by James, Julie
Ginny laughed as she followed Sidney into her office. “Well, you’re obviously doing very well for yourself.”
Opting against the formality of her desk, Sidney gestured to the pair of cream leather chairs by the floor-to-ceiling window. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Ginny said, resting her bags on the floor by her feet. “I won’t be staying long—I need to run a few more errands before heading back out to the suburbs for a house showing.”
“You’re still in real estate, then?” Sidney shut the door and sat down in the chair opposite Ginny. They chatted and caught up for several minutes, which naturally led into the topic of Isabelle’s upcoming wedding.
“Only three days away, I hear,” Ginny said. “And you like Simon?”
Sidney was a little surprised that Ginny knew both the wedding date and Simon’s name since neither she nor Isabelle had talked to her in years. Presumably, she’d heard the details from a mutual acquaintance. “Simon’s great. He makes Isabelle very happy.”
“If he’s anything like his brother, I can see why.”
Sidney cocked her head, completely caught off guard by that. “You know Vaughn?”
“I wouldn’t say I know him, I suppose. But the couple of phone conversations we’ve had have certainly left me quite impressed.” She looked confused that Sidney seemed confused. “You do realize that the whole idea was his, right?”
Sidney had no clue what that meant. “I’m sorry, I’m missing something here. What was Vaughn’s idea?”
Ginny’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Did I screw this up? He didn’t say it was a surprise. I’d planned to come downtown today, so I offered to swing by your office and give it to you myself. He gave me your work address and, well, here I am.”
Okay . . . still no clue. “To give me what, exactly?”
Ginny chuckled. “Apparently this is a surprise, then.” She reached into one of the shopping bags and pulled out a medium-sized box. “See for yourself.”
Sidney took the box and set it on her lap. She lifted the lid and unwrapped a layer of tissue paper. When she saw what was inside the box, at first she wasn’t sure she knew what she was looking at.
It couldn’t be.
Sidney looked up. “Is this . . . ?”
Ginny smiled. “Your mother’s wedding purse. Vaughn said you were trying to find something of hers to give Isabelle as her ‘something old.’ I know everything else was lost, but at least you have this.”
Feeling tears spring to her eyes, Sidney gently lifted the purse out of the box.
It was, undoubtedly, the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for her.
The purse was simple, made out of white satin that had aged a little and with a gold clasp and delicate gold strap. Sidney smoothed her hand over it and cleared her throat. “How did he know you had this? I didn’t even know you had it.”
“He didn’t know, exactly. But from what I understand, you and Vaughn were looking at your parents’ wedding albums, and you told him that your mother and I used to be best friends.”
Sidney nodded. “I can’t believe he remembered that.”
“I guess being an FBI agent comes in handy for things like this. He tracked down my home phone number and left a message explaining how all of your mother’s wedding things had been thrown away. He’d actually been hoping to locate your mother’s ‘something borrowed’—he’d asked whether she’d worn or carried something that belonged to me or one of the other bridesmaids that would’ve been returned to us. It was a good idea—except I have no clue what your mother’s ‘something borrowed’ was. Luckily, I was able to do him one better.”
Ginny pointed to the purse. “So here’s the story with that: your mother was the first among our friends to get married. That was the purse she carried at her wedding, and then when I got married next, she lent it to me. Then I lent it to another friend of ours, Carol, for her wedding, and then Carol lent it to our other friend, Sandra. So after I heard Vaughn’s message, I e-mailed Sandra, and we were in luck. She had the purse packed away in a box with the rest of her wedding things. I picked it up from her earlier this week, and now I happily deliver it to you.”
“I don’t know what to say, Ginny. Thank you.”
“It belongs with you and Isabelle. And truly, Vaughn deserves the credit here. On Sunday, when we talked the first time, I joked that he was taking his best man responsibilities awfully seriously, going to such efforts to track down a ‘something old’ for Isabelle.”
“What did he say?”
