Have Mercy

It was always a joy to take off their leashes, to see them grin their puppy grins as they darted into the thick of things. Today, the dog park was a little crowded, but there was still an empty bench, which she and Gilly snagged.

“The great thing about him is that he’s leaving,” Gilly said as she wrapped her leashes into a big roll.

“He’s a guest.”

“He’s leaving. You know how people are when they check in to Hush. He’s got that whole chest of toys just sitting there, calling him. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“I get fired.”

“Come on. That’s never gonna happen. Piper loves you. She’d never fire you.”

“If I’m caught, what choice would she have?”

“You won’t get caught.”

Mercy smiled. “That’s right. Because I’m not going to do it.”

Gilly shook her head. “You’re too smart to let this opportunity get away from you. He’s gorgeous, he’s horny, he’s leaving. It’s a gift, Mercy. You just have to unwrap it and it’s yours.”

“I just have to take care of the pets,” she said.

Gilly’s look was meant to urge her on, but all Mercy felt was pathetic. She should never have talked to any of them about her personal life. Hadn’t she learned by now to keep her big mouth shut?

“Maybe it’s okay, once every five years or so, to take care of yourself. The animals are great, Mercy, but they’re not a substitute for love.”

“Love?” Mercy snorted. “Come on—”

“Okay, so maybe not love, but how about human companionship? How about comfort? People need contact. It’s how we’re designed, and you’re no different.”

“I’ve had all the contact I need.”

“No, you haven’t. Besides, if it gets you out of your apartment for a night…”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes any sense.”

“See? I knew you’d come around. Now, we just have to make sure Gorgeous Will comes back to visit Buster—”

Mercy slugged her friend in the shoulder, which did shut her up. But it wouldn’t stop her from plotting and planning. It’s what Gilly did best.

IT WAS JUST PAST six when Will found himself an empty stool at Erotique, the Hush bar. He’d tried, with no success, to change Mercy’s mind about training Buster, and with that defeat he’d realized he’d have to take another tack.

“Glenfiddich,” he said to the bartender.

“I’ve got the single malt or the special reserve.”

“Single malt.”

The bartender, a tall guy who was undoubtedly working here until he got his big break on Broadway, went off to fetch the scotch and Will turned to case the room. The bar was just starting to fill with the after- work crowd, and he was once again amazed at the obvious signs of wealth. This place was a treasure trove of watches, diamond rings, laptops, iPhones and electronic gear of every stripe. Even the briefcases were polished leather and monogrammed, of course.

And the women were all beautiful. Even if they hadn’t been born that way, they used every trick in the book to appear as if their good looks were nothing special. He wondered how many cosmetic surgeons were sending their kids to Harvard from this crowd alone.

He was one of the lucky ones. He’d been born with his grandfather’s dark handsomeness, and he’d learned early not to squander the gift. It had made so much of life so much easier.

Women had never been a problem, and even in business, people were more likely to part with money if the person asking had a symmetrical, pleasing face and body.

Personally, he never understood why so many people didn’t clue in to the beauty factor. It was just a fact of human nature, not good, not bad. Simply useful.

“Here you go, sir,” the bartender said. “Can I get you anything else?”

Will pulled a folded hundred out of his jacket pocket and discreetly pushed it into the young man’s hand. “Tell me something, Karl. What do you know about Mercy Jones?”

“Mercy…oh, you mean the pet concierge.”

Will nodded before taking his first sip. The scotch was unbelievably smooth, and he savored the slow, subtle burn.

“Let’s see.” Karl picked up a glass and a cloth, and proceeded to use one on the other. “She’s one of Ms. Devon’s projects. Found her in a shelter.”

“I heard she worked for animal rescue?”

“Yeah. But she was something of a rescue herself, although that’s all rumor. She’s the quiet type. About everything. I see her in the cafeteria from time to time, but she keeps to herself.”

“Not dating anyone?”

“Not that I’ve seen. But one of the waitresses knows her. I’ll ask.”

“Thanks, Karl. I appreciate it.”

