Lost and Found

by Allison Brennan

  She didn’t trust Gabe. She couldn’t very well tell him about the task force Kyle Richardson and John were part of, or that the feds were involved. She’d been told months ago that there was an undercover agent somewhere in the Vartarian organization, but hadn’t heard anything else about him—or her. She didn’t know what they knew or how close they were to taking down the organization. And worse, she had no idea how the ambush fit in. But her gut said the ambush was part of it—and maybe the beginning.

  She had learned a lot on her own, and she didn’t think it would be giving anything away to share some of what she learned with Gabe. So he would know that she was damn serious about finding the truth and taking these people down.

  “I have some evidence—enough to make the Vartarian family scared.”

  “God, Scarlet—what?”

  It was clear that the name didn’t surprise him. “You knew they were involved?”

  “They’re involved in everything. You can’t fight them. They have friends in high places.”

  Gabe was a former cop. A man’s man by all definitions of the word. Yet he was worried. Was that why he ran? Fear?

  He had a family, and family made you vulnerable when dealing with people like the Vartarians. Scarlet had a father and a brother but no kids. She couldn’t imagine what she would have done if she had a child. She couldn’t even picture herself with a kid.

  But a small nugget of sympathy grew. She didn’t forgive Gabe—she didn’t know if she ever could—but she was beginning to understand.

  “Like Ben Vartarian, the ADA? Diana Vartarian who runs Armor Plus—who nearly burned me and Jason alive when we were trying to figure out who set him up? Tony Mercer, a cop, who was arrested? Are those the people we can’t fight? And by the way, Mercer is dead. They got to him when he was in protective custody. So excuse me if I don’t believe you when you say you have something on them and they’re willing to leave you alone. I’m sure Mercer had a shitload of info on the organization, but they sure as hell didn’t leave him alone.”

  He didn’t respond. He did have something. She could see it in his expression.

  She had to convince him to share with her.

  “Wait here.”

  She went inside and grabbed her backpack. And two beers—if she drank any more of the hard stuff, she’d be drunk, and she needed a clear head tonight and no hangover tomorrow. Gabe was already on his way to being drunk. Maybe she should let him; he might tell her everything he knew. That was his call—she’d hand him the beer and see what he did.

  She put the beers on the table, sat down, and pulled her notebook out of her bag. Flipped through her notes and observations until she found the chart she’d copied from her wall.

  The pool and backyard lights had gone on automatically at six-thirty. It was getting cool, but neither of them opted to go inside. “This is what I know about the organization,” she told Gabe and slid over her notebook. “I know almost everyone, except who’s in charge.”

  He stared at the paper. At first she didn’t think he was going to help, then he said, “You have a cop here, George Migros. George is a good guy. He needed money because his wife had cancer. Cop insurance is good, but the added costs when she had to quit her job and hire day care for their kids—George was stressed. They brought him in at a weak point.”

  “I don’t have a lot of sympathy, Gabe. People have died. Cops have died. Put aside their illegal activities—the guns, the drugs, the bribery, the God knows what else—let’s just talk about the dead. Gina Perez was a good cop, Gabe. She was killed in cold blood in her own home because she reported a crime to her boss, Tony Mercer, who had her killed to protect the Vartarians. They almost killed Jason Jones. They almost killed me. Who else, Gabe? Who else is dead?”

  “I left three years ago because I couldn’t be part of it,” Gabe said quietly.

  “You left because you felt guilty that I nearly died and had no balls to tell the truth.”

  He didn’t say anything. It was the truth and they both knew it.

  “I know Diana Vartarian is one of the people in charge,” Scarlet continued. “But she feels like a right hand. She’s smart and savvy, but is she really the one making all the decisions? I was thinking” —she tapped a box in the upper corner— “that her uncle—Ben Vartarian’s father—might be running things. He’s in his seventies, but from what I’ve learned, still active in the mortgage business. Seven, eight years ago, when the mortgages all started collapsing the FBI found numerous financial scams, money laundering operations—they didn’t get all of them. I’m not that great with accounting schemes, but any criminal organization needs an influx of money and a way to launder their illegal cash.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Financial Crimes 101.”

