by Jami Alden
“Yep.” Ibarra nodded.
“And West Hall has since been dissolved, and other than Jimmy, we can’t find any records of anyone else who ever worked for them?” Krista rubbed her thumbs against her forehead as though that could put a dent in the headache that was building beneath her skull.
Krista closed her eyes as she struggled to process the confusing web of shell companies and hidden transactions. “So even before Nate’s death, someone was trying to cover up any connection they might have had to Club One.” She let out a sigh. Something was niggling at the back of her brain. Why did the name JD Partners jump out at her? “What about Jack Brooks? He was working as head of security for Club One—can you tell if he was hired through West Hall?”
A few minutes later, Ibarra replied. “Not by name, but looks like the same bank account was paying him up until just before the club was closed.”
“Okay,” Krista said. “We have two confirmed employees of West Hall, both of whom worked at Club One and both of whom were involved with Nate somehow.”
“What about the other people who worked at Club One?” Sean asked. “Maybe they knew something.”
Krista shook her head. “Stew tried to track several of them down in the last few months. He didn’t get anywhere. Certainly nothing to indicate a connection to Karev.” She paced, pausing at the office’s huge picture windows to stare out at the jagged peaks of the mountains, struggling to get the pieces to slide into place.
Then it hit her like a fist in the gut. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “JD Partners. I know that name.”
“What?” Sean asked. “How?”
She turned to Sean. “From my father’s files. He’s an attorney,” she explained for Ibarra’s benefit. “I interned for him after my freshman year of college, and I know I saw that name in some documents.”
Sean reached out and brushed her arm. “Are you sure? Your father’s firm dealt with a lot of clients. You could be mistaking the name—”
Krista shook her and tried to swallow back the lump in her throat. “I wish I wasn’t so sure, but I remember now. It was something he wanted me to keep really quiet, some kind of property transfer or something.” She shook her head. “He had me handle all of the administrative stuff because he didn’t want anyone else in the office to see it.” At the time she’d felt so special, like her dad had let her in on some little secret. God, what an idiot.
“So who was the client?” Sean asked.
“I have no idea,” Krista said, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “None of the paperwork I saw had names associated with the company. One of his partners is heading up Karev’s defense team. Karev wasn’t a client back then, but it could be connected.” But somehow all of this secrecy and maneuvering didn’t seem to fit with Karev’s style.
“There has to be something, a signature page for the contract,” Sean said impatiently.
“I’m sure there was,” Krista snapped back, “but I never saw it.” She brought her hand to her forehead and tried to massage away the headache forming behind her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I wish I had more specifics, but all I know is that by some freaky coincidence, my father has somehow ended up in the middle of all of this. I’m so sorry, Sean.”
She turned to face him, but instead of the anger and accusation she expected, she could see the sympathy in his eyes. “You had no idea what these people were involved in. Hell, there’s a chance your father doesn’t either.”
Krista huffed out a laugh. “Nice of you to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I’m not optimistic.” Hurt and disappointment coursed through her. God, after everything her father had put her through, it seemed impossible that his behavior still had the power to disturb her. But deep down inside, there was a part of her who was the girl who’d adored and idolized her daddy before everything went to hell.
She shook it off, forcing herself to regroup and focus. “So we have a lead on JD Partners. Now we need to get a hold of my father’s files.” She watched as Sean and Ibarra exchanged a look.
“You don’t want to try to contact your father directly?”
Krista shook her head and swallowed down the bitter taste in her mouth. “If we can’t trust Mark, we definitely can’t trust my father.” It seemed ridiculous that she couldn’t simply call her father directly to find out what he knew. But despite his emotional reaction to her supposed kidnapping, there was no way she could fully trust her father not to tip off his clients.
“I can tap into the corporate network,” Ibarra said.
“You can try,” Krista said, “but my dad is totally old-school and doesn’t trust network security. If he was that determined to keep his dealings with JD Partners quiet, he wouldn’t have kept digital copies. We’ll have to search for hard copies.”
Sean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Breaking into an office building is a lot harder than it sounds.”
“My father keeps duplicates of everything in his office at home,” Krista said. “And if it’s something extremely confidential, I don’t think they even make it to the office. We’ll search the house first. In the meantime, let’s find out everything we can about what kinds of business JD Partners has been up to.”
Ibarra was able to pull up several transactions, many of them to accounts at banks implicated in money laundering scams, and two to accounts they could directly link to Karev.
“You think the shell company is just a way for Karev to transfer money back and forth to himself?” Sean asked as he stood behind her to look up at the monitor.
He was so strong, so solid next to her. Krista wanted nothing more than to turn and bury her head in his broad chest and to absorb some of his heat. She forced herself to focus. “That’s the easiest explanation, but why go to such lengths to keep their connections to Nate Brewster a secret?”
She seized on the problem, momentarily putting her father’s involvement aside. “I’ve been going after these guys my entire career, and they don’t really give a shit whom they’re associated with, or even about their ties to the mafia being exposed. Trust me, they like the notoriety. Thugs like Karev wear the veneer of legitimate businessmen, but they want the world to know they’re gangsters and that they know how to work the system. Thanks in part to lawyers like my father,” she said bitterly. “Whoever is really behind JD Partners isn’t just afraid of losing business or getting on the cops’ radar. Everything we’ve found is circumstantial, not enough to pose any real legal threat to anyone.”
