Exposed

by Laura Griffin

  “That, too,” he agreed. “Anyway, for whatever reason, the image may not be providing enough detail for the program to work.”

  “Not enough landmarks.”

  “Exactly.”

  She looked at the computer screen and turned the issue over in her head. She thought about all the photographs she took at weddings and bar mitzvahs and the digital albums she uploaded for her clients. She thought about Hannah posting her engagement pictures to her personal blog.

  “What if we try a different approach?” She looked at Brian. “What about social media? You said Interpol has millions of photos in its database, but think about Facebook. What do they have, like, a billion users?”

  Ben leaned back in his chair and stroked his goatee. “Not a bad idea. We could upload the picture.”

  “And see if any tags pop up,” she said, feeling a spark of excitement.

  But it quickly faded.

  “It’s not going to work,” she said. “It’s only going to suggest tags based on people who are already associated with someone’s profile. How do we know Mladovic even has an account? And how do we know he takes pictures of his friends? We’re talking about the mastermind of a criminal enterprise. I doubt he has time to screw around on the Internet.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Ben said. “Maybe he spends hours a day looking at porn. Is this guy married?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then even if he doesn’t have an account, I bet his wife does.”

  “Maybe,” Maddie said, thinking about it. Would Mladovic want his wife using social media? Possibly, if her socializing was good PR for his business. “But even if she does have an account, how on earth would we gain access to it? I don’t even know her name.”

  Ben smiled as he clicked onto a search engine and started typing away. “Maddie, Maddie, Maddie . . .” He shook his head. “How long have we been friends?”

  “You think you can crack her password? A woman whose name you don’t even know?”

  “Give me fifteen minutes,” he said. “I bet I can tell you what she ate for breakfast.”

  Brian glanced at the skeptical faces around the conference table. He looked like shit. He knew that. And he wasn’t winning any popularity contests by calling an urgent meeting on Saturday afternoon, but he had a break in the case.

  The challenge was going to be convincing everyone else of his theory.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” Cabrera said, sinking into a chair at the head of the table. He gave Brian a hard look. “What have you got?”

  Brian scooted up to the table and made eye contact with everyone: Sam, Elizabeth, Hicks. Another agent had Maddie duty, and two more from the team were busy covering Mladovic.

  “I spent the last forty-five minutes on the phone with Immigration and Customs Enforcement,” Brian said. “Turns out, all four girls in this picture”—he held up the photograph of Katya, Jolene, Heidi, and Nicole—“made multiple trips across the border into Mexico the summer before their freshman year of college.”

  Everyone’s attention zeroed in on the picture.

  “So what?” Cabrera said. “These girls were friends, and kids go down there all the time.”

  “Yeah, but I’m focused on why they go down there,” Brian said.

  “Bar hopping, shopping, hitting the beach,” Elizabeth said.

  “Let’s look at the shopping. Lot of kids—and adults, for that matter—go down there looking for drugs. Besides marijuana, I mean. I’m talking about steroids, painkillers, rave drugs, you name it. The pharmacies sell pretty much everything, and you don’t need a legitimate prescription.”

  At the word prescription, everyone perked up. The entire investigation had started with the DEA looking into Mladovic’s script-writing practices.

  “You’re saying these girls were smuggling prescription drugs?” Sam asked.

  “It fits,” Brian said. “Customs is looking for the big guys—people coming over with their tires and fuel tanks packed with coke. Couple of teenagers in bikinis coming back from a day trip? They don’t get as much notice.”

  “But how does this connect to Mladovic?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Timing.” Brian slid the photo across the table toward her. “Their first trip on record was five years ago, not long after the state board first notified Mladovic that he was under investigation. He was looking for a way to feed his patients’ habits without drawing more attention to himself.”

  “But how would he make any money at that?” she asked. “They’re not just giving stuff away down there.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t at first,” Brian said. “Maybe initially, it was just a matter of filling a gap in his supply chain.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair. “And then he realized the potential and decided to start making his own product.”

  Cabrera tapped his pencil on his legal pad, still looking unconvinced. “You don’t just decide to start manufacturing this stuff.”

  “Right, but we know he did, at some point. We have the trace evidence from the converted tannery. Who owns that land, by the way?” Brian looked at Sam.

  “Some rancher, about a hundred and fifty years old. He’s got around five thousand acres and a couple of gas wells. I bet he had no clue someone was out there using his warehouse until it burned to the ground.”

  “Back up,” Elizabeth said. “You’re saying he gets the idea to start importing phony pharmaceuticals—”

  “The drugs are real,” Brian corrected. “It’s the labels that are phony. Often, they’re made to look like name brands.”

  “Okay, knockoffs, then. Whatever. So you’re saying he starts bringing these in and then decides to start manufacturing them himself to supply his list of patients?”

  “Sounds like a lucrative enterprise,” Sam said. “But where does he get the ingredients? Opium derivatives are controlled substances.”

  “We need to find out,” Brian said. “My guess is he’s got an in with some of the pharmaceutical companies he used to purchase from. Maybe someone’s funneling him some of the hard-to-obtain materials so he can make his product.”

