Maybe Simon was right. She had let her fear and anger over Penny’s death cloud her judgment.
For the first time in a long time, Bella didn’t know what to do. She rarely second-guessed herself, but now? She felt helpless and indecisive.
They had turned off the highway long ago, bumping over rough roads. Hirsch seemed unusually happy with the massacre that just happened. Damien, on the other hand, was distant and quiet. Okay, he was usually quiet, but this was different. He was thinking—and he’d been thinking a lot over the last few days. What was going on with him?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucy filled Nate in on her conversation with Sean. A few moments later, her cell phone rang. It was a 703 area code. Northern Virginia.
“Agent Kincaid,” she answered.
“Lucy, it’s Rick Stockton.”
“Hello, sir.”
“I just got off the phone with JT Caruso. I need you on the task force I’m putting together. Because of a few missteps tonight, DEA Agent Gianna Murphy is going to be taking the lead on the ground in El Paso, but you’ll have as much autonomy as you need. JT said you were already surveilling a trucking company possibly owned by Martin Hirsch or a shell corp suspected to be under his control?”
“Correct. It’s midnight and people are inside the office. No trucks have come in or out in the ninety minutes we’ve been here.”
“Unless you see someone in immediate danger, do not engage. Take pictures, notes and report back to me and Murphy. I’m sending you her contact information.”
“All right.”
“I already spoke to Abigail Durant, she’s on board.”
“I need to clear this with my supervisor,” Lucy said, her heart racing.
“Consider it done. JT said you’ve reached out to Suzanne Madeaux in the New York office?”
“Yes. Hirsch was in prison twice in New York. She’s looking at known associates, details on his arrest.”
“Good. Follow up if you haven’t heard back from Madeaux tomorrow. We need to jump on this. Consider Bella Caruso an FBI asset and we’ll protect her accordingly.”
“Of course.”
“Almost forgot—I’m bringing Kate Donovan up to speed tomorrow morning; if you need anything from headquarters, contact Kate directly. She’ll be my liaison when I’m not available.”
Kate Donovan was her sister-in-law and closest friend. They hadn’t worked together often, but Lucy trusted her explicitly.
She ended the call with Rick. “Promising,” Nate said.
“Rachel is going to hate me.”
“What’s that motivational saying? Ignore the things you can’t control or something?”
“I don’t like not being in control,” Lucy said.
“We have movement.”
Lucy picked up her camera and adjusted the lens. They were parked in a used car lot across from the trucking company, one among many cars, blending in.
The lights from two trucks were heading toward them. The street dead-ended at the trucking company. They were large moving trucks, about half the size of eighteen wheelers.
They passed Lucy and Nate’s hiding place. She shot photos of the side and rear, trying to zoom in on the plates. She’d have to download the pictures and see if she could bring out the numbers, but they looked like Texas plates. There were no markings on the trucks—they were painted white, no logos, no indication of where they were coming from or where they were going.
They stopped at the chain-link gate. A minute later, the gate slid open. The trucks rolled in. The gate closed.
They parked on the far side of the lot, out of sight of Lucy and Nate.
“We need to see what they’re unloading,” Lucy said.
“There’s no way we can get closer without being seen,” Nate said. “Let’s wait.”
Lucy usually had patience, but tonight she was antsy.
Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long. Fifteen minutes later, three windowless black vans left the property. They weren’t the vehicles that had entered. The chain-link gate slid closed behind them. They all had a small logo on the doors to advertise the moving company. She took pictures, then they disappeared from view.
“If the moving trucks were full of people, they couldn’t fit them in three vans.”
“It might not be just to move people, but to bring the trucks here from El Paso.”
“To move people from here to somewhere else?” Lucy asked, though she wasn’t expecting an answer. It made sense. Buy up small companies, move the trucks around, there may be girls in them, maybe not. But either way, they would have a way to transport anyone at any time without suspicion.
But three vans leaving?
She started the car and followed.
“What are you doing?” Nate asked.
“I’ll lose them if I think they notice me,” she said. “But we need information. We can’t break into the moving company because this is now an official FBI investigation. We need a warrant. I’ll come back tomorrow with a cover story.”
“We will come back tomorrow. You need backup.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you on Rachel’s bad side.”
“I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.”
She kept her lights off and followed the vans from a discreet distance. The vans turned right. She waited to see if they were turning left up ahead, which would lead to the southern onramp toward San Antonio. If they went straight they’d be on the frontage road that led to onramp going toward New Braunfels and then Austin.
They turned left.
She pursued. By the time she reached the ramp, they were already on the freeway and far ahead of her.
She turned on her lights and merged. The vans drove in a caravan. It was after one in the morning, traffic was thin. She couldn’t follow as closely as she would like, but Nate kept the vans in sight.
Ten minutes later he said, “They’re getting off at Pine.”
“How can you tell?”
“They all moved over to the right and that’s the next exit.”
“I have an idea.”
She went all the way over to the right and barely got off the freeway before she missed the ramp. She was on the I-10 frontage road and she flew through a yellow light and headed toward the next major street, one mile down, where the vans would be exiting if Nate was right.
