I can try to convince myself that it’s a one-off. A little spice in my life, so to speak. Then back to civil domestication. Except this kind of spice comes with serious consequences and I know I should be worried about that but… yeah. I have issues.
The best way to handle this—I figure, anyway—is for me to go unfuck this Donavan character and get it out of my system.
So I guess my internal dilemma is—will this Donovan job be an epilogue to a life that’s over? Or the beginning of a whole new story?
I sigh to myself as I wait for Harrison to sign some papers in the airport office, then turn away from him and shove my hands into my pants pockets.
I’ve spent this whole week lying to myself. I need all the intel so I can keep everyone safe.
But that’s a lie. We’re not in any danger. Whatever is happening with this Adam guy and his friend Donovan, it’s got nothing to do with me. I am a service provider. When it’s over, and Donovan is fixed, if that’s the right word, I will go home and my perfect life with Sydney and the girls will resume.
So. I’m doing this because I like it. One last job before retirement.
Wasn’t that what I said last time?
Harrison finishes up and points to the little terminal as he approaches. “There’s a taxi line over there.”
I nod and join him as we walk. And sure enough, out front, there is a taxi line. No taxis, but there’s a sign that says ‘line starts here’ and a Ford truck sitting at the curb which ends up being our ride.
It’s a two-minute drive to the Americana. We could’ve walked. But that would’ve taken twenty minutes and I’m already starting to get nervous about being away so long.
It was a mistake. I knew it when I made the decision. But I need to look Nick Tate in the eyes before I give him what he wants. I need to hear the whole story. I want the entire ten years spelled out for me and I don’t want him to feel too comfortable while he’s doing that.
We get dropped off at the front of the motel and I pay the driver cash. When the old truck pulls away, Harrison and I just look at each other for a moment.
“What?” he asks. “What’s going on, Merc? Why are we here?”
I let out a long breath as I scan the line of doors, stopping to stare when I get to seventeen. “There’s someone in room seventeen I need to meet up with.”
“OK. You want me to hang here?”
“No. You gotta see this.” I direct my gaze back to Harrison. “I’m gonna ask you for some advice tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” He kinda laughs.
“Yeah.”
“Why not today?”
“Because I think we’ll feel different about it tomorrow.”
He palms his neatly trimmed beard as he thinks. An old habit, one I rather like. “OK. I guess whatever is waiting for us in room seventeen requires processing time?”
“Exactly.”
“Got it. Do we need guns?”
I pat my thigh pocket. “I got a little .380, but no. I don’t think we need guns.”
“All right. Let’s do this.”
I nod, thinking I’m ready. But then I get a sick feeling in my stomach. Like this is one of those defining moments.
“Merc?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Let’s go.” And then, before I can change my mind, I head towards room seventeen. I knock once. It takes four seconds for Nick to open the door. And those seconds go by way too fast. Because there he is. Right in front of me. The dead man himself.
“What the—” That’s Harrison. He doesn’t finish his sentence.
Nick glances at Harrison, kinda looks him up and down, then focuses on me. “Merc.” He opens the door wide and steps aside.
I move forward, but Harrison has my arm. “Wait. Am I seeing—”
“Yes,” I say, cutting him off. “You’re seeing this right. Nick Tate, meet Harrison. I’m sure you’ve seen him around.”
Nick extends his hand, like Harrison might actually shake it.
Harrison does not shake it. He says, “What the actual—”
But I cut him off again. “Inside, Harrison. That discussion will happen behind a closed door.”
Harrison looks over his shoulder and lets out a breath. Then he looks me in the eyes and gets it. Part of it, anyway. Not all of it. But enough.
We go in, Nick closes the door, and then he turns to me. “Nice to see you again, Merc. I wish it were under better circumstances. Where’s Wendy?”
“If things go well, you and Wendy will be reunited in about an hour and a half.”
He glances at a clock on the bedside table then scrubs his hands down his face. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” I look at Harrison and almost laugh. Harrison isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at the ghost in front of us.
“What the fuck is this?” Harrison asks, finally getting to finish a sentence. “You’re dead. I saw your dead fucking body in that FBI safehouse.”
“That was his twin,” I explain. “So he says.”
“Your twin? Your fucking—” Harrison turns to me. “What is going on?”
But when I answer him, I’m looking at Nick. “That’s what we’re here to find out. I want the whole story, Nick. From that moment we left you on the beach to this one right here—”
Nick scoffs. “That’s like a whole novel of shit.”
But I put a hand up. “Make it a short story. You’ve got twenty minutes. Then we’re back in the air. Wendy won’t keep forever.”
Nick’s face goes hard. “What the fuck does that mean?” He looks the same and utterly different all at once. He’s still got that golden-boy persona, but it’s not the first thing you see anymore. It’s hidden now. His hair is a little too long and it’s not surfer blond the way it was when he was a teenager.
His brown eyes seem a little darker than before, but that’s probably just the shadows in the dimly lit room. Because the way I remember them, they were golden too. He’s tan, well-muscled, and tall. Nearly as tall as I am, which is a change. The last time I saw him, he was eighteen and not nearly this big. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, a pair of black tactical pants, boots, also black, and a watch. Not the smart kind because it’s got hands.
His whole I’m-a-mercenary look aside, he comes off pretty normal.
I wasn’t in Kansas when Sasha shot his twin. I didn’t see any of that. I was only brought in after it was all over and that was just to pick up my girls. So for me, there is no disconnect with the way he looks. But Harrison is having problems.
“You’re not him,” Harrison says.
Nick smiles indulgently. “I’m Nick. Trust me. That guy you saw in Kansas was my twin.”
Harrison squints his eyes, trying to decide if he’s telling the truth.
“He’s telling the truth,” I say. Then I look back at Nick. It is Nick. There is no doubt. I mean, I didn’t really have any doubts about his identity coming here—there were all those clues—but it’s good to know definitively that this is the same kid I knew all those years ago. “We don’t have much time—”
“Why? Why don’t we have much time?” Nick is agitated. “Where the fuck is Wendy?”