“That the FBI agent in him couldn’t resist the chance to crack a cold case.”
Sidney laughed. “That sounds like him.”
“But when I called back to tell him that I’d found the purse, his first response was, ‘She’ll be so happy to hear it.’” Ginny looked at Sidney pointedly. “Somehow, I don’t think he was referring to Isabelle.”
They talked for a few minutes longer, and then Ginny collected her bags to leave. She asked Sidney to pass along her best wishes to Isabelle, gave Sidney her business card, and suggested that they keep in touch.
After Ginny left, Sidney walked back over to the chair and picked up the purse. She peeked inside, saw it was empty, and then leaned against the front of her desk.
She didn’t know what to make of the fact that Vaughn had gone through such efforts for her. Part of her was tempted to call him right then, but she was confused and trying not to read too much into the situation, and feeling very uncertain about a lot of things. But Ginny’s visit definitely had made one thing clear, something Sidney could no longer deny, no matter how hard she tried.
She missed him.
Thirty-one
THURSDAY EVENING, VAUGHN met with Huxley and the rest of his backup unit to run through the plan for his meeting later that night with Pritchett’s crew. He kept things short and sweet—this would be his fourth meeting with the cops, and everyone knew what to expect.
That is, until they got a call from the special operations team that was tailing the suspects.
“We have a situation,” said Agent Romero, the team leader of the SOG. “There’s a new guy joining the party.”
“What do we know?” Vaughn asked.
“He showed up at the cops’ rendezvous spot before they got in the vans to drive to Indianapolis. We ran his plate. Name is Mike Mahoney—Officer Mike Mahoney, brother of Officer James Mahoney. Just joined CPD last year.”
Two dirty cops in one family—how touching. “So James decided to cut his brother in on the action,” Vaughn said.
“Looks that way. Although it also looks as though he didn’t run that by Pritchett first,” Romero said. “There was some kind of argument between Pritchett and the brothers when they first showed up. From the way he got in Pritchett’s face, Mike Mahoney seems to be a bit of a hothead. Maybe Pritchett is worried he’s going to be bad for business.”
“What’s Mahoney carrying?”
“Just his pistol, like the others.”
“Did you alert Lyons yet?” Vaughn asked, referring to the undercover agent posing as his gun seller in Indianapolis.
“Not yet. We wanted to tell you first.”
“Let’s patch him in.” Vaughn made the call to Lyons and brought him up to speed. Romero said he would keep them posted on any unusual activity as his team tailed the suspects to Indianapolis, and Lyons agreed to check in as soon as he’d handed the guns off to Pritchett’s crew.
After hanging up with them, Vaughn filled in Huxley and the rest of the backup team.
“Do you think this new guy is going to be a problem?” Huxley asked.
“I think we need to be prepared for that possibility.” Granted, it was entirely possible that the only thing going on was that Mike Mahoney had heard about his brother making some cash
on the side and had decided that he wanted in on the smuggling business. But regardless, Vaughn wanted to be ready for anything.
He opened one of his desk drawers and unlocked the metal case where he stored his Kimber 1911, the handgun he’d chosen to carry during this sting operation since Glocks were known for being law enforcement guns. He loaded the magazine and slid it into place.
• • •
LATER, WHEN VAUGHN was at home and changing into one of “Mark Sullivan’s” designer suits, Lyons checked in.
“They just left with the guns,” the other agent said.
“How’s the new guy?” Vaughn asked.
“Young. Built. Big ego. I gave Pritchett crap about bringing in a new guy, and Mahoney didn’t care for that much,” Lyons said.
“He’ll be hearing the same song on my end,” Vaughn said. After hanging up with Lyons, he called Romero, who was in one of the cars tailing the cops back to Chicago. “How are we looking?”
“Business as usual,” Romero reported. “I’m tailing the van that the Mahoney brothers are in, and they’re following the standard route.”
“Just wanted to make sure our new guy doesn’t get any bright ideas about making off with my guns.”