Lucy hated driving, but she’d gotten much better over the last two years. Sean had taught her both offensive and defensive skills, even better than her driving class at Quantico.
Her idea paid off. She saw the vans go through the intersection ahead of her heading north on Hackleberry. She was still one light back. By the time she reached the intersection and turned right, she had to speed up to catch up with them.
And they disappeared.
“Where did they go?”
She made a U-turn and slowly drove down the street. She looked down one side, Nate looked down the other. Neither of them saw the vans. Hackleberry was a popular thoroughfare and could take them nearly anywhere in the downtown area, or they could take it north all the way to another freeway.
“Dammit!”
“We have a limited area to search,” Nate said. “We can’t do it now—but in the morning with more people and time? We’ll find them. Let’s get some sleep.”
He was right, but Lucy didn’t like it.
“You did everything I would have done.”
“You don’t think they saw me, do you?”
“No. They didn’t act like they were being followed. If they thought they were, they would have split off in different directions.”
He had a point.
Lucy wanted to keep looking—and she drove slowly down several streets between where she lost them and the logical furthest distance they could have gone in the time it took for her to reach the intersection. If they were here, they were now in a garage. Most everything on the main street was businesses, apartments, a church, a school. Off the main street were residences
and a few businesses. There were alleyways, garages, carports. There was one light industrial street that she drove down twice, but there didn’t appear to be any activity.
“Lucy,” Nate said quietly.
“I know.”
She left the area and drove back to her house. It was late, she needed to sleep, but she feared she’d missed something.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Friday
Lucy got out of the shower and noticed a missed call from Suzanne on her cell phone. She hit redial and Suzanne answered immediately.
“I got some info for you. Ouch!”
“What?”
“Okay, fine, Joe got most of the info. His ego demands credit.” Suzanne laughed at whatever Joe said to her, then said, “I’m sending you sheets on two guys. Over the stints Hirsch did in prison, two guys stand out. One was his first bunkmate, a real jewel. Anton Meyer. Armed robbery, assault, attempted murder, yada yada. In and out of the pen most of his life, active warrant for his arrest on an attempted murder charge three years ago in Jersey. Hey, I’m putting you on speaker with Joe.”
“Lucy?” It was Suzanne’s boyfriend, NYPD Detective Joe DeLucca.
“Hi, Joe. Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. I talked to the detective in charge of the case. We go way back. Meyer’s hired muscle. Dumb as an ox, which is why he got sent up so many times, but this last time they think he had someone bankrolling him. Beat a guy to a pulp, he survived, isn’t talking. Some territory dispute at the ports.”
“Drugs?”
“Here’s the thing—they thought it was drugs, but when they dug into the victim’s life, he was pimping girls. Pimps don’t talk to cops, but they also don’t just walk away from someone muscling in on their territory. Anyway, Meyer has family in Las Vegas, they thought he went there. Sent the file to the locals. Followed up. Meyer was spotted once or twice, but they never nabbed him. Word has it he’s in L.A., but the intel is old.”
“Hirsch was in L.A. up until a month ago,” Lucy said. “Meyer’s wanted—can your Jersey friend send an updated BOLO on him? Something to the effect that he was spotted in Phoenix and may be heading east on I-10. Law enforcement in Arizona, New Mexico and Texas—if we find him, we might be able to sweat him.”
“Was he spotted?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“I’ll mention a CI. That’ll get it out. Dougie will do it for me. Any specific cities you want to hit?”
“El Paso,” she said. “That’s where we think they are now. But hit all cities that I-10 goes through.”
“We’ll get it done.”
“What about the second guy?” Lucy asked.
Suzanne said, “Damien Drake. He’s a few years younger than Hirsch, served far more time. Arrested at eighteen for second-degree murder. Ten years on a ten to twenty sentence.”
“Good behavior?”
“That and his age—word is that he was quiet and kept to himself. No problems. Released and walked—on no one’s radar for years. No current address, no arrests, nothing.”
“Family?”
“None. He was raised in foster care, neither Joe nor I could get any of his records—if they exist. It’s a clusterfuck over there, and files that old? Forget it. No active warrants, arrests, clean slate.”
“Photo?”
“I sent you his mug shot from his arrest, and that’s as current as we’ve got. It’s twenty years old.”
“Why flag Drake at all?”
“I should have led with that—it’s his psych profile. You can thank Joe—again—for nabbing it.”
“Thanks, Joe. What does it say?”
Joe said, “He’s a nutjob.”
Lucy almost laughed. “Okay. But he hasn’t been back in prison.”
“He was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. So, yes, nutjob.”
Lucy was surprised by that. She would have suspected something more sociopathic, like Antisocial Personality Disorder, which had a high incidence of violence, drug use, rape, and a complete disregard for rules and societal norms. BPD might manifest itself in loyalty to someone, but when that person disappointed them, they could become unpredictable. Both APD and BPD could lead to violence, however, and Lucy wished she knew more about Damien Drake’s background to better figure out how the disorder manifested in him.
