Chapter 8

Samson parked his car across the street from the Turkish embassy. It was surrounded by a fence with "keep out" signs, letting the world know that nothing was going on inside except renovations. Unless you knew better.

He'd followed Marc here and watched him go through the gate. Two men guarded the entrance. Not workmen by the look of them. It would be hard to get inside without being invited or noticed. He was good, but he couldn't make himself invisible.

His thoughts drifted back to his last encounter with Delilah. It was an unusual and uncomfortable experience. It had been a long time since anyone had been genuinely concerned about him. Especially a woman.

Trevors had been worried about Samson getting cocky, but if he knew what was going on in Samson's head right now, he'd probably tell him his careless surveillance of the embassy was due to unresolved hurt from the experience that was causing reckless behavior. And maybe he would be right in one way. Samson wouldn't mind a fight. His pent-up aggression was sitting close to the surface.

While he waited, he looked over the blueprints he'd gotten of the building. He liked to memorize as much of the intel as he could. Going back to the file for details caused delays.

When he looked back at the building, a man in an expensive suit exited the gate.

"Burak Demir," Samson said, watching as Demir spoke to the guards, who nodded in Samson's direction.

He buttoned his suit jacket, then crossed the street to Samson, knocking a knuckle on the window when Samson grinned at him through it.

He buzzed down his window. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know," Demir said. "Is there?"

"I don't have one."

"Then is there something I can help you with?"

Samson looked around the cabin of his car. He'd left the camera with a telephoto lens on the passenger seat on purpose. "No, Mr. Demir. I think I've got everything I need."

"You know my name, but I'm afraid I don't know yours."

"I doubt that's true."

Demir looked relaxed, but Samson wasn't against pushing him into a fight. "You think too much of yourself."

"Do I?"

"My colleague noticed you loitering."

"I don't see a no parking sign."

"Didn't your parents raise you to know it's rude to stare? Also, taking photos without someone's permission is obscene."

"That depends on the subject matter. But I'd happily go if you'd tell me what it is you're doing in there."

"That's all it will take?"

"That's it."

"Well then, we're renovating."

"I already know you're doing more than that."

"You're delusional."

"We'll see."

"No, we won't. You can leave now, or I'll call the authorities."

"You don't even want to know my name?" The two had never officially met, but he found it hard to believe Demir didn't know who he was.

"Maybe I don't care."

"Samson Vartan."

Demir's countenance didn't change. "Should that mean something to me?"

"Only if you want it to."

"Then I would like to politely convey to you that it is in your best interest to leave. Unless you want things to get ugly."

"Oh, I would love for things to get ugly."

Demir took a step back from the window and unbuttoned his jacket, pushing it aside to reveal the gun at his hip.

"I take it you have a permit for that?" Samson said.

"I don't need one."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot how special you are. I hate to break this to you, but what you're doing inside that building—you're not going to get away with it."

Demir laughed. "What is it exactly you think is going on?"

"I want you to know that I'm prepared to go hard. I will make your life a living hell until I stop you."

"Is that so?" Demir leaned closer to the car. "You look like the kind of man who has experienced a great deal of pain in the past. You wouldn't want more of that, would you?"

"Is that a threat?"

"Nope. Just trying to keep you safe."

"You sound like you know a lot about me."

"I know your type."

"Then let's mix things up. How about a riddle?"

"Riddle?"

"Yes. If you get it wrong, you let me get a look inside."

"And if I get it right?"

"I'll leave you alone and make sure everyone else does too."

"That is a very odd proposition."

"What do you say?"

"I say it's time for you to go."

"What is sweeter than honey and hotter than the sun? The king needs it, but the beggar has it. Whoever eats it, dies."

Demir pulled out his phone and dialed. "Hi, I need the police. I'm being harassed."

"We'll finish this later," Samson said.

"Never mind," Demir said into the phone, then hung up. "Yes, Mr. Vartan. We will. I hope you have a nice afternoon."

"It'll be better than yours will be."

"Oh, I doubt that very much."

Samson buzzed his window up and drove away. That should be enough to set things into motion.

Delilah stretched. It had been a long shift, and she'd been distracted because Luca had been distracted. Usually he spent the night moving through the restaurant, laughing with different customers and making everyone feel welcome, but tonight he'd been distant.

After passing through the kitchen, she entered the small hallway and knocked on his office door. It was open a crack, and she could see a light on inside.

