Except Leila was still here, protecting a company that had killed Jessica.
The fact that she hadn’t known about it didn’t matter. The fact that he liked her more with every moment he spent in her company didn’t matter. All that mattered was using whatever means necessary to keep her trust and find the person responsible.
So, he forced a slow, knowing smile and added, “I can’t help finding you attractive.”
Her lips parted like she was going to say something, but he didn’t give her a chance. Instead, he continued. “I am keeping up my end of the deal. I told you I wanted more information on Eric Ross.”
Her head swung toward him, a frown already in place that told him he’d guessed correctly: she and Eric had a history that went way beyond the company. His plan had worked, to distract her from the real issue—whether he was telling her everything. Because of course he wasn’t. And he never would.
The jolt of jealousy at her reaction surprised him, but he ignored it and pressed on. “Unless that’s what this is really about? You don’t want me digging up dirt on your ex?”
She sputtered for a second, then frowned harder. “Just how involved is your file on me? You know who I dated when I was a teenager?”
Davis hadn’t known anything about it, but sensing that her anger might lead to answers, he shrugged, gave a vague answer. “We’re the FBI. We try to learn everything we can about suspects in active cases.”
“Suspects?” Leila said. “I thought we were past that.”
“We are,” Davis said, drawing his answers out, long and slow, the opposite of her fast-paced words. “But we had to start at the top, Leila. We know a lot about you.”
A flush rose high on her cheeks. “Does that mean you know how Eric befriended me after I pushed everyone else away after my mom died? How he got me help before I really hurt myself? How he dropped out of my life with no explanation when I graduated from high school? Or how he’s been calling me every night since my dad died just to make sure I don’t fall back into that same depression?”
The jealousy shifted, turned into appreciation that Eric had been there when Leila needed him, despite their history. Davis had seen her strong mask crack, seen how much she missed her father, how she was quietly grieving him. But he couldn’t imagine Leila depressed or self-destructive. The thought actually made his stomach hurt.
Leila’s voice wobbled just a little, then anger came through again. “Why does the FBI need to know about the hardest things in my life? Is it so you can use it all against me?”
Instantly regretting his tactics, Davis resisted reaching out for her hand. “We don’t have any of that in a file, Leila.”
Not really, anyway. The file had told him her mother died twenty years ago, but he hadn’t known anything about Eric. “I just guessed that you’d dated Eric from the way he talks to you, the way he looks at you.”
“Oh.” She stared down at her lap, then back at him. There was confusion on her face, but something else, too, something that looked too much like hope.
His gut clenched in response, a mix of guilt and nerves. It was one thing to take on an enemy who was an obvious threat, someone aiming a weapon back at him. It was totally different to try to earn someone’s trust when he knew he might have to betray that trust in the end.
But this was the job. His colleague Kane did it all the time. The agent seemed to thrive on it. If it meant getting justice for Jessica, it was what Davis had to do too.
Trying to hold the guilt at bay, Davis unhooked his seat belt and shifted so he was facing her more fully. “How are you holding up since your dad died?”
Her forehead furrowed, like she was trying to gauge his sincerity. Then she sighed and said, “My dad and I are—were—like best friends. In some ways it was just the two of us. My mom died when I was ten. I’ve never met her family except for a few cousins over video chat. They’re all back in Pakistan. My mom moved here for my dad and mostly lost touch when she did. They never really forgave her for leaving. His family is...not so great. Except for my uncle. My uncle is wonderful. He helped get me through losing my mom back then, and he’s helping me get through losing my dad now.”
She heaved out another sigh and leaned back against the seat. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Of course he had to stand up to that mugger.” She let out a bitter laugh. “That’s my dad. Never give in to anyone.”
Davis’s chest constricted at the pain in her voice. He understood Neal Petrov’s response. The police report said Neal had been armed, carrying a small Petrov Armor pistol hidden at the small of his back. Apparently, it wasn’t unusual, and he had a concealed carry license. He’d probably thought the mugger was no real threat. Probably figured he could pull the gun, warn the guy off. Instead, he’d gotten shot. “He sounds tough.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Not with me. He was...” She shrugged. “A softie.”
“You were his only daughter.”
Still not looking at him, she nodded. “When my mom died, he lost it. Just withdrew from everything and everyone—including me.”
Davis frowned. No wonder she’d sunk into depression. At ten she’d lost her mom, and her dad hadn’t been there for her. “I’m glad you met Eric then.”
She looked over at him, surprise on her features. “I didn’t meet Eric for another three years. But my uncle stepped up. Before that, Uncle Joel was...” A wistful, amused smile tilted one side of her mouth, then dropped off. “Flighty, I guess. He was always off chasing women and fun. Not that he ever stopped that. But when he saw how checked out Dad was, he stepped in. Practically raised me for a few years, practically ran the business too, until Dad got it together. That’s when my dad and I really got close. Right before my dad got it together was when I met Eric.”
“Your uncle ran the business for a while?”
“Yeah. He spent so much time dealing with Dad’s job that he lost his own.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t work for the company before that. He was a sales rep at a pharmaceutical company. But when my dad got himself together, he gave Uncle Joel a job.”
