Fatal Secrets f-2

by Allison Brennan

  “How many minutes lapsed from the sound of the gunshot and when you saw the man?”

  “One? No more than ninety seconds.”

  “What was he doing in the conference room?”

  “I have no idea. He saw me and pointed the gun at me and I ran out, came in here.”

  “It was open?”

  “Margie was here. She’s the secretary. She had called the police when she heard the gunshot and was still on the phone with them when I came in. I locked the door and put a chair up and told her to tell you guys to hurry. I thought he’d follow me, but he didn’t.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Chinese. Tall. Had a pockmarked face, like from teenage acne, though this guy was in his forties or older. Wore a dark gray suit. Looked expensive.”

  “Had you ever seen him before?”

  “Not recently, but last year he was here and had a meeting with Mr. Jones at Chops.”

  “Just him and Jones?”

  “No. Two of Jones’s clients were there as well, from Rio Diablo.”

  “And you remembered him after a year?” Sonia asked.

  “Sure. You don’t forget a face like that.”

  Dean retrieved the photo he’d taken back from Charlie. “Do you recognize any men in this photograph?”

  Mercer looked closely at the picture. “There’s Mr. Jones, of course.” He started to shake his head. “No … oh, yeah, I know him.”

  His finger tapped on the face of Sonia’s father. She tensed.

  “You know this man? From where?”

  “It’s been a long time.” He closed his eyes and didn’t say anything for a minute.

  Sonia was getting antsy, wanted to push him, but Dean put a hand on her knee and held a finger to his lips.

  “Devereaux!” Mercer exclaimed.

  “Devereaux?” Sonia repeated.

  “Four years ago he was here.”

  “In XCJ offices?”

  “No, it was at the Hyatt. Dawson’s, the restaurant downstairs. My top client wanted a dinner meeting with Mr. Jones. Jones didn’t want to, but finally agreed so we went to Dawson’s. On our way out, Mr. Devereaux was coming in. He didn’t seem very friendly when Mr. Jones said hello, but he congratulated him.”

  “On what?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “How’d you know his name?”

  “The hostess came up and said, ‘Mr. Devereaux, we located the Scotch you requested. Your table is ready’”

  “He was alone?”

  “I think so.”

  “And you remember that? A brief meeting years ago?” Sonia asked in disbelief.

  “I have a good memory for names and faces, it’s part of my job, especially with the turnover we have in that building now after term limits.” He jerked his thumb behind him in the general direction of the Capitol building. “But I probably wouldn’t have remembered at all except that after Mr. Devereaux was seated in the far back of the restaurant, Mr. Jones asked the hostess what the Scotch was that he had ordered. Laphroaig. You just don’t forget Scotch whisky like Laphroaig. The man has good taste.”

  The Hyatt Hotel was across the street from the Senator and John Black pulled together all the cops he could spare to cover every exit, then he, Dean, and Sonia went to the general manager and confirmed that a guest named Pierre Devereaux was currently registered and staying on the tenth floor.

  “How many people are staying in the room?” Dean asked.

  “Three.”

  “Names?”

  The manager looked on the screen. “Mr. Devereaux, his brother Tobias Devereaux, and Lee Chin. There’s a king bed in each of the adjoining bedrooms, plus a Murphy bed in the meeting room.”

  “When did they check in?”

  “Late check-in Tuesday night.”

  “When are they scheduled to leave?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Please pull all security disks since Tuesday night,” Dean said, “and find out which housekeeping staff has cleaned the rooms. I want them all brought to a secure area, but I don’t want them talking to each other. And call each guest on that floor and tell them to stay inside their room until you call again. Understand?”

  “Yes, Agent Hooper.”

  Black spread the information around to his men. Dean pulled Sonia aside. “You can’t come upstairs. It could-” he didn’t finish.

  “I know,” she said reluctantly. “We have to protect the integrity of the case. We’re close, Dean. Be careful.”