Karl took a few more orders, but given the size of his tip, Will felt sure he’d find out all he could. And now that that piece of business was in motion, it was time to relax. To appreciate his drink, to think about Drina and the damned diamond dog collar.

Drina, he surmised, was going to steal the thing. Fine. What he couldn’t figure out, however, was what she was planning to do with it, after she had it. The collar was undoubtedly insured, and since it was such an unusual piece, the police would notice if it suddenly came on the market. He doubted any reputable fence would take the thing, at least not for a few years.

Besides, it wasn’t a smart move. That made him more uncomfortable than anything else. Drina was not a stupid woman, and she didn’t make big mistakes. Was she losing it? Or was there something about this collar that he hadn’t discovered yet?

His money was on the latter.

“Mr. Desmond?”

So Karl had gotten his name. Smart kid.

“Mercy doesn’t have a boyfriend, no. She spends all her time at PetQuarters.”

Will bit back a smile as Karl leaned in and told his tale as if he was spilling the beans to Jason Bourne. All very hush-hush.

“She’s very tight with Gilly, who works with her, but that’s about it. Word is she’s doing everything she can to get her big bonus so that she can move to a place of her own.”

“Big bonus?”

He nodded. “She’s trying to get enough day business so Piper will turn the building next door into a huge pet facility. If Mercy does it, brings in enough revenue, she gets a bonus. I’m not sure how much, but I can probably find out.”

“No, that’s fine, Karl, thank you.”

“Sure thing.” The young man smiled and turned to help his other customers.

Just before he was out of earshot, Will said, “Karl, one more thing.”

“Sir?”

“You know anything about that crazy dog collar? It’s a fake, right? It has to be a fake.”

Karl shook his head. “Oh, no, sir. It’s no fake. Everyone knows about the diamond collar. It was even in the paper. It’s worth, I don’t know, almost a million dollars. At least, that’s what I heard. Can you imagine? Putting that kind of money on a dog?”

“Well, I’ll be damned. I never would have guessed.”

“You’d be surprised the kind of crazy stuff that goes on in a hotel like this. I could tell you stories—”

“I’ll bet you could. Tell you what, though. Let’s refill this glass, first.”

Karl nodded and headed for the bottle.

Will got comfortable. He probably wouldn’t learn anything useful from Karl’s tales of hotel life, but it was worth listening nonetheless. It wouldn’t hurt to get an insider’s view, and besides, he’d learned young not to let any opportunity slip by.

Just the fact that all the employees knew about the collar was something that might come in real handy.

His smile fell as he thought about Mercy. He’d been right about her. She wasn’t being coy with those blushes. She’d had enough trouble in her life to want to keep it to herself. That should have made him happy. So much easier to get what he wanted from a woman with big issues. But all he felt was tired.

He wanted to go home. He wanted…

Shit, he didn’t even know what he wanted.

4

THE WALK FROM the bus stop to Mercy’s apartment was always the scariest, if not the worst, part of going home. She lived in an area of New York that had been taken over by drugs and spiraling unemployment. There were hookers and dealers and gangs and a whole bunch of other things to be worried about every time she stepped off the bus.

But she had the routine down pat. She wore a backpack instead of a purse and kept her money in her shoe. She made herself small, but made sure not to look like a victim. She never ran. Her key was in her hand before she got off the bus, and in her right front pocket she kept a switchblade. Thank goodness she’d never had to use it. At least not while she’d lived here.

This wasn’t the first time she’d lived in a scary place. In fact, there hadn’t been many nonscary places in her life. Truth be told, she preferred the fear to be on the outside of the house. It was easier to sleep that way.

She made it the six blocks to her apartment building without incident, even in the four floors up to her door. As usual, it smelled like a pit in the stairwells, and sounded just as bad, but there were no junkies lurking.

She unbolted the door, stepped inside and tried not to look around. It would just depress her more to see the squalor she lived in.

She had a minimum of four roommates. Sometimes six, depending on who needed a place to crash and who was desperate for money. The whole place was just over four hundred square feet. One bathroom, a micro-kitchen that had a half fridge, a hot plate and an oven that never worked. There were three couches in the main room, usually doubling as beds.