  “No, about Greg Vartarian.”

  “No one. It’s a guess. Diana’s father is dead—died of a heart attack twelve years ago according to his obituary. Diana’s younger half-sister Christina was sixteen, went to live with her Uncle Greg. Christina later married Thomas Laurens, the bastard who killed Gina on Mercer’s orders. Oh—and in case you were wondering how lovely these people are, do you know what Gina had on Laurens? He beat up an underage prostitute while having sex. One of Gina’s informants who had to clean up his mess gave Gina photos. Laurens is in prison, but unlike Mercer, they haven’t popped him.”

  Gabe didn’t say anything.

  Dammit! Scarlet was losing her patience. Hell, she’d lost it long ago. “You know about Greg Vartarian.”

  “Know? Not as a fact. Suspect?” He paused. “It’s extremely odd that you guessed the elder Vartarian is the leader.”

  His tone suggested that he was fishing, feeling her out. Why? “Hardly odd,” Scarlet said, “and I didn’t just guess. I’ve been working on this practically non-stop since September—and from the minute I quit the force, every time I heard something, saw something, had an idea… I made note of it. Did you know that Greg, the patriarch, turned in his former partner to the FBI for mortgage fraud? Makes me think he was clearing the field. And—” She hesitated. She had reason to believe that Greg Vartarian was involved because she’d seen some financial reports on John’s desk a few weeks back. She knew they were looking at him, too, but she wasn’t going to tell Gabe that.

  “No one in the Vartarian family is clean,” she said, covering her flub. “Diana’s oldest brother is in prison for a double homicide. Ben Vartarian is a prosecutor, but their in-law—Laurens’s brother, Donnie, is a criminal defense lawyer.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s why they didn’t kill Laurens,” she said mostly to herself. “Because of his brother. I’ll bet Donnie Laurens knows all their dirty secrets. Probably has some insurance, like, ‘If you kill me, a copy of everything illegal you’ve done will be sent to the feds,’ or some such shit like that. No honor among thieves.”

  “I know who the Laurens brothers are,” Gabe said. “They are both violent and ruthless. Donnie just has a veneer of slime that makes him smoother.”

  “I’ve been going through Ben Vartarian’s cases,” Scarlet continued. “He focuses on gangs. But not once has he successfully prosecuted anyone in the X-Street Gang.” She turned the page. “And see here—X-Street territory surrounds Armor Plus headquarters. Want to bet they have some sort of agreement? X-Street can operate with Armor blessing.”

  “This is impossible to prove, Scarlet. You worked gangs as a street cop—you go after them without backup, they’ll take you out. You don’t have a badge anymore.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  He closed his eyes. “There’s someone else in charge. Greg Vartarian is definitely the patriarch, but he’s the titular head. There’s someone behind him, younger, more connected to law enforcement.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. It might be Ben himself.”

  “I know Ben. He’s slick, but I never thought he was all that bright.”

  “I don’t know who—but, Scar, they have at leas
t one judge.”

  “Which judge?” She pointed to her list. “I have two here that I suspect, but I need proof.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “You owe me, Gabe. If you don’t want give me the evidence, tell me what you have and I’ll find proof myself!”

  “Telling you won’t do any good because even I don’t know what I have.”

  “That makes no fucking sense.”

  He opened the beer Scarlet had brought out and took a long drink. “The night you were attacked, Craig Franklin was agitated and accidentally left a folder in my car. Inside were two photos and a small notepad. I only recognized one person in the photos, and the notepad had names that made no sense to me. The person I recognized was a court clerk for Judge Donovan Chase.”

  “Chase? He’s one of the toughest judges on the bench.” And not on her list.

