Chapter 4 - HAZEL CAME BACK ON HER OWN TERMS
By the time Damian reached Bastian Mercer’s restaurant, Hazel was sitting at the bar drinking water.
Bastian sat three stools away holding an ice pack against his jaw.
Damian stopped inside the private dining room.
Grant looked from Hazel to Bastian.
Then toward the two armed Mercer lieutenants standing against the wall.
“What happened?”
Bastian pointed at Hazel.
“Your secretary has communication problems.”
Hazel looked at Damian.
“I told him I wasn’t interested in being photographed.”
Damian noticed blood on Bastian’s lower lip.
“You hit him.”
“He touched my phone.”
Bastian muttered, “You broke my wrist.”
Hazel looked at his wrist.
“It isn’t broken.”
“Feels broken.”
“Then you’ve had a comfortable life.”
Damian stared.
For three years this woman had reminded him about dental appointments.
Now Bastian Mercer looked afraid to reach for his own drink.
“Why are you here?” Damian asked.
Hazel’s expression cooled.
“I was invited.”
“By Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Bastian removed the ice pack.
“Because unlike you, I knew who she was.”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed.
“Careful.”
He smiled.
“Hazel Brooks. Daughter of Detective Thomas Brooks. Former Army protective-intelligence specialist. Then private contractor for Kestrel Risk.”
Damian looked at her.
Kestrel Risk was not ordinary private security.
It provided protection teams for diplomats, corporate witnesses, and people whose names never reached newspapers.
Hazel remained calm.
Bastian continued.
“Your secretary could’ve charged five grand a day protecting oil executives.”
Damian looked at her practical cardigan.
“Instead she scheduled my lunch.”
Hazel shrugged.
“You were difficult to observe from another building.”
There it was.
No denial.
Damian walked closer.
“You infiltrated Apex.”
“Yes.”
“For three years.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To find out who killed my father.”
Bastian smiled.
Damian ignored him.
“You think a Russo did it.”
“I know someone connected to your family did.”
“Carlo?”
Hazel looked at Bastian.
“Not here.”
Bastian laughed.
“You came to my restaurant.”
“Because you claimed to have my father’s missing case file.”
Damian’s eyes shifted.
Bastian spread his hands.
“And I do.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
Hazel looked toward Damian.
“Bastian didn’t order the assassin.”
Damian stared.
“The man said Mercer.”
“He said Mercer doesn’t like unfinished business.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Bastian pointed at Hazel.
“Thank you.”
She continued.
“Someone wants you to assume Bastian ordered it.”
“Why?”
“Because you already hate him.”
Bastian looked pleased.
Damian did not.
Hazel continued.
“The assassin used a payment route through Mercer-controlled territory, but the money originated elsewhere.”
“You traced it?”
“Partially.”
“To who?”
She hesitated.
Damian’s anger flashed.
“Hazel.”
She looked at him.
Then at the bar.
“Your uncle.”
Silence.
Bastian stopped smiling.
Grant’s posture changed.
Damian said nothing.
Hazel continued.
“Carlo Russo authorized Caldera Freight shipments eight years ago.”
“I know.”
“My father discovered Caldera was moving unregistered weapons through Chicago under legitimate manifests.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“Carlo?”
“Yes.”
“What did my father know?”
“A lot.”
“How?”
“My father approached Antonio.”
Damian stared.
“Why?”
“Because Antonio was trying to shut it down.”
That answer shifted the room.
“My father cooperated with police?”
“Not officially.”
Hazel shook her head.
“He wanted Carlo removed without giving federal prosecutors control of the entire Russo network.”
“That sounds like him.”
“Thomas and Antonio made an agreement.”
Bastian looked toward the closed doors.
“What agreement?”
Hazel’s eyes remained on Damian.
“Your father would provide evidence of Carlo’s weapons route. My father would use it to build a case against the shell distributors, not against legitimate Russo holdings.”
Damian felt pressure behind his ribs.
“Then Antonio died.”
“October seventeenth.”
“Heart attack.”
“No.”
The word came softly.
Damian stared.
Hazel removed a small envelope from inside her jacket.
She slid a photocopy across the bar.
Toxicology panel.
Antonio Russo.
The official report Damian had seen eight years ago listed cardiac arrest consistent with natural causes.
This copy contained another line.
Digitalis compound detected above therapeutic range.
Damian’s skin chilled.
“My father wasn’t taking digitalis.”
“I know.”
“Where did you get this?”
“My father.”
Damian looked at her.
“He had Antonio’s toxicology?”
“An emergency-room technician contacted him because the number looked strange.”
“What happened to the technician?”
“Moved to Oregon three weeks later.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Your father?”
“Dead two days later.”
Damian looked at the paper.
For eight years he had accepted a heart attack.
Antonio had a family history of cardiac disease.
He worked too much.
Smoked until Damian was fifteen.
Everyone believed it because it was believable.
“Why did you wait three years inside my office?”
Hazel’s expression changed.
“Because I didn’t know if you were part of it.”
That hurt more than Damian expected.
“You thought I killed my father?”
“No.”
“I said part.”
“What does that mean?”
“I thought you might know Carlo was moving weapons.”
Damian looked away.
Eight years earlier, he had known Caldera existed.
He had not known the cargo.
Could he prove that to Hazel?
Probably not.
She continued.
“When I joined Apex, I planned to stay six months.”
“Three years.”