Her room, the only slightly serene place to be found, had been a closet. It now held all her earthly possessions, most of them folded in stacked milk crates she’d painted blue.

Her bed was a single mattress on the floor. The walls of her closet were pale blue, too, and the best thing was she actually had a window. It was small, too high to see out unless she climbed on a chair, but sometimes when she was there in the daytime, the sun hit the end of the bed.

All this, including the fact that she had to dead-bolt herself inside the closet before she went to sleep, for just under nine hundred per month.

It all would have been tolerable if she’d been able to share the space with a dog, or even a cat. But there were no pets allowed. For her that meant no joy allowed.

She’d been spending the night at Hush so often she was afraid someone was going to tell the GM, and they’d tell her to stop. Even though she worked when she was there overnight, she still slept better, felt safer. She’d even thought, briefly, of asking if she could move in to PetQuarters permanently. Well, until she got her bonus.

That ten thousand dollars was going to free her. She’d find another apartment, with a maximum of one roommate. And she’d have a dog. Maybe a dog and a cat. Wouldn’t that be something?

She got into her sleep shirt, then waited until she heard whoever the hell was in the bathroom leave. She never even bothered to shower there anymore. There was a great staff shower at PetQuarters, thank goodness. But she did brush her teeth, then scurry back to her room.

Inside, she turned on the good light, fixed her pillows and went back to her book. It was an old favorite about a veterinary practice in the English countryside. From her backpack she pulled out a PowerBar and a bottle of water, and waited for the magic.

Books had always been her sacred place. Through years of horrific foster parents and equally horrific state homes, she’d found she could lose herself in two things—books and animals.

However, tonight she couldn’t get into the rhythm. She’d read a paragraph, then have to go back and read it again because she had no idea what it said.

Over and over she tried, until she finally surrendered to the thoughts that had plagued her since this afternoon when Will Desmond had come to visit Buster.

She hadn’t heard him come in. In fact, she probably wouldn’t have noticed him if it hadn’t been for Lightning.

The cat was around her neck, as usual. Then, in a trick that had made more than one guest shriek, she’d lifted her head and hissed. At Will.

He’d stepped back, his eyes wide and his body defensive. Mercy had been just as surprised but her defensiveness was for a completely different reason.

She’d been working with Goober, a little Doberman mix, getting him to settle down so he could go into the pen with his buddies. Naturally, Goober started barking, which scared Lightning, who’d jumped down from Mercy’s back, leaving a few choice claw marks. Mercy focused on Goober, shushing him and calming him as she tried to calm her own heart.

Will had apologized, but he hadn’t left. He’d stayed until Goober was in the pen. Until she’d gotten Buster from his pen and handed him to his Uncle Will.

Even then, even when she went to the grooming room to check on Lulu and Chance, Will and Buster had trailed along.

They’d talked about the facility, about NewYork, about the different grooming techniques. It seemed to Mercy that he had an unending supply of questions. Finally, when she’d mentioned that he wasn’t having much of a vacation, he’d confessed that he came to the city all the time. That he liked the feel of PetQuarters. That he liked the company.

Thank goodness Gilly hadn’t heard that. She’d have jumped all over that silly comment. Mercy had dismissed it as nonsense from a lonely traveler, but she hadn’t really bought it.

Now, sitting in her crappy little room on her crappy little bed, she faced the truth.

Gorgeous Will, with his dark good looks and his big old dimples, had flirted with her.

Why? She wasn’t anything special, and he was. It didn’t make sense. It was easy to imagine him with the most amazing women in New York. Hell, she could see him with Piper Devon, and that didn’t happen much. Well, especially because Piper was happily married, but still, they would have looked right sitting together at Amuse Bouche, sharing champagne and caviar.

So why was he flirting with her?

Of all the things her life had taught her, the number-one lesson was that people were predictable. They stayed with their own kind. If they had to shift out of their comfort zone, it was almost always because they wanted something.

So what did Will want?

He was staying in a suite, for God’s sake, in Hush. That cost a fortune. He’d said he came to the city from Wichita all the time. He was a wealthy, successful guy. Why would he want to slum it with a working stiff like her?