"Hey, Luca, I'm headed to—" She poked her head inside but stopped speaking when she saw the other man in the room. He had been holding Luca's arm in what appeared to be a threatening manner, but he'd let go when she entered. It had been many years, but she still recognized him.

"What are you doing here?" she said.

"You remember Marc?" Luca said.

"How could I forget?"

"It's good to see you again, Delilah," Marc said with a tight smile.

"Is it? I don't remember our last encounter being a good one." She could still see the scar on his lip from where she'd punched him. She'd been eighteen, and he'd thought being on good terms with Luca meant he could be on good terms with her too.

"I can't hold it against you that you like to play hard to get." He winked at her. "Anyway, I was just leaving. Don't forget what I said, Luca." He brushed past Delilah, brushing the back of his hand on her arm. She didn't move. Marc wasn't someone you showed weakness to.

Once he was gone, she shut the door.

"That wasn't what it looked like," Luca said, shuffling the papers on his desk.

"Wasn't it?"

"He just had some questions."

"About what? Why would you even let him inside the building?"

"Forget about it."

"No. I won't. You said you weren't into anything. Why would he be here unless you're mixed up with him again?"

"I can't believe you'd think something like that."

"What am I supposed to think when he's in your office late at night, and you've been looking worried all day?"

"That's got nothing to do with him. Just forget about it. He's an old friend. There's a lot of water under that bridge, and we were catching up."

"Don't lie to me. There's something else going on here. I can see it in your face."

"It's none of your business."

"But there is something? Look me in the eye, and promise me it's got nothing to do with Marc."

"D, it's late. We're both tired. Go to bed."

"I can't believe this. You told me you'd left all of that behind you. You've come so far. How could you ruin it now?"

"I haven't ruined anything. And that's more than you can say."

She pulled her chin in. "I can't believe you said that."

Luca rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. But you need to leave it. Go get some sleep. Everything is fine. He was just stopping in to say hello."

Delilah shook her head and turned. Five minutes ago, she'd been ready to collapse into bed. Now, she needed some air.

Samson locked his car, then jogged across the street. He walked past what he was sure was a drug deal before approaching a tall redhead.

"Simone, you're looking lovely this evening."

"Samson Vartan, as I live and breathe. What brings you down to my part of town? I hope you're here to party."

"I'm all business tonight, I'm afraid."

"You're always all business." She sauntered up to him and rested her hand on his chest before scratching her red nails down his shirt, flicking the buttons of his shirt as she went. "You need to learn to lighten up."

He took her hand when she reached for his waist. "I'm afraid I can't tonight."

"You sure? You haven't gotten tired of those stuck-up yuppy chicks with their fish lips? Wouldn't you rather be with someone who has proper experience?" She pushed the strap of her dress off her shoulder seductively.

"I'm not looking for company." He hooked his finger in her strap and dragged it back up her shoulder.

Simone pouted. "If you want my time, it'll cost you."

"I know." Samson pulled a bill from his wallet and handed it to her. "Will this do?"

She tucked the money in her bra. "This'll get you ten minutes."

"Prices have gone up."

"Inflation."

"I need information on a man named Marc Rubin."

Her eyes widened a fraction, and she pulled the money back out, handing it to him. "I changed my mind. I don't have time to talk tonight. I have real work to do."

Samson looked at the money but didn't take it. Instead, he put his hands on his hips. "Keep it."

"I don't want it." She dropped it but watched as it fluttered to the ground, looking undecided if she would leave it there or not.

"So, he's a scary guy around here?"

"I never said that."

Samson picked up the money and tucked it into her strap. "If you're afraid of retribution, I can protect you."

She huffed. "Yeah, right. What are you going to do? Put me in some women's shelter where I'll be kicked to the curb a couple days later."

"Nothing's changed, Simone. I offered to pay for you to get out of this life."

"Except this isn't Pretty Woman. We're not in a movie."

"That's true. But you don't have to be afraid of Marc. I can take care of him."

"I have no doubt about that. But that doesn't mean you'll get to him before he gets to me."

She pulled away from him and moved down the sidewalk.

Samson shook his head. "Okay then, forget business. How about I buy your companionship instead?"

"For real?"

He pulled out two hundred-dollar bills and held them out to her.

She squinted at him. "You're serious?"

"My car's right over there."

"Well, well." She moved closer and took the money. "Samson's finally come around."

Sliding her arm through his, she tucked in close to him as he led her across the street.

