Colby Control

by Debra Webb

  “What she took, dear naive Nora, was by far more precious than money.” He sneered at her, sheer hatred glittering in his eyes.

  Her senses moved to a higher level of alert. He couldn’t possibly know.

  “She took my child.”

  Chapter Eight

  2:00 a.m.

  “Run that back on visual search.” Ted’s gut clenched as the tech did as he requested.

  The hotel’s security system was top-notch. The video footage of the two men entering the room where Friedman and Vandiver had been was clear and crisp. The intruders had used what looked like a hotel key card for access. But Ted was well aware the card could have been acquired elsewhere. Technology could never outrun those determined to breach or otherwise dissect it. Friedman had used a similar technology earlier tonight.

  Less than three minutes after entering the room the two intruders had escorted Friedman and Vandiver to the elevator. Ted was surprised by that. The likelihood that other guests would be on the elevators was great, whereas the stairwells were more often deserted.

  The bastards were either damned cocky or felt confident that they had nothing to worry about. That was the most disturbing part.

  Ted glanced at the security surveillance booth’s open door, where Camille Soto stood just beyond hearing range, deep in conversation on her cell phone. She looked tired and frustrated. Maybe a little scared.

  But she hadn’t once brought up the subject of reporting the incident to the police. Instead, she’d insisted on seeing what she could learn off the record.

  “You want to watch it again?”

  Ted pulled his attention back to the screen where the tech had played the same seven minutes over and over. “Once more.”

  As the four on the surveillance video reached the basement-level parking garage, Friedman had given the guy attempting to force her into the car one hell of a hard time. A smile nudged at Ted’s lips. If it hadn’t been two against one—two armed men at that—she likely would have gotten away clean.

  While Vandiver hadn’t resisted in the least. Ted rolled the idea around in his head even as he watched those final moments a fifth time. Maybe the guy was afraid of injuring his hands. Or just afraid.

  Soto stepped into the small, gadget-packed room. “The license plate gave us nothing.”

  The plate had been captured on the video. For the good it had done, apparently. “Thanks for nudging your Las Vegas PD contacts at this hour.”

  “What do we do now?” Her worried gaze locked on the final frame of the surveillance video and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as if to hold back a desperate sound.

  Ted gave the tech a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.” He gestured to the door. “Why don’t we go to your office,” he said to Soto.

  She nodded, then led the way. They’d been there once already this morning. Ted had more questions. He wanted her in that office, surrounded by all the photos—particularly the two of her and Vandiver together—where her reactions would be less guarded.

  Her well-appointed office had a perfect view of the main gaming floor. The glass wall behind her desk was a two-way mirror. She could see those below but all they saw, if and when they peered upward, was reflective glass.

  Framed photos and certificates lined another wall. Comfort and luxury were the themes surrounding Ms. Soto’s position of authority. A position that not only encouraged but also required that she know her clients as well as her competition. Vegas was a large city, no question, but the world of casino management was small. The players knew each other. Made it a point to become familiar with the each other’s associates.

  The moment the surveillance video had been played the first time, Ted had noted the recognition in Camille Soto’s eyes. She did know the men who’d taken Friedman and Vandiver. The question was, why wasn’t she cooperating with Ted? If she wanted her lover back safely, why delay his reaction to the overt move?

  Unless there was an agenda she preferred not to share.

  He settled into the chair in front of her desk. “I’ve spoken at length with my colleagues in Chicago,” he began. “At this point I believe it would be in Dr. Vandiver’s best interest to contact the authorities.”

  Her eyes widened with fear but she quickly schooled her expression. “But we haven’t received a ransom demand. If this is another escapade of his wife’s, contacting the police may only end up news fodder.”

  Dig that hole a little deeper, lady. “But,” Ted challenged, “you said that Ms. Vandiver’s confrontation with you was the only incident of that nature. That being the case, I’m having trouble making the leap to this abduction being her doing.”

  An unnecessary survey of her office delayed Soto’s response. Scrambling for a logical one, he would wager. The idea that she had information that could help Ted propelled his frustration and anger to the next level. But he wasn’t ready to play bad cop just yet. If he gave her enough rope, she would hang herself.

  “It was the only time she confronted me,” Soto insisted. “But there have been a couple of times when she hired some bully to threaten him…Brent. No physical altercations, just threats.”

  “These threats were carried out face-to-face or by phone?” Pushing her to be specific was the quickest way to detect deception.

  “Face-to-face…I believe.” She checked her cell phone to avoid continued eye contact.

  Hard to conceive that she wouldn’t know with certainty, considering her relationship with Vandiver. “These confrontations occurred in public settings? At his practice here in Vegas?”

  Her gaze met his briefly. “I think so.”

  “I ask since there might very well be surveillance footage of the incidents—if they occurred in a public place. Perhaps one of the two men who took Dr. Vandiver and my associate was responsible for one or both of the previous confrontations.”

