mama H to join forces with their “mole” and gain more information about “The Drop” and McArthur’s dealings with the RLC. I have no idea how I’m supposed to partner with a “spy” who isn’t one.

I leave my post by the bar and message Merrick to meet me in his suite.

He’s already there when I arrive, arms crossed and an impatient look on his face. There’s no doubt my S.O.S. interrupted something, but they’re just as responsible for this mess as the Hartfords.

I shut the door and face him. “We have a problem.”

Merrick raises a brow. “I’m not helping you pick out flowers and shit for your wedding.”

I fire a glare. “The photo evidence we planted worked. The Hartfords believe the McArthurs are fully in bed with the RLC. Mama H sent me here to learn more about McArthur’s relationship and any upcoming interactions.”

“That’s what we wanted, right?”

“That’s not the problem. The problem is, I’m supposed to work with a mole they have on the property.”

He straightens, his eyes going dark. “You’re fucking kidding me. A mole?”

“Relax. I already checked them out. It’s bullshit. Tyler just wanted some cred with the boss. The person is no threat to McArthur, but I’m still going to have to make contact to follow Hartford orders. We were trying to keep my presence here on the down-low. I’d be opening up all kinds of potential problems on both sides by outing myself as a Hartford spy to some random employee just to save face.”

“Agreed. So we take out the mole.”

I force down a flinch at the casual violence. “Not an option. It would look too suspicious if their ‘mole’ was neutralized ten minutes after they told me about them.”

“Good point,” he grunts. “So what are you proposing?”

“Fire me.”

“Pardon?”

“We can’t get rid of the mole without raising alarms, so get rid of me. I go back to the Hartfords and say I got fired and can’t be their spy anymore. It would also free me up to spend more time investigating their operation. I’m not doing any good wasting hours on fake shifts here, anyway.”

His skeptical look has my mind already spinning with a response. “Not gonna happen. You’re too valuable in your current position.”

“My current position means nothing if it’s exposed.”

“So don’t let it get exposed.”

I glare at him in exasperation. “And how am I supposed to do that? I was literally sent here to expose my position.”

“I don’t know, Roman. You’re the brilliant operative. Figure it out.”

He pushes past me toward the door.

“Merrick!”

“What?” he hisses, turning on me. “This is not my problem. I’ve got bigger shit on my plate—like what to do about a fucking dead body that’s still on this property.”

“But I?—”

“Deal with it, Shaw. Don’t waste my time again.”

He leaves the room, and I kick an armchair with a curse.

Merrick will be pissed, but he’s wrong this time.

After thinking through multiple scenarios and scoping out Hana Nakamura again, only one move makes sense. Sure, I’m valuable as a double agent, but I’m worthless dead.

“What the hell are you doing?” the executive chef barks as I shove a truffle in my mouth.

I don’t know his name, and he clearly doesn’t know mine. Good.

“Just taking a break,” I say, reaching for another dessert off the catering tray.

He smacks my hand away.

“You’re not even on my staff. Why the hell are you in my kitchen?” His furious glare skims my Palmetto Grande uniform. “Who’s your supervisor? Where are you supposed to be right now?”

“Dude. Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

As hoped, we now have the attention of everyone in the kitchen. The chef is on stage with over a dozen subordinates waiting to see how much authority he has. If he’s like most elite chefs I’ve encountered, his level of authority is just below the level of his ego.

That’s what I’m banking on, anyway.

“Just a tip. Maybe dial back the raspberry extract in the truffles. They’re very berry forward… Unless this is for a kid’s party?”

His face purples with rage. “Out! You’re done here! I’m calling security.”

I bark a laugh. “You can’t fire me. You’re not my supervisor.”

“I sure as hell can! Do you seriously not know who I am?”

“Should I?”

He motions to someone behind me, probably an assistant who will make the call he threatened.

“When I’m done with you, you’ll never work for a McArthur company again.”

God, if only that were true.

I smirk and fold my arms over my chest. “Oh no, not that,” I mock.

He raises a fist, his arm trembling with restrained violence.

I don’t even flinch. He won’t hit me. Unlike me, he actually likes his job and wants to keep it.

We bicker for a few more minutes, while I goad him long enough to wait for security. I do my best to push him right up to the edge without the tension spilling over. My mission has already done enough collateral damage to innocent bystanders. I don’t need an unemployed chef on my conscience.

I’m relieved when I see the silhouette of several security guards clear the rear entrance of the kitchen.

“This one,” the chef snaps, waving at me. “Get him out of my sight. Tell HR to send me the paperwork. I’ll sign whatever the hell they want to get this idiot off our property.”

“Hey, now. No need for name calling,” I say in a mocking tone.

His glare is enough of a response now that the security team has me caged in their walls of muscle.

