Six frowned and put his hand on Cabe’s shoulder. “You going to be okay doing this? With what happened to Jess? I mean, it’s not too late for one of us to switch out with you.”
Cabe scoffed and shook his head. “Jesus. Of course I’ve got this.” He did. Didn’t he?
Shit. He’d always been an advocate for women in the Navy. He mentored them, trained with them … hell, he’d even been supportive of women joining the SEALs as long as they could meet the physical standards. Many men weren’t, but he’d met weak men lacking in grit, and women with drive in spades. Gender wasn’t a proxy for courage or strength. But for months after Jess’s death, he’d had a recurring nightmare of being forced to step over the bodies of women he knew to finish an op. Sometimes a face had been Jess’s. Sometimes his mother. Or even Six’s and Mac’s sisters. Women he’d grown up with and loved.
In his nightmare, he’d been stuck between staying with the bodies or pushing on with his mission until he’d been shot in the forehead because of his indecision.
It was just jitters. To be expected. It had been two years since Jess. And he’d meant what he’d said about Amy. From what he’d already seen of her, she was calm and levelheaded, capable. He needed to focus on that.
Cabe rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Yeah, I got this.” The phone in his hand rang, the caller ID showing it was Amy. “Murray?” he said, using her surname to make it less personal. “How did it go?”
“I’m pretty certain I got the job,” she said. “He wants to double-check the references, but he said I’d be a great fit.”
Adrenaline flooded through him like it always did at the excitement of a new op. “Nice work. Did he say when he’d let you know?”
He heard her muffled voice give her address. “Sorry, just got into a cab. Sometime this week. He gave me the impression he was desperate. They are a couple of dealers down, and I asked when I would be able to start. Will you bring my things over? I’m making the call that this is going to be a go.”
She’d given him the spare key to her apartment and instructions of what to collect. “Yeah, I’m on it. You on your way there now?”
“I am. See you in a little while.”
The phone disconnected, and he looked at Six. “Looks like she’s in. Need to wait for final confirmation, but they were pretty impressed.”
“Nice work, Amy,” Six said, admiration in his tone. “Not like it was ever in any doubt. The woman fleeced us out of a hundred and fifty bucks in forty-seven minutes. I’m no World Series of Poker champion, but I can usually hold my own. She’s also got a pretty wry sense of humor that kept us all in our places last night.”
Cabe nodded and smiled at the memory. “Now I just got to get myself on the inside.”
“There are worse jobs than gambling with the feebs’ money.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I get to go play poker for a living. My life definitely doesn’t suck.” He checked his pocket for both his and Amy’s keys. “I’m gonna go pick up Amy’s stuff and drop it over at her rental. Then I’m going to work from home for the rest of the afternoon on some files Bailey is sending my way. Can you make sure he sends them through?”
Six nodded. “I’m on it. I’m going to see if we can’t get a better lead on the money trail. I’ve got a forensic accountant willing to give us a consult.”
Cabe took a minute to dive back inside to grab his laptop and then hopped in the truck to head for home. Amy’s new apartment was fifteen minutes from his own, and her old one in Little Italy was on his way. After he moved the suitcases, he was going to see if his brother Noah was available for a workout at their cousin’s gym, just for a change of pace.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of Amy’s nine-unit apartment rental. The white building had a traditional terracotta roof and little balconies framed with stucco arches. It was cute. Many of the balconies were covered in plants and had small seating areas, and he could imagine Amy sitting at one of them, reading a book or sipping coffee. It had been a long time since he’d done that, sat on his balcony and enjoyed simple pleasures. Eagle had taken over their lives, and they’d been working nonstop. Perhaps when this job was over, he’d take a few days—hell, maybe even a week—and hop a flight to Hawaii. Surf, sleep … sex. Yeah. Maybe it was time to figure out how to savor that again too.
He let himself into the building and jogged up the two flights of stairs to her floor. He found the apartment, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. It smelled just like she did. Like warm vanilla and cinnamon. He noticed the large white candle on the counter. He dipped his nose closer, and the scent got stronger. That Amy liked candles made him smile. Despite being a badass agent, she was very much a woman.
The apartment was filled with light and plants. A row of succulents in cute little square pots sat on the window ledge. A large fern filled out an otherwise unused corner. Several orchids in whites and purples and yellows graced some side tables and a desk in the far corner of the living room. He wondered who was going to water them while she was away.
The suitcases were exactly where she’d said they’d be. Two matching black Samsonites and a small duffle carry-on. Above them on the wall was a series of framed photographs. One was of her hugging a large man in a Stetson, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. That had to be her father, Floyd. There was a picture of Amy under the classic “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign. Another showed her with three girls in a shared dorm room at college. She was wearing a cropped T-shirt and high-waisted shorts. As cute as her college-age body had been, she’d definitely grown into her looks. By his reckoning, she was five years younger than his thirty-four.
While he was certain her home would tell him more about her, he didn’t want to pry. As much as her job still terrified him, for the first time in a long time, someone had intrigued him enough to want to find out about her slowly.