"I know good value when I see it."

He opened the door for her and let her get settled before shutting it. As he moved around to the driver's side, he scanned the surrounding street to make sure no one dangerous was watching.

"Where are we going?" Simone said, rubbing her hand along the leather seat after Samson got in. "This is a nice car."

"I know."

"There's a quiet place around the corner."

"I thought we could just go for a drive."

"A drive?"

"Yeah."

"That's it?"

"We can talk while we drive."

She punched him hard in the arm. "You tricked me."

"Don't tell me you didn't see this coming. You're an intelligent business woman. You chose to ignore it because of the size of the bills. Now, tell me what you know about Marc."

"He'll find out I've been talking to you."

"How? You didn't have any trouble coming with me when you thought it was work. Let's pretend it still is."

She squirmed in her seat but finally settled. "Marc's been around the neighborhood for a long time. Years. Started out as some punk kid on the street from what I remember. Stayed that way for a long time."

"You were around then?"

"I grew up not far from here."

"Your parents aren't around anywhere?"

She laughed. "Parents? No. I grew up in foster homes. Where do you think I learned my trade?"

"You mean the people who were supposed to be looking after you?"

"You sound surprised."

"I'm sorry. No child should… I'm sorry."

"Don't sweat it. I don't."

"You can't be serious."

"Did you ask me here to lament my past or to get information on Marc Rubin?"

She pointed at a building as they passed. "The guy who runs that restaurant used to be part of his gang. He was one of the lucky ones who got away."

"Carpi?"

"Yeah. Guy named Luca. He wasn't like Marc. He was nice. I'm glad he got away."

"Do you know his cousin Delilah?"

"I knew of her, but she was never around. I think she stayed at home most of the time and got out of the neighborhood as soon as she could."

Samson pulled over. "Can you tell me what Marc's doing now?"

"Not shoplifting anymore. That's for sure."

"I need specifics."

"I can't tell you who he's working for, but he's changed."

"Let me guess, he used to be a good guy."

She snorted. "With guys like Marc, it's about degrees of badness. For a long time, he did small stuff. He was a nuisance because he thought he was hot stuff and he had a short fuse. But lately…people have been getting killed."

"That's not too unusual for the part of town we just came from."

"Gang violence, sure, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"Who has he killed?"

"You hear about that drive by downtown where the priest got killed?"

"You mean at the Armenian church?"

"I don't think it was Armenian."

"When was this?"

"I don't know. About a month ago, I think."

That didn't fit with the shooting in the file. "I take it that's not the only one?"

"There was also a Baptist pastor in the suburbs."

"Didn't hear about that one."

"The only reason I know is because Marc was boasting about it. Police said it was a home invasion gone wrong, but that's not what it was. The drive by wasn't gang related either. It's part of something else. My friend Monica—" She looked up at the roof and took a breath. "She went off at him. She had some kind of religious experience at some church in the city and said they were the only people who cared about us."

"Marc didn't like it?"

"He shot her. Right in the chest."

"Did anyone call the police?"

"Why bother? What good would it do us? Besides, they found her themselves a few days later. I'm sure they're working hard to find her killer." She rolled her eyes.

Samson sighed. "You said the murders were part of something else?"

"I don't know exactly. Marc's gone kind of weird."

"Weird how?"

"Kinda like religious or something. But not. I don't know what it is. He talks about killing people like it's a cleansing, but it's hard to tell if he means it or not."

"Cleansing of what?"

"Christians. Can you believe it? Of all the people we need to get rid of. I'm not saying Christians are my favorite people, but killing them all? That's crazy."

"So you believe he's after Christians? All of them? Any denominations?"

"I don't know. He doesn't make a lot of sense. It's like he's repeating someone else's words. I do know he's getting paid well, though. So it could be the money talking."

Samson brought a picture of Demir up on his phone. "You know this guy?"

She studied it for a second. "Don't think so."

"What about the name Burak Demir?"

"Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."

"Has Marc ever talked about the Armenians?"

"Not that I can remember."

Maybe Demir was trying to continue the work Samson had been trying to stop a decade ago and extending it to include any followers of Jesus.

He fought against old emotions and looked up the street, trying to clear his head. A woman was walking up the sidewalk with a man following several paces behind wearing a baseball cap pulled low.

"Oh," Simone said low when she saw. "That girl's in trouble."

It was just the distraction he needed. "Not for long."