Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(37)

The threat rankled, and though it pained him to do so, Niklaus remained silent.

“I suggest you get moving,” he said as he glanced down at his watch, an expensive looking thing that cost more than Niklaus was willing to spend on anything except his car. “You’re running out of time.”



* * *



Back at his hotel room, Niklaus lugged the case from his trunk, carrying it into his temporary home before slamming the door shut and flipping all the locks. He didn’t have much time to prepare, so if he wanted to get a jump on this, he had to start now.

Turning the latches, he threw open the top of the case, pulling out a laptop bag, setting that on the table that was used for eating, then returned to the trunk to pull out a new vest—top of the line Kevlar—and a few of his favorite weapons. His rifle stayed locked in its case at the bottom. Though long-range shots were his specialty, he doubted he would have much use for it since his job was intelligence as opposed to assassination. As he finished checking over his gear, he went ahead and turned on the laptop, typing in the special encryption key that let him enter the network where he made a call to one of the two people he knew he would need for this assignment.

Usually, he worked alone—they all did. In their trade, it was easier to remain unattached. Not to mention that it could be deadly owing someone a favor. But he only had a little over two weeks to see this done.

An icon appeared on the screen, one depicting a smiling skull, then seconds later, a new window popped open, Winter’s face coming into focus.

“Red? I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“I’ve got a job for you.”

Gray eyes, almost as light as the shade of her bleached and dyed hair turned inquisitive as she studied him from her side of the screen. “Sounds fun. What do you need?”

That was a good question… “Everything. A family, last name McCarthy.”

She arched a brow. “That’s not enough for me to go on. It’s a common name.”

“Well as of now, that’s all I got. They’re a crime family undoubtedly with ties both here in New York and in Ireland. They traffic weapons, so that might help narrow the search.”

Winter nodded. “I’ll do what I can. What’s your timeline?”

“I need the information in forty-eight hours.”

Whistling, she shook her head. “My rate just went up ten percent.”

Despite him having to pay her exorbitant fees—at least until his check was cut for this assignment—Niklaus gave her a small smile. Even with the short timeframe, one that most wouldn’t be able to manage, Winter always came through. “I’ll get back to you when I know more.”

The screen went black as Winter ended the call.

One down, one to go.

Digging out his phone, he pressed ‘two’ then the call button, bringing it up to his ear, hearing the monotone ringing for several moments before blaring music sounded on the other end.

“What can I do you for?”

“I need a favor.”

“You seem to need a lot of those lately, boyo.”

Of course it would be Celt that gave him a hard time. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

He hung up before Celt could respond, knowing that whatever his response would be would probably be something he didn’t want to hear.

Strapping up, Niklaus headed for the door. He had been in the room for all of twenty minutes before he was back out again. But he would have to get used to it again as he doubted he would be keeping regular hours over the next couple of weeks.

Celt had a series of safe houses all over the world. He could be the poster child for backup plans and making sure that if anything went wrong, he could hide out somewhere and not be found. In the state of New York alone, he had seven, but out of those seven, there was only one that he used as his private residence, and only seven members of the Den actually knew of its existence. Niklaus was one of those seven.

It was once a cotton candy factory, and despite the time that had passed since it closed down, it still smelled faintly of sugar. Celt had converted the place into a loft-style apartment, making improvements as he went along.

Pulling up outside the building, Niklaus killed the engine and climbed out, jogging over to the lift, pushing the gate open and stepping in before pressing the button for him to go up. The lift rocked and rattled, a testament to how long the building had been standing, before it stopped entirely.

Stepping into the loft, Niklaus barely spared the place a glance—having been there a number of times over the years—and headed for the kitchen pantry where there was a hidden keypad behind the spice rack. One code and palm print later, Niklaus was stepping onto another elevator, this one having been specially installed by contractors that were close to the Den. The brushed nickel interior looked innocent at first glance, but there was a tiny camera in the ceiling, and if there ever happened to be someone riding down to the hidden level that Celt didn’t sanction, he only had to press a button on his phone to release a gas that would incapacitate his victim in moments.

On the ride down, Celt held life and death in his hands.

When the doors finally opened, letting in the stark whiteness of the War Room, Niklaus had to blink a few times to clear his vision. Guns lined the backlit walls, black racks hanging on all sides except for one. There were a number of monitors that made up that last wall. Three were for each level of the building where Celt had set up cameras, and the fourth was for the outside perimeter. Then, there was the wall of money that Celt had. While Niklaus was usually one to receive his payments in wired transactions to offshore bank accounts—before he ultimately moved the money when the need arose—Celt preferred to get paid in cash, storing the excessive amounts in his home. This wall of currency was only a small fraction of how much money was truly in this place.