  “I’m just not sure,” she lied. “Brent didn’t give me all the details.” She moistened her lips and looked Ted straight in the eye. “He wanted to spare me the ugliness his wife initiated.”

  How thoughtful and convenient. Ted pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “We shouldn’t put off contacting the authorities. The first forty-eight hours in an investigation of this nature are crucial.”

  The pause as he slid open his phone was accompanied by complete silence. His thumb poised over the first digit even as the air in the room thickened with the weight of tension.

  “One of the men,” she said, drawing his attention away from the keypad and across her desk, “looked kind of familiar…maybe.”

  Ted closed his phone and probed her gaze with his own. The telltale signs of being cornered were written clearly on her face. “You recognized him?” He prepared to reopen his phone. “All the more reason to make the call.”

  Outright fear seized her face. “No.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand.” She hesitated, blinked. “If the person behind this is the man I suspect, calling the police will only make things worse.”

  Ted felt his eyes narrow with mounting doubt. “I’ll need his name.”

  She moistened her lips. “Ivan.” A big, shaky breath. “Ivan Romero.”

  Ted waited for her to continue.

  “He owns the Copacabana.” Her lips pinched with that mounting uncertainty. “Among others. He’s a very powerful man.”

  “You’re certain these men work for him?” Ted understood there was a lot more she wasn’t telling just yet.

  Soto nodded. “Ivan called me a few minutes ago.”

  So that was the call she’d gotten while he was reviewing the surveillance video. “And?” Ted prompted, his patience history.

  “He said he had an old score to settle with your associate. That if I didn’t call the police, Brent…Dr. Vandiver…would be released unharmed.” Another of those quaking breaths. “This has nothing to do with him.”

  Ted opened his phone and entered Simon Ruhl’s number.

  “You can’t call the police,” Soto urged
, leaning forward. “Ivan is not a man you want to cross.”

  Simon answered on the second ring. “I need anything you can find on Ivan Romero,” Ted explained. “We have a situation.”

  Soto’s eyes widened as he related recent circumstances to his colleague at the Colby Agency. When Ted ended the conversation and closed his phone, she shook her head slowly from side to side.

  “What’ve you done?” Her hands shook as she clasped them atop her desk. “You don’t understand….”

  “I understand perfectly. Simon Ruhl is my colleague at the Colby Agency. Not informing them of this situation was out of the question.”

  The relief that claimed her expression was palpable. “He won’t contact the police?”

  “Not as long as I assure him I have the situation under control.” There was no time to placate her anxiety. All he needed was her cooperation. “Tell me about Romero.” Simon would get back to him with all he could find, but Ted needed whatever the lady had. “Where can I find him?” She’d mentioned the Copacabana. A classy, well-established casino hotel. But before Ted went barging into the place and encountered what would likely be top-notch security, he needed inside information. A way to get to the man outside that setting.

  “He doesn’t spend much time at the casinos anymore. He prefers his private residence.”

  “Give me the details of his private residence,” Ted prompted.

  “His personal security is primo,” she said, not exactly answering his question. “There’s a lot I don’t know about Ivan. A lot no one knows. But what I am certain of is that he isn’t someone you want to go up against. Certainly not alone. I’ve heard rumors.”

  “Rumors?” The phone in his hand vibrated. A report from Simon had downloaded.

  “The kind,” she warned, “that lets me know that I don’t want trouble with him.”

  “What details do you know about the security at his residence?” Ted wasn’t beating around the bush anymore. He needed facts. Now.

  “Well-trained. They’re pros.” She shrugged. “Ivan is a very wealthy man. He’s not taking any chances. It’s a ten-acre compound. He uses cameras and dogs.”

  Not good news. “You’ve been there?”

  She nodded. “To a Christmas party once. A birthday celebration earlier this year.”

  Sounded like she knew the guy better than she wanted to let on. “Whose birthday?”

  “His.”

  Oh, yes. There was the guilt. It clouded her expression, as if she’d been caught with the smoking gun in her hand. “Then you must know him quite well.”

  “As well as anyone in the business, I suppose,” she confessed.

  “Good.” Ted locked his gaze with hers. “Then you won’t mind getting me inside.”

  Soto held up both hands. “That would be impossible.”

  “No problem.” Ted prepared to open his cell phone. “I’m sure I can find a cop or a fed who isn’t afraid of him.”

  “I’d like to keep my job,” she offered, her voice too quiet. “But I want to stay alive a whole lot more.”

  2:45 a.m.

  SIMON’S RETURN CALL SURPRISED Ted. Not simply because he’d already sent a thorough report on Romero, but because the call was actually a teleconference that included Jim Colby. But then, Friedman was a member of Colby’s team. Ted shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Ivan Romero is bad news all the way around,” Colby informed Ted. “He’s on several federal watch lists. Drugs. Gunrunning. Human trafficking. Just to name a few. But no one has ever been able to finger him for any of the suspected crime activity.”