Sean nodded. “I get what you’re saying. This is someone worried about scandal. Someone who stands to lose big if his connection to Nate and the girls at Club One is exposed.”
But who? Krista’s mind churned. She could only pray that her father’s files would reveal the truth.
“If we leave soon we can get to Seattle by late afternoon.”
“Fine,” Krista said and sighed. “I’ll go get my stuff.”
“Wait,” Ibarra said. “You’re going to need to do something about that hair.”
“My hair?”
“Tommy’s right,” Sean said, his expression tinged faintly with regret. “You’re known in the city, and with all the news coverage about us, people are going to be on even higher alert. That hair…it’s too distinctive.”
“Why can’t I just do like a ball cap and sunglasses?” She knew she was being vain, but her thick, straight, naturally pale-blond hair was one of her physical points of pride.
“No way,” Sean said. “Hat plus sunglasses, especially on a woman wearing clothes that don’t fit,” he said, gesturing at her baggy jeans and borrowed sweatshirt, “pretty much screams ‘I’m incognito,’” Sean said. “Don’t you ever read those celebrity magazines, where the actress is supposedly trying to be inconspicuous, but all you see is Britney Spears in a giant hat and sunglasses?”
“I’m a little too busy to read gossip rags, but yeah, I see your point,” Krista conceded. Forty-five minutes later, thanks to a pair of kitchen shears and a box
of hair color Ibarra had scored from his mother’s house down the road, Krista’s shoulder-length pale-blond hair had been transformed into a chin-length brunette bob. She stared wide eyed at her reflection, reminding herself it was just hair even as she wondered if she’d ever be able to get her natural color back.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” Sean said, as though reading her thoughts.
She lowered her hand self-consciously. “It’s a stupid thing to worry about how bad I look considering…”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It would take a hell of a lot more than a bad dye job to make you look anything less than amazing.” He frowned as though angry at himself for saying it out loud. He was recognizable enough, but with his hair cut in a buzz so short she could see his scalp and his three-day stubble shaped into a goatee, he might slide by if no one looked too hard. Especially with his vivid green eyes hidden by dark contacts.
Krista had also traded her baggy jeans and fleece for a pair of skintight leggings, a thigh-length sweater, and flat boots taken from Ibarra’s college-age sister’s closet. “She has so many goddamn clothes, she won’t ever notice they’re gone,” he muttered. Combined with her dark, blunt cut hair, the look was distinctly edgier than anything Krista normally wore.
An hour later, they were packed and ready to go. In addition to Krista’s overnight bag and the odds and ends they’d bought at Walmart, they’d acquired several more pieces of baggage courtesy of Ibarra.
Krista’s jaw had dropped when Ibarra led them to the underground storage area. Canned food and dry goods—enough to last months—lined the walls. He slid a can of coffee aside to reveal a panel. “What’s that?” Krista asked, and before she could answer, Ibarra leaned forward and looked directly into a beam of light.
Sean let out a low whistle. “You must have some serious shit if you have a retinal scanner security system installed.”
Ibarra shrugged. “Nothing special. I just like to play around with innovations myself before I recommend anything to clients.”
Nothing special. Krista begged to differ. Ibarra had a fully stocked armory down here. “This is enough to make the ATF wet their pants.”
“Good thing they won’t find out,” Sean said sharply.
“Not from me,” Krista assured him. As long as Ibarra was on their side, he could have a Scud missile down here for all she cared. Nevertheless, she couldn’t shake her uneasiness in the presence of so much firepower.
Unlike Sean, who held a semiautomatic pistol as though it was an extension of his own hand, Krista didn’t think she’d ever be totally comfortable around guns. It was one thing to know how to load and shoot a gun at a shooting range. It was another to be surrounded by high-caliber weapons that could tear a hole through not just herself but the concrete wall behind them.
She supposed she should count herself lucky that after a brief discussion Sean and Ibarra decided to limit their arsenal to several handguns, mainly because they were easier to conceal and because Krista wouldn’t be completely useless with one.
Sean handed her a Glock 9mm. She checked the safety and tucked it into the back of her waistband like Sean had his. Sean didn’t seem to notice his, but Krista could feel the metal biting into her lower spine and reached back to adjust it. No amount of shifting or tugging eased the discomfort, reminding her with every breath that she had a loaded weapon in her pants.
“Here,” Sean said as he tossed a small canvas backpack at her. She caught it in midair and nearly keeled over from the weight.
“Sorry,” Sean said. “Should have warned you that that was heavy. There are ten extra magazines in there, which should be more than enough.”
“I should say so, since I’m hoping not to shoot anything if I can help it.”
“Not if I can help it either,” Sean said as he tucked a pistol into his own waistband. “But the way things have been going, I’m not sure we’ll have much control over the situation.”