  “Problem is, he’s poaching on the turf of all the major cartels,” Cabrera said. “Which might explain Katya.”

  Brian looked at his boss and felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Cabrera got it. Brian could see it on his face.

  “That’s my theory,” Brian said. “Saledo got wind of what he was doing and had Mladovic’s daughter executed. Only he set it up like a drug overdose to send a message.”

  Silence settled over the table.

  “Back to the girls,” Elizabeth said. “How many of these trips did they make?”

  Brian flipped open his notepad and checked the notes he’d made while on the phone. “Six trips over a ten-month period, which would have been their freshman year of college. After that, they stopped going—at least, according to what we know. But I think they still played a role in this. I think that’s why Mladovic’s been systematically tracking them down and having them killed.”

  “What role? Why?” Elizabeth looked frustrated.

  “Think about it,” Brian said. “These girls were spread out across four major college campuses. They were tapped into a whole new market.”

  “You mean—”

  “They were his dealers. And now that Katya’s dead, he’s decided to cut them out.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The champagne was flowing, the dance floor was hopping, and Todd Jennings’s wedding guests were doing their best to help him celebrate his third trip to the altar.

  Maddie, meanwhile, was doing her best to ignore the FBI agent who had been watching her all night as she made her way around the ballroom of Sierra Vista Country Club.

  She turned to see the wedding planner charging toward her, clipboard in hand. He halted in mid-stride to mutter something into a headset. Then his gaze snapped to Maddie.

  “T minus ten. You ready?”

  “All set,” she said.

  “You s
ure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  The man was the best in the business, but he was über-intense and treated each reception like a shuttle launch.

  “Okay, don’t forget the flower girl. She is simply adorable, and we want a shot of her throwing rose petals at the limousine. And the maid of honor. She’s a new client, so be sure to get her, too.”

  “They’re on my list.” Maddie lifted her clipboard to reassure him. Pain zinged up her arm, and she did her best not to wince. “Really, I’ve got it under control.”

  His mouth dropped open. “No!”

  It took her a moment to realize he was talking to someone on the phone. He turned on his heel and dashed away to take care of some mini catastrophe.

  Maddie’s gaze landed on a waiter passing out flutes of champagne. Drinking on the job was taboo—right up there with going through the buffet line to load up on crab cakes—but she felt tempted tonight. In addition to the typical wedding-reception stress, she was juggling the added anxiety of an injured arm and an FBI babysitter.

  Not to mention her ex-husband, who had been eyeing her all night from the side of his very pregnant wife.

  “How’s the gunshot wound?”

  Maddie took a deep breath and turned around. “Hello, Mitch.”

  “I hear you’re having a rough week.”

  Mitch looked dapper as always in his designer suit. His expression held a mix of concern and curiosity as he tipped back his scotch and soda.

  Maddie looped her camera around her neck. “How’d you hear about my injury?”

  “Bumped into your ER doc over at the Ale House.”

  The Ale House was a hangout near the hospital where doctors, paramedics, and other medical personnel liked to blow off steam. Evidently, the grapevine was humming once again.

  “They get you stitched up okay?”

  “Sure did.” She pasted a smile on her face as Mitch glanced at her arm. She was wearing an outfit that concealed the bandage—a black silk shirt and matching pencil skirt, her go-to ensemble for weddings.

  “Police have any leads?” Mitch asked.

  “They’re working on it.”

  He shook his head. “That’s the problem with working nights.”

  Maddie bit back a retort. She was determined not to bicker, even though that condescending tone of his grated on her nerves.

  “Well, I guess business is good. I see you’ve got a new assistant?”

  He nodded at the FBI agent who was standing in the corner impersonating a potted plant. The man had a camera around his neck, but the prop might have been more convincing if he’d managed to snap a few pictures during the course of the evening.

  “Yep, booming,” she said cheerfully, scanning the ballroom for a photo op that needed her attention. She turned back to Mitch, and he was giving her a look she recognized.

  “So. Where’s Danielle?”

  “Another pit stop. You know how it is.”

  Being pregnant, he meant.

  God, would this night ever be over? Maddie searched for an escape. Her gaze landed on Brian, and her heart lurched. What was he doing here? He stood beside the door to the balcony, with his shoulder propped against the wall. His gaze met hers, and she felt a jolt of heat from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

  “So Maddie—”

  “Excuse me.” She abandoned Mitch and crossed the ballroom. Brian followed her with his gaze. He had that way of standing, that way of being, that was utterly relaxed and yet completely alert at the same time. He’d probably made a good soldier, she thought randomly, and then hated the idea. She could see him being calm and clear-headed in battle but fiercely determined at the same time.

  She stopped in front of him just as the band completed a song.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked over the applause.

  “Starting my shift.”

  “But—” She glanced over her shoulder and saw the agent who’d been assigned to her slipping out of the ballroom. “I thought LeBlanc was on later tonight.”

  “She had a conflict.”