There were many levels within every personality disorder, and it was one of the most misdiagnosed mental illnesses—and the most difficult to treat.
“Earth to Lucy,” Suzanne said.
“I’m thinking. Can you send me those files?”
“Already in your inbox,” Suzanne said.
“Thanks, Suz. This helps.”
“Are you sure? Because it’s not much. I can’t confirm either of them has been in contact with Hirsch since prison.”
“I’ll pass their names and faces along. We have some intel from last night, we have a task force and will be comparing notes later this morning. Anything else on Hirsch and his arrest?”
“That one’s harder,” Joe said.
Suzanne added, “It was a joint operation, and no one seems to have all the details. I’m meeting a friend of mine in the DEA for drinks tonight who’s bringing along the operational leader who’s retired and in private security for a bank or something. I’ll see what I can learn.”
“I appreciate it, both of you. Stockton is putting together a task force, he knows we’re talking, so you’ll probably get a call.”
“Sweet. Anytime I can do a favor for the AD, count me in.”
Lucy hung up. It had gotten late while she was talking to Suzanne. She quickly dressed, pulled her thick damp hair back into a ponytail, and ran out of the house without eating. While on the one hand she was still angry about Rachel pulling her cold case from her, she didn’t want to be late and give her boss yet another excuse to give her crap assignments.
On her way to the office, San Antonio Detective Tia Mancini called her. Lucy was surprised she had information so soon.
“I had it last night,” Tia said, “but I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“I didn’t get in until late. What do you have?”
“I pushed Victoria, she’ll meet with us this afternoon. Three o’clock. She’ll call with the location fifteen minutes before we meet.”
“Paranoid?”
“She doesn’t like cops, though we have a cordial relationship.”
“I’ll make it happen. Thanks, Tia.”
Lucy pulled into FBI headquarters at quarter to eight.
Only Zach Charles, the squad analyst, was there. She chatted with him for a minute, then poured coffee. The office coffee was barely drinkable—stereotypical bad cop coffee—but Lucy hadn’t had time for more than one cup at home and she needed the jolt. She went to her desk and pulled out an energy bar.
She first used her personal phone to send the names, mugshots, and basic information she’d received from Joe and Suzanne on Meyer and Drake along to Sean and JT. She added her own notes about how none of this meant that they were with Hirsch, but Meyer was known to be in L.A. at the same time as Hirsch, and Drake’s psych profile made her suspicious.
Lucy’s best guess was that Hirsch already had a player in San Antonio. He wouldn’t come here without an in or at least a meeting set up, and the best person to know who was new or who had made a deal would be someone involved for a long time. She was putting her money on Victoria, and hoped she could get her to talk. Otherwise, they’d have to go after the pimps Mona Hill had fingered, and that would take more manpower and time—time Lucy didn’t think Bella had at this point.
Lucy pulled up the psych profile on Damien Drake to read more carefully, then heard her name.
“Kincaid.”
It was Rachel, standing at the end of the aisle that led to the eight cubicles that housed the agents in their squad.
When Lucy caught her eye, Rachel said, “My office.”
What had she done this time? Was this about Rick’s task
force?
She followed Rachel into her office. Without asking, she shut the door.
“Sit,” Rachel said.
Lucy sat.
“Why did you go to Austin last night?”
Lucy couldn’t keep the shock from her face. “How did you know I was in Austin?”
“Just answer the question.”
“It was personal.”
“I want to know why.”
“I don’t have to tell you what I do on my personal time.”
Lucy had been so careful last night. She was concerned that she hadn’t caught onto Jason’s tail the other day—that he was so good that he could avoid her sixth sense of being watched—that she’d been hypervigilant. And she had Nate with her to make sure she wasn’t losing her edge.
Except they were followed. That meant tag team, at least two people, to avoid either her or Nate noticing anything suspicious.
“You’re a sworn agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, you need to answer for your conduct on and off duty.”
“What is it you think I did?”
“I want the truth.”
It had been Nate’s idea to stop by and see Ryan. Lucy didn’t know whether it was because he thought she’d be questioned about her whereabouts, or if it was sincerely a spontaneous idea.
“Nate and I went to visit Ryan Quiroz.”
She raised an eyebrow, then picked up her phone. She dialed a number and put the phone on speaker.
Nate answered.
“Dunning here.”
“This is Rachel Vaughn. What were you and Agent Kincaid doing in Austin last night?”
There was a long pause.
“Agent Dunning?” Rachel repeated.
“We went to see Ryan’s new digs, had dinner. Is there a problem, ma’am?”
“Thank you.” She ended the call and stared at Lucy. “I think you went to Austin because of a Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid investigation, not an FBI investigation and not to visit Ryan. I think you either convinced Agent Dunning to lie for you, or didn’t tell him why you were there. My guess? He went along with it because he’s former military and he has an odd sense of loyalty to your family.”
Lucy was so angry her fists tightened, and it was all she could do to remain seated. “Do not call Nate a liar.”
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