Davis nodded, trying to sound casual when he asked, “After all that, why didn’t your dad convince the board of directors to appoint your uncle as CEO when he stepped down?”
Leila frowned. “What makes you think my dad talked them into that decision?”
“Are you telling me he didn’t? He was the largest shareholder, wasn’t he, before he died?” Before those shares had been split up between Leila and Joel.
“Yes,” Leila admitted. “But—”
“So why not push for your uncle to take on the role?” Was there any lingering resentment on the uncle’s part? Maybe enough to sabotage the business, even all these years later?
Leila laughed. “Uncle Joel, CEO? No way. I mean, obviously he was the de facto CEO for a few years when I was a kid. He can do it. He even grew the business. But he doesn’t want to. Never has. He likes being COO. Gives him security and a say in the company’s direction, but not all of the responsibility.”
“How does he feel about reporting to you?”
She shrugged. “Fine. It’s a little weird. He is my uncle, after all. But he’s great about it. A lot better than some of the others.”
“Like Theresa Quinn?” The head of Petrov Armor’s R and D had struck him as less than thrilled about Leila’s leadership.
“How’d you guess?” Leila sighed. “She’s not the only one. But they all know me. They all know how much I care about the business, about my father’s legacy.” She gave him a hard look. “They know how hard I worked for this position. They’ll come around eventually.”
There was less confidence in her last words, so Davis said, “I’m sure they will.”
Her expression turned pensive. But as she stared at h
im, the worry in her gaze slowly softened. Her lips parted and he could hear her swallow, and suddenly the vehicle felt way too hot.
Then she was leaning toward him, her eyes dropping closed.
He felt his body sway forward in response, and his hand reached up to cup her cheek as his own lips parted in anticipation of touching hers. But sanity returned before the distance between them disappeared.
Jerking away, Davis couldn’t quite hold her gaze. “I should probably get going. Call me if you need anything or if you have any thoughts about the case, okay?”
She blinked back at him, confusion and embarrassment in her stare. Then, she blinked again and it was gone, replaced with a hard professionalism. “Good night, Davis.”
She stepped out of his vehicle, walked up the stone pathway to her house and let herself inside without a backward glance.
* * *
HE WAS AN IDIOT.
Leila Petrov had been inches from kissing him and he’d backed away. Now, not only had he missed out on the chance to taste her, he’d blown the tenuous trust they’d been building. But that was a professional line he couldn’t cross.
Besides, she’d been vulnerable. And he’d been lying. Every moment he spent with her was a lie, because even though she knew he was there to find out the truth about the defective armor, she had no idea how badly he needed to see someone punished for it. She had no idea that regardless of whether she’d been involved, he would always hold her responsible, since she ran the company.
He liked her. Too much, probably. He didn’t want to use her. Not even to help the investigation. Not even to avenge Jessica’s death.
Davis slammed his fist on the top of the steering wheel as he drove away from Leila’s house. His body was telling him to turn around, knock on her door and come clean with her. His mind was telling him he needed to do the same thing, for the sake of the case.
But he couldn’t do it. She’d had too much loss and betrayal in her life already. He wasn’t about to add to it.
His cell phone rang and Davis hit the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel, eyes still on the road. He glanced at the dashboard screen, an apology already on his lips. But he swallowed it as he realized the name on the display. Melinda Larsen was calling him. Not Leila.
The surge of disappointment he felt surprised him as Melinda asked, “Hello? Davis, are you there?”
“Yeah.” His voice didn’t sound quite right, so he cleared his throat. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“Kane and I have been looking through Petrov Armor’s potential illegal gun sales, as you know.”
That was quite a partnership. Even though they sat in the same briefings all the time, Davis couldn’t imagine quietly confident Melinda Larsen and now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t Kane Bradshaw working a case together. “Did you find anything?”
“Maybe. We’ve got photos from a joint FBI-ATF gang case. Illegal arms sales were only a peripheral part of the case, but we were running anything we could find, no matter how small. One of those things was a partial plate on a Lexus that showed up in a photo. The driver isn’t visible and we’ve only got part of the vehicle, but the partial matches up to Theresa Quinn, head of—”
“Research and development at Petrov Armor,” Davis finished. “But a partial plate? How partial?”
“It’s not a slam dunk, not even close. Hundreds of red Lexuses match this partial. But in Tennessee? On the edge of a gang meeting?”
“What do you mean by the edge of a meeting?” Davis asked as he changed lanes, heading toward the TCD office instead of home.
“It’s possible it’s not connected. But again, a Lexus in this part of town? Right near where a gang member was meeting up with someone for a gun sale?”
“Who made the sale?” Davis asked.
“We don’t know. They never showed. ATF said they think the guy got spooked. Or the gal, if this vehicle really does belong to Theresa Quinn.”
“Anything else?” Davis asked hopefully. It did sound like a potential lead. Theresa definitely didn’t seem to respect Leila, maybe a result of working with her father for years in illegal sales without the young CEO realizing it?
“I’m coming into the office,” Davis told Melinda.