  Something in his tone seemed to challenge her, and Maddie searched his face, trying to read whether he was lying. He’d spent the past two evenings on her sofa, watching ESPN into the wee hours of the night, or maybe through the night. She wasn’t sure he’d ever actually gone to sleep. The few times she’d crept past the living room, he’d been sprawled back on her couch, arm tucked behind his head, transfixed by the television. He hadn’t been intrusive. He’d stayed out of her way. But his continued presence was making her edgy. Now that she was caught up on framing projects and housework and e-mails, she didn’t know what to do with herself. The idea of curling up on the sofa to watch sports with him seemed far too relationship-y.

  “How’s your arm tonight?”

  “Fine.”

  His gaze moved down her body and lingered on her black slingbacks. Maddie’s skin heated, and she would have bet money he was thinking about sex.

  “Where’s your gun?” he asked.

  Or maybe not. Maybe she was the one who couldn’t shake the memory of him sliding those shoes off her feet.

  “I—” She cleared her throat. “It’s in my camera bag. Why?”

  “You should keep it with you.”

  His voice was tinged with disapproval, and she started to get defensive but then changed her mind. He was right. Instead of arguing, she led him to the spot where she’d left the equipment and started gathering things up. Brian collapsed her tripod, and she tucked it under her arm like an umbrella.

  “You ready? I’m parked out back, by the kitchen.”

  “I’m not ready at all.” She glanced at her watch. T minus four minutes. And damn it, now she was doing it. “I’ve got to get set up at the porte cochere.” She started toward the door, but he caught her arm.

  “The who?”

  “The place where the limo’s waiting.” She darted her gaze to the ballroom entrance as guests started streaming out to line up along the hallway and throw rose petals. “I need a shot of the newlyweds driving away. It’s for the end of the wedding album.”

  Brian glanced at doorway, and Maddie could tell he didn’t like the plan. She shook off his arm.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Stick close to me,” he ordered. “And don’t go outside.”

  Maddie tamped down her annoyance as she made her way through the guests flocking down the carpeted corridor. As they neared the foyer, she was relieved to see that the bride and groom hadn’t made their appearance yet, so she still had time to set up the shot. She hurried for the door, but Brian clamped her on the shoulder.

  “Hey, I said inside.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I need them climbing into the limo.”

  “Use your zoom lens.”

  Maddie glared at him, but the hard set of his jaw told her it was no use. This was one of those my-way-or-the-highway moments that had been popping up with infuriating frequency over the last few days.

  A flash of movement caught her eye, and she spotted the wedding coordinator waving at her from the other end of the corridor. He tapped his watch frantically and held up three fingers. T minus three! Prepare for liftoff!

  The lights flickered. She glanced up at the chandelier, and the room was plunged into darkness. A collective gasp went up from the crowd.

  Brian cursed.

  “What the—”

  “Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her away from the crowd.

  “Where are we going?”

  He didn’t answer, simply towed her through the darkness as if he knew precisely where he was going. One by one, cell phones flickered on and penetrated the black. Everyone was chattering excitedly, but she was moving too fast to catch the words. Brian stopped and pushed open a door. He maneuvered her into a storage closet, then squeezed in behind her. The door thudded shut.

  “What—”

  “Quiet.”

  A bluish glow filled the room as he lifted hi
s phone to his ear. Maddie glanced around and saw that they were wedged in amid stacks of chairs.

  “Bruce? It’s Beckman. Where are you?” He listened a moment, and the tense lines of his face sent a chill racing down Maddie’s spine. “I’ll be right there.”

  The room went dark again.

  “Stay here,” he ordered.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see what’s happening. You have your pistol?”

  “Wait! What’s going on? Who’s Bruce?”

  “Stay here, even if the lights come back on.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it, Maddie. Don’t move.”

  When Brian returned to the closet fifteen minutes later, he found Maddie sitting on a chair, legs crossed, in the pitch dark. She jumped to her feet.

  “What happened?”

  “Power surge.” He grabbed her camera bag off the ground and picked up the tripod.

  “Power surge. That’s it?”

  “Yeah.”

  She dodged past him into the hallway and rushed to the foyer. Guests were milling around, talking. She stopped and stared down at the flower petals strewn across the floor.

  “I’m parked in back,” he reminded her.

  The look she shot him was venomous. She strode past him down the hallway and into the kitchen. He followed. The room was even steamier than it had been earlier, when he’d made his initial walkthrough of the facility. Half a dozen workers were lined up at sinks, washing dishes with big hoses. The employee exit was propped open with a milk crate, and several waiters in tuxedos were having a smoke. Brian snagged Maddie’s arm before she reached the door.

  “Hold up.” He moved her behind him and stepped out to scan the vicinity around the exit. Then he put his hand on her back and guided her to the Taurus parked in the loading bay.

  Maddie slid into the car without comment as Brian dumped her equipment in the backseat.

  So she was pissed. Okay. He probably should have gone to retrieve her sooner, but he’d wanted to confirm that the power outage was nothing more than a technical glitch. He scanned the surrounding area now as he walked around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.