  “I don’t want you down here alone,” Dean said. “If he somehow slips through and sees you.” He motioned for one of the uniforms.

  “Officer-” he looked at his badge.

  “Jerry,” Sonia said. “How are you?”

  “Good. Glad to hear Riley’s better.”

  “Me, too. Agent Hooper thinks I need a babysitter. Care for the job?”

  He straightened. “Is this about the Devereaux guy?”

  “Yes. It’s complicated.”

  “Jerry?” Dean said. “No one gets near her. Find an office and stay there until I call.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dean turned to Sonia. “Okay?”

  “I understand. He wants me dead.” She steeled herself. “I’m good. But you be careful, too.”

  They took the elevator to the ninth floor, then Dean and Black got off and took the stairs up one floor while three uniformed cops took the elevator up. Black had a master room key.

  The Park Capitol Suite had three separate doors. With two cops on each door, they counted and entered simultaneously.

  Three. Two. One.

  Black inserted the passkey and pushed down the handle while pushing the door in. He went in high while Dean went in low.

  “Freeze, Police!” Black shouted while Dean did the same thing with, “FBI!”

  The room was empty. The beds were made, but disheveled. They quickly searched the room and confirmed that no one was hiding.

  Devereaux and his cohorts had left quickly. There were toiletries in the bathrooms. A personal robe behind one door. But no suitcases, no clothing or computers.

  “The killer knew he’d been seen. They ran,” Dean said.

  With gloves, they went through the drawers and closets more meticulously, looking for anything that would give them a hint as to where Devereaux and the other two men had gone. No airline tickets, no notes or receipts.

  Dean opened the wet bar and carefully pulled out a half-full bottle of Laphroaig. He said, “Let’s get this printed and tested ASAP. Detective, if you don’t mind, I’ve taken the liberty of calling in my team. I need this place gone over with a fine-tooth comb.” He swore under his breath. “We were so close.”

  Black said, “He’s on the run. I’ll talk to hotel security and get a better shot of him if they have one.”

  “Great,” Dean said.

  “We should release it to the media,” Black said.

  “I don’t know.” Dean frowned. He remembered what Hans Vigo said during the conference call. The killer would make mistakes when pushed, but if trapped he could be more dangerous. He already knew where Sonia lived, where she worked, and even had an assassin track her to the baseball stadium.

  But he knew what Sonia would say if she were here. There were too many lives at stake not to push him.

  “If not the media, all law enforcement,” Black said. “Airports, train stations, ports.”

  “Absolutely,” Dean said. “And I’ll talk to Bob Rich ardson and Sonia about releasing the image to the media. But only a current photo, so if the Hyatt doesn’t have anything recent-”

  “Understood,” Black said. His cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” He stepped into the hall.

  Dean stood in the center of the room and looked one last time at the expensive suite Sonia’s biological father had been living in for the past three days. Trying to get into his head, to think how he thought.

  Why had he gone after Sonia at the stadium? Attempting to kill a federal polic
e officer would make law enforcement more resolute in tracking him down.

  He also didn’t need to kill the three Chinese girls in the warehouse. He’s left a message-you are too late-as a taunt. He knew Sonia was involved in the investigation because of Greg Vega. And he had to have known Sonia was his daughter he’d sold.

  The assassination was personal on the one hand-he wanted Sonia dead. Not because she knew something important per se, but because she irritated him. She was pushing, and he probably couldn’t stand the fact that his own daughter-a woman-could get so close to taking him down.

  But it was also functional. The attempt would divide their resources just as the murders of the Chinese girls did. As Hans said, the killer didn’t care if they knew who was responsible because he believed he was untouchable.

  And if Sergio Martin, aka Pierre Devereaux, left the country, he very well could get away with everything.

  Dean would not let that happen.

  Black came back inside. “I know what the killer was looking for in the conference room.”

  “What?”

  “A listening device. The room was bugged.”