“If that happens, and my team has to rein these jackasses in, please let me be the one to tell them the guns don’t even work,” Romero said.
“Not a chance. I’m saving that tidbit for when I arrest Pritchett.” Vaughn ended the call and put on the Rolex that had been given to him by Stagehand, the internal FBI group that provided the props used in undercover operations. Leaving his own cell phone on the kitchen counter, he slid into his suit-jacket the phone he used while undercover as Sullivan.
It was showtime.
• • •
FROM INSIDE THE Hummer, Vaughn saw the headlights of the two vans approaching. He stepped out of the SUV and waited as the vehicles came to a stop in front of him.
Vaughn sized up Mike Mahoney as the young cop exited the second van. Twenty-three or twenty-four years old and built like a tank, he wore his T-shirt tucked into a pair of cargo pants so that his handgun was clearly on display.
Poor form.
“Who the fuck is this?” Vaughn asked Pritchett, nodding in Mike’s direction and acting the part of a gun buyer whose smugglers had just showed up with an uninvited guest.
“I’m the fucking muscle, that’s who I am,” Mike Mahoney shot back.
Clearly, the younger of the Mahoney brothers was going to be a real charmer.
Pritchett, the businessman of the group, was quick to diffuse any potential fireworks. “He’s James’s brother, Mike. Another cop. James told him about the operation we’re running, and he wanted to check it out. I figured with the amount of guns we’ve been smuggling into the city, it’s not a bad idea to have some extra manpower, you know? Just to be safe.”
Vaughn knew that Pritchett was lying—according to Romero’s intel, the cop was anything but thrilled that Mike had tagged along tonight. But he gave the guy credit for being a fairly decent bullshitter. “Sounds like James needs to work on keeping his mouth shut.” Vaughn stepped closer to Pritchett, his tone low. “Next time you think you need extra manpower for a job, you run it by me first. Understood?”
Pritchett swallowed nervously, for once not acting smug. “You’re the boss.”
“Damn right.” Vaughn gestured in the direction of the vans. “Let’s see what you’ve got for me.”
Seemingly relieved to have things back on track, Pritchett hustled over to his van and opened up the trunk. Vaughn walked over and saw two large duffle bags, just like the previous two trips. A check of the bags revealed ten AR-15 semiautomatic rifles, which Vaughn once again examined in front of the cops so that it was clear they knew what they were smuggling.
Once he’d accounted for all the rifles, he headed over to the second van. Inside were two more duffle bags, each filled with twenty-five handguns.
“Looks good,” Vaughn said. “Let’s load them up.”
He and the cops grabbed the duffle bags out of the vans and carried them over to his SUV. While loading them inside, he looked back and saw the Mahoney brothers and Howard standing by the back of the second van, where the fourth duffle bag of guns remained. The three men were huddled close together as they spoke.
And that was the moment Vaughn began to suspect that trouble loomed on the horizon.
“Something going on that I need to know about?” he asked Pritchett.
“There’d better not be,” Pritchett grumbled.
Buying time, Vaughn kept his pace unhurried as he walked over. Assuming that something was indeed afoot, he scrolled through the various possibilities. He doubted the Mahoney brothers and Howard were planning to steal his guns because three of the duffle bags were already in his SUV. More likely, they planned to shake him down for more money.
Unless they planned to kill him and make off with both the guns and the money.
Surrounding the area was Vaughn’s backup squad and the eight guys on the special operations team, all of whom were listening in and watching this unfold. Like Vaughn, those twelve men had just identified the Mahoney brothers and Howard as potential problems—problems who were armed, no less. Which meant they all were on high alert right then.
When Vaughn had nearly reached the van, Mike Mahoney stepped forward, blocking the duffle bag. He folded his beefy arms over his chest. “Before you take that bag, Sullivan, I think we need to talk.”