Cabe slung the duffle over his shoulder and pulled on the door. He propped it open with his foot, grabbed the suitcases, and took them down to his truck. Well, not his truck. It was a vehicle provided by the FBI for him to use while on the job. Once the cases were secured, he headed south to the Gaslamp Quarter, parked in the underground parking lot, and used the spare key he’d been given to enter Amy’s new apartment.
He put down her luggage in the hall and looked around. The apartment was very different from the one she’d chosen for herself. For a start, there were no plants. No greenery. It was a modern space, much like his own, but the open-plan space was stark and lacked character. A cream sofa and small coffee table sat at one end of the white-walled living room and a round glass table with four gray chairs sat at the other. Generic artwork that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an Olive Garden graced the walls. The kitchenette ran along one wall. Basic sink and fridge, with a four-burner stove.
A key rattled in the lock, and the door burst open just as he went to open it.
Amy stumbled over the threshold, and he reached out to stop her fall. “Holy shit, Cabe,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. “I didn’t think you’d be here yet.”
He wanted to respond. He really did. But his mouth went dry at the sight of her. She looked hot. No, even that seemed a tepid word. She looked like an old-school siren. Her hair fell in vintage waves, and that red lipstick had him thinking all kinds of dirty thoughts, especially as his hand slid around her waist to stop her momentum.
Amy put her hand on his chest. Her touch seared him. “We’ve got to stop bumping in to each other like this,” she said with a grin, then stepped away.
Just like he had in the bar, he felt the loss of contact.
“Oh my word, that feels so good,” she said as she slipped off her heels, circling her ankles and moaning in such obvious relief that his dick perked up at the sound.
“Sorry,” he said, regaining some sense of composure. “Thought you’d want your stuff as soon as you got here. Great job on nailing the interview. I’m sure you made quite the impression.”
“Well
, I certainly didn’t fall on Ortega like I did you, but I think he’ll remember me. And thanks,” she said as she bent down to pick up her shoes. The already-fitted skirt stretched even tighter across her ass. Since no good was going to come out of taking the time to appreciate it, Cabe wandered to the sofa and took a seat. Amy followed him and sat at the other end.
“Tell me about it. How did it go?” Cabe asked, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on hers, not on that pretty glimpse of lace peeking out from her shirt.
“Piece of cake,” she said with a grin. “To be honest, if I didn’t know all of the stuff that is really going on, I’d say it was a great place to work. Ortega was friendly. He runs a tight ship in the pit. I met Woods and he seemed pleasant enough but definitely skeevy around the edges. The interview was to test basic skills, but I think I’m going to need to be great if I’m going to stand out.”
“Going to stand out” meant being targeted.
Her safety was not his job, though. He was supposed to focus on the money-laundering side of the case.
But “standing out” would put her straight in the line of fire.
Which meant there was only one place for him.
And that was in front of her.
CHAPTER FIVE
There was nothing quite like the high of nailing something important. And this was big. As soon as she’d heard about those missing women, she realized exactly why she was involved.
So why the hell did it mean so much that Cabe was proud of her? That he was certain she’d made a great impression. Of course she had. And she’d done it all on her own. Pulled up her big-girl panties and made it happen. But there was a look in his eye that she couldn’t quite identify. Recognition for a job well done, pride that she’d pulled it off, maybe, and that damn spark that she’d felt between them from the very first time they’d met.
His proximity on the sofa was driving her just a little bit crazy. He sat with his arms folded across his chest, which made those biceps of his stretch the sleeves of his navy blue polo. The collar was a little rumpled at the back, and she fought the urge to lean in and fix it.
He was close enough that she could smell something clean and fresh, like maybe his shower gel. The size of the goddamn couch was going to be the death of her.
She turned her mind away from how warm his skin would feel if she reached out and touched it and put it back on the case. It had been agreed that a dealer with the background she’d created would prefer to be right in the bustling downtown neighborhood. It also made it easier for her to make it onto someone’s list for abduction. A young girl in a new place without anybody worrying about her would be an easy target.
She’d focus on that, not on the thickness of his thigh muscles and the way the denim he wore hugged them. His knees were close to hers, which made her feel just how she had at age twelve when boyishly handsome Lincoln Stoddard had been assigned to be her lab partner and sat down on the stool next to her.
But Lincoln Stoddard couldn’t hold a candle to the man to her left, and she was spending too much time admiring the reasons why.
“We need to run a search of Eve Canallis. That’s who I’m replacing. I just want to be certain that a disappearance hasn’t taken place a little earlier than the usual pattern.”
Cabe faced her. “Did something tip you off?”
Amy shook her head. “I could be totally wrong, looking for something where there isn’t a problem. But I’d rather be hyper-vigilant than miss something because I wasn’t looking hard enough.”
“Fair enough,” Cabe agreed. “We can sort that out through SDPD, see if she’s been reported missing first. My brother is a detective. I can give him a call.”
“Do you guys have a floor plan for the casino? I can mark up some of the things I’ve already noticed. Where passes are required, security cameras, what offices are where.”
He grinned. “Started the job already?” he asked.