  Victoria Christopoulis had been gracious when she allowed Sam and Trace to come into her home, but she gave them no answers. She played ignorant. Yet Sam suspected the woman was shrewd. He saw it in her eyes.

  So he drove away, circled the neighborhood, and came back, parking far down the street. Just barely able to see her driveway. If she left, he’d know.

  Thirty minutes later, the Mercedes skidded out of the garage.

  “Good instincts,” Trace said as Sam pursued the car. He picked up his phone and called Dean.

  As soon as Dean stepped into the office where Sonia paced while Officer Jerry Strong stood at the door, she knew her father had slipped away.

  “I’m sorry,” Dean said.

  “Dammit,” she said. “It’s not anyone’s fault. He’s like two steps ahead of us! We need a break.”

  “We have one. The conference room was bugged. That’s how the killer knew where to find you.”

  “How long were they listening?”

  “I don’t know-”

  “Yesterday? When we asked Gleason all those questions about Jones’s clients? That’s why they killed those women.”

  “Don’t-you have no idea why they killed the women. We’ve done everything by the book, we’we responded immediately when we learned information, and we have been proactive. Excuse me.” He picked up his BlackBerry.

  Sonia tried to figure out her father’s next move. He killed-or had ordered killed-three of the women. Why? To torment her. To send them on a wild chase. To keep them away from finding the truth. He wanted to jerk them around so they didn’t know which lead to pursue-so he could sell the remaining women and leave the country before they could find him, or the victims.

  It made sense. Throw a half-dozen murders out there and all of them were running around trying to make the connection. But it wasn’t the murders that were important-at least, not right now. The only thing they should focus on was where the girls were taken when moved from the Weber warehouse.

  San Joaquin County sheriffs were looking for Joel Weber and his son, Jordan, but hadn’t found them yet. They could even be dead-Sonia wouldn’t put it past her father. The Webers might be the only living people who could put a face on the man who now called himself Pierre Devereaux. Or maybe they felt the heat of the investigation and ran.

  She and Dean had found the warehouse by tracking the property records of Jones’s clients; would Devereaux use an existing location? Would he be able to find anything else? Based on the evidence at the warehouse, there had to be at least thirty women who’d been smuggled in. They wouldn’t be easy to hide for long.

  Dean said, “That was Sam. He’s tracking Victoria Christopoulis.”

  “Oh shit, the woman in the picture-”

  “Is Victoria,” Dean finished.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Sam said she looked familiar and he went through the photos I’d sent him related to the case.”

  “Charlie told me but it slipped my mind, I’m sorry.”

  “After being shot at?”

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her knuckle. “Maybe I am too close to this.”

  “We’ll find him, Sonia.” Dean’s voice was full of anger and confidence. “He’s not getting away this time.” Dean glanced at his phone again. “It’s headquarters.” He answered, listened, then hung up and said, “Sonia, they broke part of the code in Jones’s journal. They have a couple ideas where the women are being held. We have to get to FBI headquarters immediately.” He paused, glanced at his dirty clothes, and back at Sonia. “I think there’s time to change.”

  Noel threw a glass against the wall.

  “Does no one have pride in their work? A military sniper can’t take out one little woman? You couldn’t kill one fucking witness and we have to leave my hotel?”

  He hated the pressure of not being able to come and go as he pleased. He hated thinking that people were watching him, waiting for him to fuck up.

  He wasn’t going to. Noel had a backup plan, didn’t he?

  They were in a house on the Indian reservation. The Indians owed them-hadn’t Noel made them rich? It had been Xavier’s idea, and it had been brilliant, but it was mostly Noel’s money. So he had no problem coming to collect.

  Once the casino was built, they’d have far more freedom. He didn’t need Gleason after all, Ling had developed a rapport with the Rio Diablo tribe.