  “I don’t even know the clerk’s name—she’s totally unassuming, rather timid and quiet and pretty in a shy-girl kind of way. But in the photo it was clear she was in charge. Like she was giving orders or something.”

  “What was the photo of? How many people? Where was it taken?”

  “It was taken at a dive bar near Dodger Stadium.”

  “Which isn’t far from the courthouse. Was she giving someone information? About a case before Chase?”

  “You cannot assume that Chase is one of the good guys in this. The Vartarians are extremely cocky.”

  “And that will be their downfall. Who else was in the photo?”

  “Three men and a woman. The woman was unidentifiable from the angle, but the men were clear—I just don’t know who they were. Franklin offered me a million dollars for the photos and list. I didn’t give it back. He threatened me. So I told them in the event of my death, copies would be sent to the FBI and the State Attorney General along with a letter from me detailing everything I had done and what I knew. I told Franklin I was leaving town and no one was to go after me or my family or they would all be taken down. I was bluffing—I made it sound like I knew exactly what was going on in the photos, that I knew who the names were on the list—but I don’t.”

  “But they believed you.”

  He nodded.

  “I want it.”

  “It’s the only thing keeping my family alive.”

  “I will give the list and the photos to John. He will know what to do.”

  “You want your brother dead?”

  Her stomach flipped. “That’s not the only option.”

  “If they feel threatened, they’ll kill the threat.”

  “You owe me, Gabe. You owe me, and Jason, and Gina Perez. Who else died, or was forced out of the department, or was blackmailed to help the Vartarians gain power? Were innocent people railroaded? Guilty people set free? If we don’t end this now, we’re worse than any of them. Because we know better. We should know better.”

  Gabe didn’t say anything. He drained his beer and looked at the dark sky.

  Scarlet wanted to scream. She grabbed her notepad and backpack and went into the house. She considered leaving. But she’d promised Sherry and Abby she would stay.

  She took a shower, and when Sherry came home with the kids, she played a card game with all of them until eleven that night, even though they had school in the morning. Gabe didn’t come inside for a long while, then went straight to bed. Sherry tried to get information out of Scarlet, but she wasn’t talking. Scarlet played the games and kept up the banter, but inside, she was hollow and empty. She confirmed everything she suspected… but had nothing to bring back to Richardson or the task force. Nothing to help them take down the Vartarians and find out why she’d been targeted.

  Later, as she lay in bed, unable to sleep, she started thinking about what a court clerk for a well-respected judge who had never had any hint of impropriety in his courtroom would be doing working for the Vartarians.

  And what was so important about that photo—and that list of names—that scared the Vartarians.

  And why Gabe wouldn’t give it to her.

  Chapter Four

  Scarlet woke before dawn. She wanted to leave without waking anyone, so she silently dressed, grabbed her backpack, holstered her gun, and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

  Gabe was sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee. The only light on was the stove light. “The to-go cups are in the cabinet above the coffeepot,” he said.

  She found the cups, but she had nothing to say to Gabe.

  She poured herself coffee and wrote a thank you note to Sherry on the notepad next to the phone. Then she turned to leave.

  “Scarlet.”

  She stopped but didn’t face him. She had nothing to say. Gabe had disappointed her then, he disappointed her now.

  “I don’t agree with what you’re doing, but I get it. You’ll never believe me, but I am so very sorry for my part in the shooting. I wish… I wish I had the courage then that you’ve always had.”

  She finally turned around and looked at him. “You still don’t understand how good you have it, Gabe. Sherry—your kids. You don’t deserve them.”

  “I know.” His voice cracked, and Scarlet refused to feel guilty. “Here.”

  He tossed her something. It fell at her feet because she made no attempt to catch it.

  It was a key.

  “The old house. In the garage, on the left under the breaker box, there’s a hollow space. I cut the drywall, put a lock-box in, sealed it back up. Shouldn’t be difficult to access.”

  She stared. Slowly, she squatted and picked it up.