Usually, comments about her work ethic irritated her. Boyfriends in the past had been frustrated by her commitment to her job, but there was no hint of judgment in Cabe’s tone. If anything, there was a hint of admiration. “You know the key to this will be moving quickly.”
Cabe stood. “Let me get my bag out of my truck, and we can go though it together. I’ll give Noah a ring while I’m walking down. Eve Canallis you said, right?”
Amy nodded. “Yes. While you do that, I’m going to get changed out of this,” she said, gesturing up and down at the outfit that felt like it was cutting her intestines in half. She watched him leave and took a deep breath as the door closed behind him. She stood and grabbed the suitcase she knew contained her toiletries and casual clothes and wheeled it into the bedroom. It smacked her ankle has she heaved it onto the bed, making her wince. Between the platform heels and luggage accidents, her feet were never going to forgive her.
Amy caught a glimpse in the mirror opposite the bed and almost didn’t recognize herself. Bright red lipstick had never really been her thing, and she couldn’t wait to take the heavy makeup off. She unzipped the suitcase and rummaged until she found her toiletry bag and headed to the bathroom. It was darker than the bathroom in her own place, dingy even. But if they all worked hard, they could pull the op off quickly and she could be back in her own white bathroom before Christmas. Once her hair was off her face, she washed it clean. Finally, she felt as though her skin could breathe. The scent of her moisturizer made her feel better immediately, as did the quick flick of mascara and a little pink lip gloss.
Amy stared hard at her reflection. What were the chances she’d finally met a man she felt an attraction to, a man who had already shown the capacity to accept her and her job, a man who had already shown a level of personal interest, only for their work to make it difficult to explore things further?
With a sigh, she stripped off her clothes, tossing them into the laundry basket by the closet as she walked through to the bedroom. As she dug around in her case for her white capris, a thought flitted through her brain. They wouldn’t be on the op forever. And perhaps … maybe … there would be an opportunity down the line to date. All she needed to do was resist the urge to rip off that damn fine polo shirt to see exactly what was underneath until they were finished.
She pulled on a black V-neck made from the softest cotton and whipped her hair into a simple fishtail braid. One look in the mirror reassured her that she now looked much more like her usual self. As she walked back to the living room, she heard the door click shut.
“Noah is running a search on Eve Canallis, and I’ve got the floor plans on my laptop,” Cabe said. “But talk to me about money laundering. I want to pick your brain. We’ve been doing research on our end, but from an FBI perspective, how does it really happen? What are we looking for?”
Amy sat back down on the sofa, and Cabe joined her. He pulled his computer out of his bag and placed it on the low coffee table in front of them. “Okay,” she said, “that’s a long conversation. But basically, it boils down to a couple of things. Casinos in the U.S. that generate over a million in annual gaming revenues are required to report certain currency transactions to help expose money laundering. Basically, any transaction of ten thousand dollars or higher needs to be reported to help FinCEN, the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network of the U.S. Treasury.”
“That’s different from Title Thirty-One, right?” Cabe asked, referring to the Bank Secrecy Act that was designed to prevent money laundering through the banking industry. He’d obviously already done some research.
“Yeah. This is specifically aimed at large transactions through slot machines and gaming tables. Even automatic change machines. Money launderers have been known to stand in front of those suckers for an hour feeding in ten-dollar bills and converting them to fresh dollar bills—or worse, coins that they then convert back into hundred-dollar bills at the cashier cages.”
Cabe rested his elbows on his knees. “Playing devil’s advocate here, but if all this is supposed to be regulated, how does
money laundering still happen?”
Amy lifted her foot and tucked it underneath her opposite knee as she turned to face him. “Within any twenty-four hour period, a person can’t exchange more than ten thousand dollars without filling out a currency transaction report. And if casino staff see individuals changing large sums in a suspicious manner, they are required to complete a report—in our lingo, a FinCEN form 114. But there are four ways around all the security measures, and they rely on the casino being vigilant to spot it.”
“What are they?” Cabe asked.
“The first is structuring. Easy enough. Break the ten thousand into a handful of smaller amounts. Some casinos record transactions above three thousand dollars, just to make sure they don’t see multiple trips from the same person to different cashiers to try to wash through larger amounts.”
“We’d need to find out what Lucky Seven does, right?” Cabe said, making a quick note on his laptop.
“Yeah. It’s on my list to get close to some of the cage staff to ask about the missing women,” Amy said. “The women all share the same locker room, so there is plenty opportunity for that. I’ll see what I can find out for you too.”
Cabe made another note. “I can add it to my list of things to do too. I’ll try each variant. Exchange the ten thousand to see if they follow the basics of the law, then split up some into smaller amounts and see what their cutoff point is. We’re going to need to determine whether the casino is involved, or whether it is specific individuals, as quickly as possible. I’m assuming that with organized crime, this could be happening with or without the casino’s consent—although with Sokolov having been witnessed at the casino, it’s not too much of a stretch to assume Lucky Seven is complicit.”
Amy nodded. “I don’t think we should just look for intel that proves only that, though. We might miss something if we focus on that too hard.”
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