Page 89 of Sticks and Stones (FBI Romance/Thriller #65)

“Elliot was a nervous nellie. He tended to be scared of his grades dropping. When I got the report from the university, I saw he had failed a class because he had stopped showing up for class. I assumed he bailed. I didn’t know he had died.”

Gene was watching him.

He wasn’t focused on Ethan, but instead his drink. Someone was getting sloshed. He was starting to slur a little, and Gene was going to use that to his advantage.

“So you didn’t kidnap the three men, drug them, and pass them off to bikers to use as they wanted before peddling them off to the sex trafficking market?”

He stared at him.

The look said he was thinking about the question. When he laughed, it made them feel unsettled.

Like he was disappointed that he’d not thought of doing that.

Oh, this dude was way off.

“I’m many things, Agent, but I’m definitely not that. I liked all three of them. We had mutual sex, and dinner together. Do you drug and rape every person you have an evening with?”

He didn’t bite.

There was no way he was going to go there.

Yeah, no.

Gene had been kicked in the balls by that mistake before. Instead, he kept going.

“Do you have connections to Colombia?” Gene asked taking a different route.

He nodded.

“Yes. We have had some business with the Colombian government. Sometimes, they need soldiers, and I’m sure you know what my company does. BlackStone Group has employees that can and has filled those needs.”

Gene glanced over at Ethan, and he was genuinely at a loss. The man was being forthright and open, but it was hella creepy.

Yeah, again, he hadn’t been ready for this.

Ethan saw his partner pausing, so he jumped in to help. This man was a threat to college kids, not agents. He wasn’t even focused on him.

“Have you ever been to a gay biker bar by the name of Bull’s ?” Blackhawk asked.

He shook his head.

“No, I don’t conduct business in biker bars, Gentlemen. I conduct it here, or at one of my offices. I have one in England, one in New Orleans, one in California…”

Blackhawk kept trying to link the man to this. While they were looking at someone rich, this didn’t fit for Ethan. He was thinking more of someone who got rich from a life of poverty. That would be more in line with his profile of this killer.

Julian Mercer was born rich, and acted like it.

He wouldn’t slum it and do the dirty work. He wouldn’t be sitting in a car late at night to do a drop. He’d have someone do it for him.

Most importantly, he suspected that he wouldn’t leave a trail right to him if he was doing something illegal. Having consensual sex wasn’t illegal, even if the victims were nineteen to twenty-something.

Ethan went there, almost challenging him.

“Since you’re researched us, you’re going to know we’re thorough. Who told you that the men were dead, and we were working it? We’ll find out, regardless.”

He laughed.

“Gentlemen, I am in the business of knowing. That’s how my family made all of their money before The BlackStone Group was created. Let’s just say that J. Edgar Hoover has nothing on the people who work for me.”

Ethan wasn’t buying it.

“So, a fellow rich person shared it with you. How is Stafford Townsend?” he asked.

The man showed nothing.

His face was blank.

“Who?” he asked.

Gene took back over, trying to keep him off of his toes on this one.

“What kind of cars do you own?” Gene asked.

The man stood.

“Would you like to look in my garage, Agent?” he asked. “I can give you a tour.”

Since they doubted they’d get a warrant to do this, if his name kept coming up, they opted to accept.

“Sure,” Gene said.

As they got up and followed him, he led them through a gorgeously decorated home. It screamed old wealth, just like Stafford Townsend’s home—but more modern.

“Do you live here alone?” Ethan asked.

The man shared again.

“Well, the staff lives here, and my assistant is always close by. He needs to be when I ask for his assistance on things. As for family members, my parents are dead, but my sister and I run this business. She runs the London office, and lives overseas. I handle the US part of the operations.”

Gene kept going.

“And her name?”

He walked backward so he could face them, and the smile on his face said he was enjoying this.

Too.

Much.

“Leta Mercer. Well, that’s what I call her. It’s Alleta. It was my grandmother’s name.”

As they were walking, the place was huge, and it was also teeming with employees too. They passed a few housekeepers cleaning, and when they reached the kitchen, there was a chef.

Jesus.

The dude was definitely rich.

As they finally reached the kitchen, they were stopped by someone there.

“Mr. Mercer, will your guests be staying for Sunday Brunch?” he asked.

Julian turned around.

“Would you like to join me? It’s in about twenty minutes. We have lobster, caviar, and the lightest, fluffiest eggs known to man.”

Absolutely not.

“No thank you,” Gene said. “We have to visit a police commissioner, but I’m betting you already know that too.”

