Code Name Heist (Jameson Force Security 3)

Fortunately, it had.

Saint hoists the strap, lodging the weight of it onto one shoulder. I watched him place a gun into a chest holster this morning, covering it with a jacket. It freaked me out a little, but he merely told me we couldn’t be walking around with a bag full of cash we most certainly had to deliver as if our lives depended on it and not be protected.

I accepted this.

We head north, walking neither slow nor brisk. There are no other cars parked near the warehouse as we approach the doors we’d been told to enter through, but it’s a big building. There’s certainly parking on the other sides.

As soon as we step inside, my gaze goes to three men already waiting for us. One is William, whom I’d expected. Also expected is Neal who showed up as commanded, too, because he’s stupid enough not to understand the risk he put us all under with his actions.

What I hadn’t expected was Mercier to be here, and the sight chills me. None of the loot I’ve ever taken for him was ever handed over to him directly. It always went through William, keeping Mercier at arm’s length on everything.

I shoot a quick look up at Saint, but he has his eyes trained coldly on Neal. He moves across the open floor space toward the men. When he’s within a few meters, he pulls the duffel off his shoulder and tosses it at William’s feet. It lands with a soft thud, kicking up a puff of dust.

My gaze moves to Neal, who is chewing on a toothpick. He shoots me a smirk.

I then dare to move my attention to Mercier, who stares directly at Saint.

William squats, unzips the duffel, and paws through the stacks of money, giving it a quick eyeball. When he straightens, he glances first at Saint, then at me, and finally at Neal before saying, “I want to know how this got so royally fucked up.”

Saint and I don’t flinch, but Neal blinks in confusion. “Fucked up? We did exactly what you asked.”

“No,” William replies with a menacing growl. “It was never part of the plan to kill Brandis. The police are now crawling all over the place investigating a murder, which puts you three in the crosshairs.”

“It was never part of the plan to have him return to the office so soon,” Neal points out smoothly. “I was protecting us.”

William doesn’t reply, merely picks up the duffel, hoists it over his shoulder, and pivots on his foot. He heads to the rear of the warehouse in the opposite direction from where we entered without a backward glance.

I had honestly expected a lot worse. For a moment, the tension in my shoulders eases.

But then Mercier speaks… and the tone of his voice makes every fiber of my being cringe. Giving his full attention to Saint, he asks, “Mr. Bellinger, what do you believe should have been done in that scenario last night when Mr. Brandis entered the office?”

Saint doesn’t flinch or appear stymied by the question. Lifting his chin, he makes his voice hard and measured. “My instinct was to take him down in a chokehold, render him unconscious, and complete the plan. We were going to take the security footage anyway, so other than a brief glance at Sin, who was in disguise, he couldn’t identify anyone else. On top of that, I guarantee he wasn’t going to report the theft anyway. Not with the money being dirty.”

Mercier appraises Saint silently, expression giving away nothing as to whether it was a satisfactory answer.

I mean… it was the best answer. We do not kill. That’s when law enforcement gets involved. When prison sentences get infinitely longer.

Finally, Mercier gives Saint a small nod.

Before I even realize what’s happening, Mercier pulls a gun from the inside of his suit jacket, raises his arm, and points it directly at Neal.

The man has enough time to raise his hands in defense, but the action doesn’t stop the bullet from entering his brain.

Neal crumples to the dirty cement floor, blood pooling around him.

I bite down hard on my tongue to keep from making a noise. A scream bubbles up, but I don’t even let out a gasp of surprise. I keep it forced down, calling on every bit of my training and skills to remain ice cold and detached from the scene before me. I cannot afford to let Mercier see how wigged out I am, because I would not put it past him to put a bullet in my head as well.

Mercier calmly returns the gun into his jacket, not even sparing poor, dead Neal a glance. Expression cold, he inclines his head to Saint. “Job well done. Consider yourself promoted.”

He doesn’t even look at me, and I appreciate it. Mercier heads off in the same direction as William without another word.