  “Who knows you’re here?” he asked.

  “My partner.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  “With my life.”

  “Do the Vartarians know you’re here?” he asked. “Anyone else?”

  “I don’t know, did you tell them?”

  He frowned. “I deserved that.”

  She pocketed the key and rubbed her eyes. “I have to go.”

  “Be careful,” he said. “Both of you.”

  “Krista has a guy. He’s watching out for her.”

  “Who’s watching out for you?”

  She thought of Alex, then pushed him out of her mind and didn’t say anything.

  “Do you know why, Gabe? Why they shot me?”

  He didn’t say anything at first. She almost left, then he said, “I really don’t know, Scarlet—all I heard from Franklin was that you knew something that would get a lot of people in trouble.”

  She had no idea what Franklin thought she knew. If she’d been privy to a crime, she would have reported it.

  “Powerful and dangerous people have a lot at stake,” Gabe continued. “You’re going to make enemies.”

  “I already have,” she said. “At least now I’ll know who they are.”

  #

  It was too early to call Krista… but she had to tell her what she had. Maybe Krista wouldn’t answer her phone. She called, and the phone went straight to voice mail. Scarlet left a message that she was on her way back to town and had something big. She didn’t want to give details on the phone.

  The early-morning drive west into California was uneventful. Dark, quiet, mostly big rigs and an occasional car. By the time she hit the Arizona/California border it was after six in the morning… Scarlet had been up two hours and had slept like shit.

  R.J. had Krista’s back… and her front, too. The sexual vibes had been rolling off those two in waves for months. And ever since she and Krista had come back from Bear Mountain where they helped Krista’s ex-husband resolve his stalking situation, Krista had been spending a lot more time with R.J. Chances were Krista had sex last night. Where was the fairness in that?

  Scarlet wanted to drive straight through to Orange County, but she needed gas… and more coffee. And more aspirin. Some food, too. She wasn’t used to drinking Jack Daniels. A couple, three, four beers? No problem. The hard stuff? Ugh. And since Krista most likely had hot sex last night, Scarlet wouldn’t feel guilty about wakin
g her up.

  She stopped in Blythe. Not quite the halfway mark, but if she filled up her Jeep, she’d have more than enough gas to make it home.

  After fueling up her Jeep and buying aspirin at the gas station, she walked to the Starbuck’s next door and used the restroom. While waiting for the barista to brew fresh coffee—she wasn’t the only early driver on the road—Scarlet stared at the key.

  She still couldn’t forgive Gabe. She’d been shot three times. She nearly died. Her father had aged overnight after the shooting and she worried about him now, even more than when he’d been a cop. She’d lost the respect of people she worked with. She lost her job. She lost her fiancé. She’d lost everything… if it weren’t for Krista, she might never have bounced back.

  She hadn’t really bounced back, not completely. She was obsessed with finding the truth, and she knew it was dangerous. But not knowing was worse.

  Having this key was also dangerous, but it would lead to answers. Just because Gabe didn’t know who was in the photo didn’t mean that she wouldn’t. Or Richardson. Or the feds. The fact that the clerk to a sitting judge was likely up to something meant she couldn’t go to anyone she didn’t explicitly trust. But for the first time, she thought that maybe she should have told her brother what she was doing before she drove out to Arizona.

  She grabbed her Venti black coffee and went back to her Jeep. Gabe had asked who knew she was visiting him. No one—and that was true. But she’d told her landlord, Diego, she was going to be out of town on a case…. What if someone came around asking? Diego wouldn’t intentionally rat her out—they’d been friends for years. But someone who was good at getting information might be able to get it out of him. That still wouldn’t mean they’d know where she was going or when she was going to return.

  She tried Krista again; again the call went to voice mail. This time she didn’t leave a message, but she called R.J. just to make sure everything was kosher. Again, voice mail. Had they found the witness? She hoped so—that might give them the piece that put all the other pieces together.