He laughed.

“Trying to get my source, Agent? I’ll never tell. You both are smart, but you can throw names at me, and I won’t flinch. Anyway, maybe another time—if you have to question me again.”

Gene rolled his eyes for Ethan, but said nothing else. When Julian opened a door that wasn’t far from the kitchen, they were led out to the largest freaking garage he’d ever seen in his life.

Holy shit!

It was hard not to be impressed.

There were at least twenty cars. Unfortunately for them, not a single one was white.

There were red sports cars.

There were black business cars.

There were flashy blue Benzes, but not a white car to be found.

“Are these all of them?” Gene asked.

The man was leaning against a Ferrari as he watched them, and they knew it cost more than both of their yearly salaries.

“I have three more vehicles. One is a limo, and that is currently at the airport with my plane. My sister is coming in tomorrow, and it will be picking her up. The other two are trucks, and they are kept in the other building since they plow the parking area and driveway. The groundskeepers take them home at night most of the time.”

Well, shit.

“And none are at your offices?” Blackhawk asked. “Tied to the businesses so not quite yours, but technically yours?” he asked.

Julian laughed.

“Oh, you’re very smart, Agent. Yes, I own more cars, but I don’t normally drive them. Good question.”

Yeah, and it didn’t answer theirs.

Someone was as slippery as an eel.

Then again, as someone who owned a company of mercenaries…

No.

Shock.

Gene was just about to ask him a question when the door opened behind them, and a man in a suit appeared. He had a Bluetooth earpiece in, and he appeared to be working.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Julian, but there’s a call from your sister,” he said.

The man smiled.

“Gentlemen, do you mind if I take that? Are there any other questions that you have for me? Or should I have my attorney ready for some calls?”

That was their cue to back off.

Ethan shook his head.

“No, I think we’re good,” he offered. “Thank you for your time.”

Yep.

This was a bust.

The man wasn’t going to give them anything, and since he knew they were coming…

He’d had time to prepare.

Glancing over, Julian focused on the man who had just come in.

“Trevor, can you see the agents out, after they’re done looking at my cars?” he asked.

The man nodded.

“Absolutely, Julian.”

The wealthy man stopped at the door.

“Oh, and I’ll see you at brunch, Trevor. Agents, if you change your mind, we can have a meal, but I have a hard and fast rule about work at the dinner table.”

Again, Gene declined.

“We’ll be getting out of your hair.”

Julian smiled, wickedly.

“It’s been a pleasure. I hope our paths cross again, Agents. Call me if you have any more questions. I’ll save you the drive in the bad weather. Trevor, get them my card.”

Then, that was the end of the conversation. Julian was gone, and the other man, Trevor, was heading toward them.

“In my office inside, I have a card with Julian’s number,” he said. “We’ll stop there when you’re finished looking at Julian’s collection. It’s impressive.”

Was it?

Gene wasn’t impressed by wealth. In fact, he was in the camp that money just brought more problems.

If they were being left alone with Trevor, he was going to use that time wisely.

Basically, Gene had some questions.

“Can we talk to you about Mr. Mercer?” he asked, the man.

He nodded.

“Certainly,” he said. “What would you like to discuss?” he asked.

Ethan needed his name.

What he wanted to do was get this done for the report. He didn’t trust powerful people. They tended to bend the truth, and the last thing they needed was Julian Mercer calling foul to Gabe.

“I’m Ethan,” he said, shaking his hand, “and this is my partner, Gene Cantrell.”

The youngish man shook his hand.

“I’m Trevor Bainbridge. I work as Julian’s assistant. I run his day for him, and make sure he gets to his meetings.”

Ethan was curious.

“Do you work out of his home with him?” he asked, trying to see if maybe the man saw something.

He was leaving breadcrumbs for Gene to do his questioning.

“Yes, and I live here. I have an apartment over the other garage. Living here is part of my benefits package, so I can be at Julian’s beck and call when he needs me.”

Well, then, he might be able to give them something.

Anything.

Gene went there with the three college students. He had to verify what Julian had said.

Pulling out his phone, he showed the man the pictures of the three deceased victims.

“Did you ever see them here?”

Trevor took his phone and flipped through the pictures one-by-one.

“I’ve seen all three of them here. The first one came by, and Julian had an office meeting with him regarding his grades. The second gentleman was here a lot. I believe his name is Wesley?”

Gene nodded.

“That is correct. Why was he here?” he asked, not sharing anything with the man.

The man was honest.