While Ibarra pulled ammo off the shelves and put it into a carrier, Sean finished packing half a dozen handguns into a steel case. He snapped it shut and leveled his stare on her. “What do you think? If it came down to it, do you think you have it in you to pull the trigger? Because if not, you’re better off sticking with pepper spray and a Taser than with a weapon you’re not willing to use.”
Krista swallowed hard as the weight of Sean’s question fully sank in. Images flashed in her head. The explosion, the bullet tearing through the deputy’s chest and head in an explosion of blood, bone, and flesh.
Jimmy Caparulo, lifeless on his blood-soaked mattress, the wall behind him spattered with gore.
Could she do that? Pull the trigger to launch a bullet through another person’s body in an attempt to cause that kind of damage?
Then she remembered kneeling with a gun to her head, sick with fear as she waited for a bullet to rip into her own skull. Then running through the dark with Sean, his grunt of pain, the bloody gash in his leg that hadn’t slowed him down in his mission to get them to safety.
I would kill for him.
The thought was so shocking, so visceral, it made her stomach flip. But in that flash, she knew down to her very core, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if it meant keeping Sean safe. Sean watched her, still waiting for her answer. “If it comes down to us or them, you don’t have to worry.”
“Good girl,” he said, smiling a little at her fierce tone. He reached out and the feather-light brush of his fingers on her cheek was enough to make her knees wobble.
“Here, take this,” Ibarra broke in. Sean dropped his hand and muttered angrily under his breath as Krista hastily stepped away. Sean accepted the wicked-looking knife from Ibarra along with a black nylon sheath. He ran his thumb along the edge and nodded in approval. He hitched up his pant leg, strapped the sheath to his uninjured calf, and slipped the knife inside.
She followed Ibarra and Sean out of the weapons cache. While Sean carried the cases full of guns and ammunition, Krista struggled not to list under the weight of her own ammunition.
“You can take one of my cars,” Ibarra said as he led them out of the underground storeroom and up through another passage that opened up into a three-car garage.
Krista prayed he didn’t mean the open-top Jeep, or she’d be a Popsicle by the time they reached Seattle. Then again, maybe it would serve to cool down the hormones that had gone berserk after nothing more than a touch on her cheek and the glint of amusement in Sean’s eyes.
And, okay, the endless loop of what they’d done last night running constantly in the back of her mind wasn’t helping matters any.
“You can take the Subaru,” Ibarra said, indicating the blue station wagon parked in the spot farthest from them.
Krista let out a sigh of relief when she saw it had a completely enclosed cab.
“You sure it’s going to get us there?” Sean asked skeptically, noting the dent on the front fender and the rust spots on the rear panel. “Looks like that thing has seen better days.”
“She’s not much to look at on the outside, but my cousin kept it in perfect running condition.”
“I’m just happy we get to use a key to start it,” Krista muttered. “One less felony to add to my list,” she said as she walked over to the car, opened the passenger door, and set the backpack of ammunition on the floor.
“But you are carrying concealed without a permit,” Sean said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face as he regarded her over the top of the car. “But don’t worry, that’s just a little misdemeanor.”
Chapter 14
The car ride was torture, trapped in the small space with Krista mere inches away. At least had the distraction of the reports Ibarra had pulled, cross-referencing the larger deposits into Nate’s accounts with suspicious deaths, which Ibarra expanded to include not just suicides but accidents as well.
He’d loaded everything up on a mini laptop with security features that would render their communications invisible to anyone who cared to monito
r. He also outfitted them with a secure satellite phone that would both provide them a direct line to Ibarra—who was staying put for now—and enable them to make untraceable outgoing calls—finally, a secure connection to the outside world.
As Sean drove, Krista sifted through the data and found a possible hit.
His name was Steven Amstel, a customs official who had died in a boating accident while on a fishing trip in the San Juans. According to the official report, he was intoxicated and had fallen off his boat, hitting his head in the process. He’s slipped unconscious into the water and drowned.
But according to the toxicology screen, his blood alcohol content was a mere .085, barely above the legal limit, enough to indicate a few beers but not enough to make a man of his size sloppy drunk.
And interestingly, at the time of his death, he’d been investigating a trafficking ring where goods and people were allegedly being smuggled over the Canadian border.
“There’s nothing that links them directly,” Krista said, “but this has Karev written all over it.”
And buried deeper in the files, yet another connection to the omnipresent JD Partners.
Jesus, how deep did this shadow corporation’s influence go?
And would John Slater’s files provide the clues?
She sent Ibarra a text with the information to see if he could dig up any more details.
He was amazed at her focus and ability to stay on track, especially after the discovery of her father’s involvement with JD Partners. She’d been visibly upset, taking it like a physical blow. But shaken to her core, she hadn’t fallen apart.
As a man who had seen some of the toughest guys in the world crumble, he couldn’t help but admire her strength.
Yet another damn thing to drive him crazy. As though the chemistry radiating between them wasn’t distracting enough. Even with the discovery of possible additional evidence, Sean found it hard to keep his focus where it should be: on analyzing the information they’d found and pulling all the threads together to see if they could connect the bank accounts to the real live human or humans who were behind the killings.