Maybe that was the point. Maybe he was looking for something different, something a little dangerous. Slumming it with her might be his version of a walk on the wild side.

If that were true, he sure as hell had his act down. He’d never made her feel like she was trash. In fact, he’d said a lot of really nice things. Not random things, either. He’d noticed how she handled the dogs. How they all responded to her. He’d commented on the setup in PetQuarters—seen how she’d arranged things to work smoothly and cleanly.

He’d even complimented her on her staff, and man, that had given her a lump in her throat. More than that, the dogs liked him. Not just Buster but all of them. They wagged their tails and eagerly accepted his attentions. Nothing could have convinced her that Will was a decent guy more than that.

Then, just before he left, he’d asked her again to help him train Buster. The dog was such a sweetie that she’d almost said yes.

Okay, that’s not why she’d almost said yes. Gilly’s words had haunted her since the walk. Will was a guest, a stranger, a visitor. He wasn’t going to stick around for long, so how messy could things get?

He wanted her to bring Buster up after hours. So she’d already be in his suite. But anyway, she’d be there, and the bedroom would be right there, and since everyone was kind of used to her spending the night at the hotel…

No. She couldn’t. It was too risky, and not just the part about Will being a guest.

She wasn’t good with people. With men. She blushed like an infant, she stumbled over her words, she knew squat about etiquette and civilized behavior. It would mean getting naked. That couldn’t end well.

On the other hand—

No. There was no other hand. It was only nine-thirty, but Mercy turned off the good light and got under the covers. No way she was going to do anything with Will. His dimples be damned.

WILL WATCHED Drina as she ate her lunch. He was sitting in a far booth, one that was positioned perfectly, allowing him to see her, but keeping her from catching him at it.

He’d ordered some fish and as he waited for the meal to arrive, he simply watched her. Even at her age, she was a beauty. Her hair was silver now, short, classy. Her wardrobe was modern, and yet there was an old-style grace in the loose scarf around her neck.

She was the very picture of a wealthy woman, a woman used to luxury and comfort.

He knew better.

She was a thief of the first order, that one. One of the best con artists he’d ever seen. Devious, beguiling, charming. She’d never met a person she couldn’t con.

Damn it, why couldn’t he figure out what she wanted with the collar? There were easier things to steal. Easier things to fence. What was it that had her checking in to Hush? Getting a dog of her own?

He had to get to the bottom of this thing before it went too far. He needed to find out about Lulu’s owners. He’d already asked Ricky to do some checking on the insurance angle.

Maybe the owners had hired Drina in order to collect on the insurance? Maybe that collar wasn’t as real as the papers would have him believe. Maybe—

His fish came, and with it renewed determination. He was going to ease his way into PetQuarters. Into the confidence of Mercy Jones.

It wasn’t an unpleasant assignment. In fact, it was the only bonus in a distasteful situation.

He really liked the way she blushed. There was more to her than that, of course, but it wouldn’t do him any good to go there. She was a means to an end. He’d try to leave her with good memories and a smile. That was the best he could offer.

Mercy was his ticket in. Period.

In fact, after lunch, he’d go back to PetQuarters, and this time, he wouldn’t leave without her agreeing to his offer.

She’d been on the edge yesterday. Today, he’d do whatever was necessary to tip her over.

ON FLOOR TWELVE, Mercy had a total of five stops. Three dogs, two hotel-supplied goldfish. Spiffed up in her hotel uniform with her kitty tie and ponytail holder she pulled her cart along, trying to remember if Jacob and Alexis were going to stay the night, or if it was Oliver and Grace.

At twelve-twenty, she knocked on the door. “PetQuarters.” As she waited, she held on to the fish food in her pocket. She’d brought a new, clean dog bed for Corkie, the beautiful cocker spaniel mix who was currently being bathed with a lavender dog shampoo Mercy liked quite a bit. She knocked again, made one more shout out that she was from PetQuarters, then used her pass key to enter the room.

Mostly, the guests weren’t there at two in the afternoon. She wasn’t sure why, but she found more guests in from noon to one than two to three, so that’s when she, or one of the other permanent staff, made house calls.