“Yes.”
“What changed?”
Hazel glanced at Grant.
“Damian wasn’t what I expected.”
Bastian snorted.
“No romance, please.”
Grant almost smiled.
Damian ignored them.
“What did you expect?”
“A reckless heir protecting family history.”
“And?”
“You were ruthless.”
“That sounds better.”
“It wasn’t.”
Hazel’s mouth nearly moved.
“You were also trying to move the organization toward legitimate business.”
Damian listened.
“You shut down two street crews trafficking fentanyl through your warehouses.”
“Yes.”
“You forced captains to stop recruiting teenagers.”
“Yes.”
“You created pension structures for dock workers.”
“That was accounting.”
“It mattered.”
Damian looked at her.
“Is that why you saved me?”
Hazel’s face became unreadable.
“Partly.”
“Other part?”
“My investigation dies if Carlo takes control.”
Bastian smiled.
“There’s the romance.”
Hazel gave him a look.
His smile vanished.
Damian said, “Twice.”
“What?”
“You saved me twice.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the car?”
“Because someone knew your vehicle schedule.”
“You thought it could be Grant.”
Grant looked offended.
Hazel nodded.
“It could have been anyone.”
“Me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“If you wanted to blow up your own car, you have personality problems beyond my training.”
Bastian laughed loudly.
Damian almost did.
Almost.
Then he remembered.
“I fired you.”
“Yes.”
“For being late because you were disarming an assassin.”
“Yes.”
“You could have said something.”
Hazel stared.
“I had a suppressed pistol inside my waistband during that meeting.”
Damian’s expression changed.
“If I told you there was an assassin downstairs while Mercer was sitting in your conference room, what would you have done?”
Damian glanced at Bastian.
Bastian lifted both hands.
“Probably shot me.”
Hazel nodded.
“Exactly.”
Damian hated that everyone seemed to know him.
“I needed to know whether Bastian was connected before you started a war.”
“So you let me fire you.”
“You gave me an envelope. I took it.”
“You didn’t defend yourself.”
Hazel’s eyes hardened.
“I had just saved your life.”
Silence.
“If a man needs me to beg before he asks whether I am bleeding, I don’t want the job.”
The sentence hit.
Damian saw the missing button again.
The torn cardigan.
The metallic smell.
He had never asked.
“I was wrong.”
Hazel looked away.
“You said that already.”
“I’m saying it where you can see my face.”
She met his eyes.
Damian continued.
“I was wrong.”
Bastian made a dramatic gagging noise.
Grant elbowed him.
Hazel’s expression softened by perhaps one degree.
“Accepted.”
Damian felt something unexpectedly release.
“Come back.”
“No.”
Immediate.
He blinked.
“As secretary.”
“Definitely no.”
“As security.”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
Hazel looked toward her father’s file on Bastian’s table.
“To finish this.”
“Then work with me.”
“Under conditions.”
Damian almost smiled.
Of course.
“Name them.”
“I don’t report to you.”
His smile disappeared.
“Grant.”
Grant looked surprised.
Hazel nodded.
“I work with Grant as an independent consultant.”
Damian stared.
“You want me to pay you to ignore my orders?”
“Yes.”
Bastian laughed again.
Damian turned.
“If you make one more sound, I’m buying this building and turning it into a daycare.”
Bastian closed his mouth.
Hazel continued.
“I choose what I disclose unless it creates immediate danger.”
“No.”
“Then no deal.”
Damian inhaled slowly.
“Immediate safety information cannot be withheld.”
“Agreed.”
“You don’t disappear without telling Grant.”
“Agreed.”
“You carry a tracker.”
“No.”
“Hazel.”
“No.”
“Emergency beacon.”
She considered.
“Manual activation only.”
“Fine.”
“No electronic monitoring outside active operations.”
“Fine.”
“No secretary work.”
He almost objected.
Then remembered.
“Fine.”
“And if you speak to me like you did when you fired me, I leave.”
Damian stared.
Bastian looked delighted.
Grant studied the ceiling.
Damian finally said, “Fine.”
Hazel extended her hand.
Damian looked at it.
Then took it.
Her grip was firm.
Warm.
Not the invisible secretary.
Not anymore.
Bastian slid a file toward them.
“Since everyone’s finished negotiating employment law, perhaps somebody would like the reason I invited her.”
Hazel opened it.
Inside were Caldera Freight manifests.
Payments.
Photographs.
Then one page that made her go still.
Damian noticed.
“What?”
She handed him the document.
A payment authorization dated one day before Antonio’s death.
CALDERA CONSULTING DISBURSEMENT: $180,000.
Authorized by CARLO RUSSO.
Recipient:
FINCH MEDICAL CONSULTING.
Leonard Finch.
The physician who declared Antonio dead.
Grant swore.
Damian stared.
Carlo had paid the doctor one day before Damian’s father died.
Then Bastian added quietly:
“That isn’t the worst page.”
Hazel turned.
The next authorization was dated two days later.
The day Thomas Brooks died.
Payment to a private transportation contractor.
$75,000.
Memo:
HIGHWAY RESOLUTION.
Hazel’s face drained of color.
Damian read the words.
Her father’s crash had never been an accident.
May you like
And for the first time since Damian learned Hazel had saved him, he understood the full cost of the secret she had carried into his office every morning.
She had spent three years serving coffee to the nephew of the man she believed murdered her father.