Staying in character, Vaughn dismissed this without consideration. “No, we don’t. I don’t even know you.” He stepped forward to grab the bag.
Whether out of anger, bravado, or sheer stupidity, Mahoney reached for his gun.
Fuck. Instinct kicked in and Vaughn immediately grabbed for his own pistol. He had the Kimber out and trained directly on Mike before the cop got his gun out of its holster.
“Easy there, Mahoney,” Vaughn said calmly.
Unfortunately, not everyone else stayed quite so calm. The other cops instantly drew their weapons, reacting to the sight of a shady gun buyer pointing a pistol at one of their own.
In the blink of an eye, Vaughn found himself staring down the barrels of five loaded guns.
“Don’t fucking move, Sullivan,” James Mahoney warned in a low voice.
As Vaughn stood in that dark, sketchy alley surrounded by a group of dirty cops holding him at gunpoint, he knew that trouble no longer loomed on the horizon.
It had arrived.
Thirty-two
VAUGHN’S HEART THUDDED in his chest.
He had mere moments to diffuse the situation before all hell broke loose. First, there was the not-so-small problem of the five guns pointed at his head. But he had another problem to contend with: the FBI backup unit and special operations team who had the area surrounded, unbeknownst to everyone else.
He knew exactly what was happening at that moment. Backup, including Huxley, had seen the cops draw their guns on him and had moved into position to intervene. The SOG snipers were already glassing the six targets, and they had their fingers on the triggers, ready to fire.
As was standard protocol in all undercover operations, Vaughn had a code phrase—in this case, “I don’t need this shit today”—that served as a signal to the other agents that he believed he couldn’t control the situation and thus needed the cops to be taken down.
He didn’t say it. Not yet.
“I’d think carefully about your next move, Pritchett,” Vaughn said, purposely addressing the leader of the group.
Mike Mahoney answered instead, his arrogant tone an indication that he believed he had Vaughn right where he wanted him. “Looks like we’re going to have that talk after all, Sullivan. My brother says you’re only paying fifteen thousand per run.” His eyes fell on Vaughn’s Rolex. “I think you can afford more.”
&nbs
p; “That’s your big plan? To shake me down tonight for more money?” Vaughn asked.
“Yep, that about sums it up.”
“You might want to think of a new plan,” Vaughn advised.
“Why’s that?” Mahoney sneered.
“Because I only brought fifteen grand with me, shithead.”
That wiped the smile off Mahoney’s face right quick.
Having neutralized the idea that the cops could gain from this course of action, Vaughn went back to addressing the leader of the group. “We have a good thing going here, Pritchett. You make nearly four thousand apiece for one night’s work. Don’t screw it up by listening to this asshole.”
“He’s bluffing,” Mike Mahoney interjected.
Vaughn’s tone remained steady. “My seller knows who all of you are. If I go missing tonight—and these guns with me—the people I work with will know that you stole from them. I guarantee you don’t want that.” He paused to let this sink in. “So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to take my duffle bag, and then I’m going to walk backward until I get to my car. Once I’m inside, I’ll drop the cash on the ground and drive away.” He surveyed the group. “Anybody have any problems with that plan?”
The cops were all silent. Pritchett finally answered, looking directly at Mike Mahoney. “No.”
“Good.” Keeping his gun pointed at the younger Mahoney brother, Vaughn grabbed the handles of the duffle bag with his left hand and hoisted it over his shoulder. His body was tense and coiled, ready to act if anyone made a move.
He began backing up, away from the van, as all the cops kept their guns trained on him. Mike Mahoney’s jaw twitched, but other than that, everyone remained still. When Vaughn got to the Hummer, he dropped the duffle bag in the back and shut the trunk with his left hand. As soon as he climbed into the car, he started the engine and reached into the glove compartment.
He opened his window and unceremoniously dropped the envelope of money in the dust of his SUV.
He exhaled as he pulled away, knowing that was the moment the FBI snipers finally eased off the triggers of their rifles.