Inside the room, which was a junior suite, she went first to the fishbowl. She’d actually come up with the idea—loaning fish to guests who might like some company. Mr. Evans had been charmed by the idea and said he’d gotten the fish as a companion for Corkie.

He’d chosen a gorgeous Siamese fighting fish, brilliant blue with a double tail. The fish had been given the unimaginative name Blue, but he’d ignored the indignity and become one of the most sought-after of the loaners.

She tapped the side of the bowl, causing Blue to investigate. Before she got to feeding him his delicious mix of betta pellets and frozen bloodworms, she figured she’d get Corkie’s bedding taken care of.

Corkie, like most of the pets who spent their nights with their parents, slept in the bedroom. Mercy got the new bed from her cart and brought it close so she could sniff. They got the beds from a small company in New Jersey who stuffed them with Poly-Fil and cedar chips, which the dogs seemed to love. This one was light green and smelled like comfort.

She got two new packs of their homemade food along with several treats to put on Corkie’s place mat.

The bedroom door was closed, so just to be sure she knocked, loudly. “PetQuarters.” After a full minute with no response, she opened the door, calling out once more.

It was dark, the drapes drawn. Mercy stepped inside and turned on the light.

There was Corkie’s food bowl, empty, and there was Mr. Evans, completely and utterly naked, tied to the bed, gagged and, in a sight that would haunt her for years to come, erect.

Mercy froze. She’d heard stories about things like this, but she’d never actually seen it. Mr. Evans had come to PetQuarters three days ago, where he’d picked out Blue and introduced her to Corkie. He was a magazine publisher or editor, something like that, and she remembered quite clearly seeing the wedding band on his finger.

He’d seemed nice. Normal. Frankly, he’d seemed like he’d be much smaller.

He made a sound and she realized she’d been staring. With a blush that could have started forest fires, she turned off the light and backed out of the bedroom.

Murmuring “Oh, God” over and over she stood by the door, her hands filled with dog accessories, her mind screaming at what she’d just seen.

Aside from the incredibly naked man, there had been other…things. Things from the sex chest. Things she didn’t think a guy would use, at least not by himself.

But he’d been tied up. He couldn’t have done that on his own, right? Someone had to have been there to gag him. To wrap the rope around his ankles. Or…someone was still there. A woman. Maybe his wife? Or maybe it was a man!

She should leave. Now. Go hit herself on the head with something heavy so she’d forget what she’d seen. Forever.

But what if he was in trouble? What if he’d been hurt? If she ran, and he died, she’d feel horrible. Wouldn’t she? Yes. Yes, she would. That would be a terrible thing.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen a naked guy before. Usually they were younger and in a lot better shape, but it wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever witnessed.

She’d just go back in, untie the man and leave. The end. No big deal. No need for her face to flame or her hand to shake as she turned the bedroom doorknob.

The light went on, proving to her that no matter how desperate and justified the wish was, there were no magic elves. It was just her and Mr. Naked Erection Man.

She cleared her throat as she put down the dog supplies on one of the cushy chairs. Then, telling herself there was no need to freak out, she approached the bed. She’d undo the gag first. That way, he could tell her to get out. Or to call 911.

Her steps felt leaden as she got closer to the bed. Jesus, she looked at it. Him. It. Her gaze skirted away to something safe. The wall. The nice pastel wall.

She could still see Naked Man, but only in her peripheral vision, which was still too much. But she made it to the head of the bed and saw that the gag had been tied pretty tightly.

Through squinted eyes, she located the knot. She had to lean over to get to it, and crap, crap, she looked at it again. She shut her eyes tight, but then she lost where the knot was.

Opening her eyes just a bit, she found the knot again. Her hands were shaking so it was hard to untie the damn thing, but she held her breath and went for it. Finally, the knot gave and she pulled the gag out of Mr. Evans’s mouth.

“Thank God,” he said, right before he coughed.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, her voice so high she sounded like a mouse.

“No. I’m not hurt at all.”

Although the words should have reassured her, they had the exact opposite effect. Against her will, Mercy looked at Mr. Evans. His smile was so wrong it made her skin crawl.