“Good. Kane and I are still wading through case files, but we’d love to hear how you’re faring on the inside.”
“Having a lot more fun, I’m sure.” Kane’s voice carried from the background.
“Not really,” Davis muttered. Before Melinda could ask, he said, “I’ll be there in two,” and hung up.
He made it in one minute, and found Kane and Melinda sitting on opposite sides of the long conference table where the team had its morning briefings. Each had a laptop open, and Davis wondered how many hours they’d managed to work together without actually talking.
“There’s a reason Petrov Armor has never been charged,” Kane told him. “If they’re selling guns on the side to criminals—which I think they are—they’re savvy.”
A hard ball of dread made Davis’s stomach cramp. It should have been good news—not that Petrov Armor was talented at avoiding prosecution, but that there was another route to try to collect evidence. But all Davis could think of was the conviction in Leila’s face when she’d told him it wasn’t their armor. The hope in her eyes when she’d suggested maybe the armor had been switched after it had been shipped out of their facility.
She truly believed the core of her company was good. It looked like she was very, very wrong.
“Undercover work is tough, isn’t it?” Melinda asked, making Davis realize she could probably read every one of his emotions.
Suddenly Kane’s attention was fixed on him, too, and Davis forced a shrug. Tried to push Leila out of his mind. “It’s a big company. But the number of people who could have pulled off both illegal gun sales and defective armor shipments is probably pretty low. Assuming we think it’s the same person.”
“Someone in power,” Kane agreed. “Possibly more than one person, since we still think it’s pretty likely Neal Petrov was involved when he was alive. Who’s on your short list for his partner in crime?”
“Obviously Theresa Quinn is on our list,” Melinda said, then looked at Davis. “What about Neal’s brother, Joel?”
“Maybe,” Davis hedged, not liking the idea that both Leila’s father and her uncle might be criminals. But he tried to think objectively. “Neal and Joel could have been in it together all along. After Neal’s wife died, Joel managed everything for a few years, so maybe he handled the criminal side for his brother, too. Maybe that’s why Neal kept his brother on after he was ready to return to work.”
Melinda’s eyebrows rose. “That’s promising. Although that red Lexus still seems awfully coincidental.”
“Who else?” Kane asked. “What about the head of sales?”
“Eric Ross.” Leila’s ex. A man who’d broken her heart years ago, but had called her every night for the past three weeks to make sure she was okay after her father’s death. “Also possible. He’s got access to everything, and his job takes him out of the office a lot. It probably wouldn’t raise eyebrows if he took samples with him, saying they were for sales calls demos. Maybe he used that as a way to get bigger quantities out. He was really close to Neal Petrov, so they could have definitely been partners.”
“Even though the most obvious answer initially looked like Neal’s daughter was working with him, Leila seemed genuinely shocked in that interview,” Melinda said. “A year ago, she was the one who initiated the shutdown of the gun side of their business to focus on the armor. No way she’d do that if she was making tons of money from guns off-book.”
“Leila’s not involved.” The words came out of his mouth before he could pull them back, but Davis knew they were true.
Kane lifted an eyebrow, but all he said was, “Have you considered that her dad put her in char
ge because she’d never suspect him of wrongdoing? That she’d be easier to fool? Seems like it backfired when she shut down the gun part of the business, but he still had a tidy fall girl.”
Melinda frowned. “That’s pretty heartless.”
“Yeah, well, have you read the guy’s file?” Kane shoved a manila folder across the table, and Davis snagged it.
“What is this?” Most of the FBI’s files were computerized, unless they were so old they hadn’t been transitioned over. But this looked like a PD file.
“Police file on Neal Petrov’s mugging is in there somewhere. I just skimmed that. But there’s also a really old file from a welfare check. A neighbor called it in twenty years ago, saying a ten-year-old girl—Leila—had been on her own for a week. Police checked it out, and even though the girl claimed everything was fine and her dad had just run out, the state of the house said otherwise. They were going to call Children’s Services, but the girl’s uncle showed up and smoothed things over.”
“Neal’s wife had just died,” Davis said, his shoulders slumping as he read the details of a dirty, hungry Leila, alone and trying hard to be brave when police had arrived.
Knowing things had turned out okay and feeling like he was spying on a part of her life she hadn’t given him permission to see, Davis turned to the report on the mugging.
It was brief, but this report had ended much worse. Davis started to close the file when a small detail caught his eye. He swore, sitting up straighter, and read it again.
“What is it?” Kane asked.
“I don’t think this was a random mugging.” Davis looked at Kane, then Melinda. “I think Neal Petrov was murdered.”
Chapter Six
“Neal Petrov was murdered?” Kane asked. “That’s not what the report said.”
“The official story is that someone tried to mug Neal, he went for his gun and the mugger shot him. But they never caught the mugger,” Davis said.
“So what?” Kane demanded. “He was in an area that had seen a rash of muggings. It was inevitable that it would get violent eventually. If he was trying to pull a gun, probably the mugger panicked and shot first.”
Secret Investigation (Tactical Crime Division Book 2) Page 6