Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3), Brett Battles [best books to read in your 20s TXT] 📗

“I would say his reaction convinced me we made the right decision.”

“In what way?”

Davis looks uncomfortable. This is not a topic he wants to discuss, but it’s hard to say no to the FBI.

“I thought it would be easier to tell him we’d filled the position, and apologized for him having had to make the trip. I even offered to reimburse him for his gas money. At first, it seemed as if everything was going to be fine. He asked a few questions, like why did we make the decision now? And who did we hire? I kept my answers vague and, of course, didn’t give him a name.

“I remember him sitting there silently for several seconds, staring at the table, his face turning redder and redder. He finally stood up, looking angrier than anyone I’ve ever seen, and started yelling at me, telling me how unprofessional we were. How he wouldn’t want to work for a company like us in the first place. How we owed him more than just gas money for wasting his time. There were other things, too. I can’t remember what exactly, but it was crazy.

“Finally, two of the larger members of our staff rushed into the room with one of the building’s security guards. I told Price that he needed to leave or we would call the police.”

Davis falls silent, though I can see there’s something else he wants to say. “Did he leave?”

A nod. “The guards escorted him out. As far as I know, that was the last time he’s ever been in our building. I know I’ve never seen him again.”

“And that was it? There was nothing else said?”

He winces. “I said something to him on his way out that I shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t help myself. His reaction had pissed me off.”

“What did you say?”

“Something like, ‘The next time you apply for a job, maybe try not lying on your resume.’”

“He didn’t say anything to that?”

“No. But I could see he was surprised, then his face darkened again, and I thought maybe he was going to start another round of yelling. But he kept his mouth shut.”

I give it a couple of seconds before saying, “I know you said you never saw him again, but did you hear from him?”

He looks back at the file and flips through a few pages before stopping. “Oh, right. I forgot about this.” He looks up. “We received an email from him the next day. A quasi-apology for his behavior.” He glances at the file again. “‘I’m sorry for my strong reaction yesterday. I’m just a passionate person. I’m hoping we can put all this behind us and that, if a similar position comes up in the future, you will consider me again.’”

Chuckie, Chuckie, Chuckie. So willfully arrogant. So painfully clueless.

“He said nothing about the discrepancies in his resume?” I ask.

“Not a word.”

I already know the answer to my next question, but Davis doesn’t know that. “Did you respond?”

Another look at the file. “We had Mr. Neuman’s executive assistant reply with a message telling him not to contact us again.”

“And that was that?”

“As far as I know.”

“Is there anything else you can think of that I should know?” I ask.

A shrug. “That’s pretty much everything.”

“If something does come to mind, I’d appreciate it if you would give me a call.” I hand him a business card that matches my FBI ID, with another one of my numbers that routes to my phone.

“I will.” He pockets the card.

“One last thing. It would be helpful to us if you and Mr. Neuman tell no one the reason for my visit today. This is an ongoing investigation, and you’d be surprised at how quickly information like that can spread.”

“Of course. We won’t say a word.”

“I appreciate it.”

As we both stand and walk toward the door, I decide to press my luck a little. “Would it be possible to get a copy of Price’s resume?”

A pause. “I don’t see why not. If you wait in the lobby, I’ll run one off for you.”

“Great. Thank you. Also, do you think you can give me Cheryl’s phone number?”

Even though he’s wearing a mask, I can see his smile slip. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

“Don’t worry about it, then. I understand.”

Bummer. But again, Cheryl’s number is probably on their server.

He leads me back to the lobby and tells me he’ll be only a minute. It’s more like two, but I’m not going to be upset about it. Because in addition to the resume, he has given me a present. On a Post-it note stuck to the copy of the resume is the letter C followed by a phone number.

Chapter Seventeen

It’s just after five p.m. when I exit the Hayden Valley offices, early enough for me to make one last stop before returning to Mercy.

The world my colleagues and I occupy is superimposed over yours. Like a ghost world, of which only those who need to know are aware. Our reality is a network of safe houses and secret hospitals and forgery specialists and transportation services and suppliers of all kinds of things.

And that network is everywhere.

Well, almost everywhere.

It most definitely is not in Mercy.

But it is well established in Denver.

Which is why, after I return to my room at the Jacquard, I put in a call to my friend Dave Cheeks.

Yes. It’s his real name. Why would anyone ever choose that?

Dave is one of the good guys. He runs a nonprofit business that sends medical and other essential supplies to needy communities around the world. He does not make a lot of money for this, so it’s a good thing that his husband, Mark, is a doctor.

That’s not to say Dave couldn’t make a lot on his own. He does have a side business, one that generates a high profit margin. But instead of keeping any of that money for himself, he funnels it all into the nonprofit. That’s the kind of saint Dave is.

Puts the rest of