  He threw another glass against the wall. It felt good to destroy something. He turned to Ling. “Call in every pilot, everyone you can trust. Have them on call to meet at the exchange site tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “We’re moving everything up twenty-four hours. If the buyers don’t agree to my terms, we’ll kill the women and get out. I’m not staying in this fucking country to see another sunrise.”

  “And Sonia Knight?”

  “She’ll be dead before we leave.” Noel rubbed his face. Damn, he wanted to kill her himself. He wanted to slit her throat and watch her die. He hated her, hated her with more passion than he’d felt for anything in a very long time. Some of his colleagues said they appreciated a worthy adversary. Not Noel. He preferred idiots he could fool, bribe, or kill.

  “You put yourself at risk if you pursue her alone,” Ling warned.

  “Ten thousand to whoever kills her,” Noel said reluctantly. “And I’ll double it if they bring her to me, alive, before sunrise. But after that, I’ll be on my way home. I’m never setting foot on American soil again.” He spat on the floor to show his disdain.

  “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Dean drove a circuitous route to his temporary apartment so he and Sonia could shower and change after the sniper incident and subsequent raid of Devereaux’s hotel suite. On Dean’s orders two agents followed to keep close watch on Sonia, though Dean wasn’t about to let her out of his sight.

  While she showered, Dean called Sam Callahan to make sure he got the message about the task force meeting at headquarters. As far as Dean was concerned, they were on duty until Devereaux and the women were found.

  “Callahan.”

  “Did you get my message about the meeting?”

  “Yes, but I’m still following Victoria Christopoulis. She just left Bank of America. She was inside for sixty-nine minutes. I stayed behind, while Trace followed her in my car. I talked to the manager, found out that she withdrew two hundred thousand in cash. Also learned that she had a safe-deposit box jointly with her son. He didn’t know what was in it, but she went in and cleaned it out-left the box on the table, open and empty.”

  “Go on.”

  “Trace called and said he thought she’s heading for the San Francisco Airport. He contacted the DOT at the airport and learned that she bought a ticket-from the time stamp, while she was still at home-to Vancouver, British C
olumbia, with a connection tomorrow morning to Montreal, and a connection from there to Greece.”

  “She’s fleeing.”

  “You bet. And getting out of the country as fast as possible. There’s a faster way going through New York City, but she’s headed across the border into Canada.”

  “Who won’t extradite on a death penalty case.”

  “I need an arrest warrant, before she gets on the plane. Definitely before it takes off.”

  “I need a reason.”

  “Suspicious behavior?”

  “You’re funny.”

  “Seriously, we show up and she clears out Omega’s business account, their joint safe-deposit box, and gets an international flight? She’s associating with known criminals? The photo?”

  “How long has she been in America?”

  “Ten days, but she comes often for both business and vacation. She’s in the country at least three months out of the year. We’ve been looking into Omega and no one has run before. There must be something more.”

  “Maybe she thinks we’re closer.”

  “Or she found out something we don’t know.”

  “Detain her. Attempt to flee to avoid questioning in a capital offense. We’ll have her for seventy-two hours at least. I’ll call the U.S. attorney right now, give them a heads-up.”

  “When Trace picks her up, where do you want him to take her? Immigration might have jurisdiction.”

  “Bring her back to FBI headquarters. This is a joint task force, we’ll deal with jurisdictional issues later. Hell, maybe we’ll both take a stab at her. She sounds like a peach. But have him take backup.” He hung up and called the U.S. attorney he’d been working with.

  The U.S. attorney wasn’t pleased, but understood that they couldn’t allow Christopoulis to get on the plane. If she left U.S. borders it would be far more costly to get her back. They’d likely have international diplomacy issues, but since ICE was involved, the Department of Homeland Security could take the heat.

  Sonia came out of the bedroom, still flushed from her shower. She was putting her wet hair up. “Your turn.”

  Dean said, “Victoria Christopoulis is fleeing.”

  She paled. “Because I didn’t tell you about the photo fast enough?”