Despite my many encounters with hired guns, I don’t recognize any of them. McArthur must keep a separate set of mercenaries for himself. Makes sense, given their unique job descriptions.

I say nothing as the men march me out of the kitchen through the back exit. The silence continues along the service corridor and is finally broken by a phone.

One of the guards answers quickly.

“Yes, sir. Don’t know. Tall? Lots of tattoos? Yep. Brown hair. I guess he’s good-looking? I don’t know.”

Shit.

“Really? Usually, we take them to our office while they’re processed by HR… No, yeah. Of course. Sure. On our way.”

He hangs up and levels a suspicious glare on me. “Who the fuck are you?”

It’s not a real question since he doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he grips my arm with hostility I’m much more accustomed to and motions for his partner to do the same. Within seconds, I’m jerked in the opposite direction we were walking.

“Change of plans,” he says to the others. “We’re taking him downstairs.”

Double shit.

“What part of don’t get fired was confusing for you?!” Merrick shouts from the other side of the small room. On an official blueprint, this is an unused storage space. In practice, it’s a room I was hoping never to see. I’ve spent enough time in concrete holes like this.

I shrug and unbutton the stiff uniform shirt I’m happy never to wear again.

“Not my fault Chef Egotist doesn’t like employees sampling his shitty desserts.”

Merrick’s glare darkens further as it rips into me. “There’s not a cell in my body that doesn’t know you orchestrated this. You got fired on purpose after I specifically told you not to. Know how I know? I have an entire resort buzzing about the incident in the kitchen, which makes it impossible to sweep it under the rug and put you back in play.”

I take my time slipping the shirt off, already feeling much freer in just the cotton tank beneath . This is a better outfit for violence anyway.

Merrick rips the uniform shirt from my hands and tosses it into a corner. I instinctively brace for a fight.

“Fucking listen to me, Shaw. Tell me why you went against my orders. Tell me why I shouldn’t beat your ass and bury you for insubordination and take this higher up. Trust me, now is not the time to be pissing off McArthur.”

“I already told you, the double agent thing served its purpose, but we’re wasting time we don’t have. Every second I spend playing resort employee is a second away from the real shit happening on the other end of the island. Something is up with the marina, but I can’t get there if I’m always here .”

His narrowed eyes remain fixed on me for several long seconds. I see his mind working and hold steady through the visual threat.

After a long pause, his shoulders finally relax. “And the Hartfords? They won’t be happy you got fired either. You were even more valuable to them as a McArthur employee than you were to us. What happens when you’re not useful to them anymore?”

I swallow a twinge at the thought of a secret door in a prison shack.

“I’ll just have to make sure I stay useful. ”

He shakes his head and runs a hand over his face. “You’re playing with fire, kid. You’re seriously going to kill me one day.”

“Playing? Pretty sure I live in the flames.”

He sighs, and I’m still in disbelief I’m standing here without a drop of blood shed.

“Tell me about the marina,” he says. “What’s going on there?”

“I don’t know yet, but if I had to guess, that’s probably where the majority of the transactions are happening. If I can get in on that action, I can find out with whom, what type, and how much. The marina is the key to this entire equation.”

“And you think you can get in on whatever’s happening there?”

“Now that I’m not stuck here, yeah. They’ll have to give me something else to do. I’ll make sure it’s at the docks.”

Merrick nods, his expression lifting slightly. “Good. Do that and maybe McArthur doesn’t order a bullet in your head.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I mumble.

Something flickers in his eyes. That same change I’ve been noticing more and more lately. I wish I could interpret it, but the man is even better at this than I am.

“Okay, well, keep me posted. I’m serious, Shaw, you’re…”

I miss the rest of what he says when my Hartford phone buzzes with a message from Julia.

Can’t stop thinking about you. Be careful today. I need you in my bed tonight.

Damn.

“Yo. You listening?”

I look up to see Merrick’s irritated expression.

“What? Yeah. Be careful.”

“That’s not what I said. Who just messaged you?”

Before I can react, he swipes the phone from my hand.

His eyes widen, then fire darts at me. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“What? Wasn’t Julia part of the plan? Hell, wasn’t that the entire plan?”

“To seduce her, not to fucking fall in love with her!”

“I’m not?—”

“Save it. You and I have been doing this long enough to cut the bullshit. I saw it in your face when you read the message. I see it now. You care about her. You also know better than anyone how that ends. You know, Shaw. And I’m so fucking tired of cleaning up your blood.”

I look away, my heart pounding violently in my chest. He’s right. About all of it. Only the last part confuses me.

“I know what I’m doing,” I say.

“I sure as fuck hope so.”

He shoves the phone at my chest.

“Now, let’s get your ass officially fired and start the countdown to your personalized bullet, because I don’t think you do.”