  A volatile mixture of fury and fear trickled into Ted’s veins. “Have you been able to establish a connection between him and Vandiver?” If not, there was every reason to go with Soto’s claims. That Friedman had been the target. Vandiver just happened to be in the way. Or perhaps he was collateral to ensure Soto’s cooperation, as she’d alleged.

  “None. Camille Soto,” Simon explained, “worked for Romero prior to taking the position at the Palomino. She knows him better than she’s admitted. As far as we can determine, Vandiver doesn’t even know the man.”

  Ted had wandered into the corridor outside Soto’s office to take this call. He leaned his head to the right and verified that she remained behind her desk, shuffling through papers. Her landline as well as her cell lay in plain sight on the desktop.

  “This isn’t about Vandiver or Soto,” said Jim, speaking up next. “This is about Nora.”

  That fury simmering in Ted’s blood ignited into a full blaze. “I presume this has something to do with her previous time in Vegas.” Victoria had explained that Friedman had been assigned to this case because of her experience in the Vegas casino world.

  “Five years ago Nora worked for Romero,” replied Jim.

  A frown nagged at Ted’s brow. “In what capacity?” he asked Jim.

  “It was an undercover operation bankrolled by Romero’s former father-in-law.”

  Ted absorbed the information, worry rising inside him, as Jim Colby laid out the details of Friedman’s interaction with Romero five years prior. His wife of three years had finally confirmed what her father had suspected all along: Ivan Romero was a monster. The wife had learned she was pregnant and decided that to protect the child she had to get away from Romero before he learned her secret. The wife’s father had looked until he found the best, Nora Friedman, to make it happen.

  Friedman had taken it upon herself, after achieving a deep cover status with Romero, to ensure the wife got a little something for her pain and misery. One point five million dollars disappeared with the wife.

  Friedman had barely escaped from Romero with her life. A mock federal investigation had kept him from retaliating immediately after her escape. But like all the other times before, he had been cleared of suspicion.

  “I can only assume,” Jim went on, “that Nora believed Romero had decided to let it go. I was aware she’d worked an investigation in Vegas, but since Romero hadn’t attempted to track her down in the past five years, there was no call for concern. This was supposed to be a low-profile assignment.”

  Intelligence gathering. Ted got that. All involved agreed that going to the authorities was a risk at this point since there was reason to believe loyalty to Romero went deep in the local law enforcement scene. But to go in alone, Ted would need certain assets. “Do you have a contact for me?”

  “Yes,” Simon confirmed. “He’s waiting for you in the lobby bar now. I’ve sent a photo and background info to your phone. He’ll supply you with whatever you need. He carries an entire store in his trunk.”

  “Use extreme caution, Tallant,” Jim advised. “The man who hired Nora to help his daughter escape from Romero died within days of her disappearance.”

  “Romero killed him?” Didn’t bode well for Friedman.

  “The death was ruled an accident,” Jim clarified. “The man was seventy-five and wheelchair bound. A fire in the middle of the night burned his home to the ground with him inside. A power failure was blamed for the home security system’s malfunction. But Nora believes Romero was behind it. Maybe attempted to learn his wife’s location.”

  “We’re sending Trinity Barrett as backup,” Simon put in. “He’ll arrive via the agency’s private jet at four-thirty. You must realize that the strategy you outlined is too dangerous to attempt alone, Ted. The chances of success are minimal.”

  Ted braced for battle. “I can’t wait that long. From what we know about Romero, it may be too late already. Waiting is out of the question.”

  He had advised Simon of his recovery strategy in their first phone conversation an hour ago. Soto had reluctantly agreed to take Ted there under the pretense of picking up Vandiver. But she had refused to go to the police. If Ted did so, she would deny all that she had told him. She’d already had the surveillance video destroyed.

  There was no other option.

  An extended pause on the other end had Ted’s teeth grinding. He h
ad to get moving. There was no time for debate.

  “The decision is yours,” Simon said, capitulating with audible reluctance. “We’ll do all we can from here. I have a call in to a friend of mine assigned to the Bureau field office in the area.”

  Ted ended the call. His gaze locked with Soto’s. She was watching him, the same defeat on her face that had lodged itself deep in his gut.

  If Friedman was still alive, it would be an outright miracle.

  Chapter Nine

  2:50 a.m.

  The walls were concrete. Cold and gray.

  Nora turned around slowly, sizing up her predicament.

  The cell was about nine by nine with no chair or bed or anything. Just a concrete box. The door had a small window built into it. There were metal bars over the small opening. Not even a knob or handle on the inside of the door.

  Romero was a freak.

  Nora had known about the tunnels. The wife had told her.

  Wife. Brenda. Her name was Brenda. Or it used to be when she was married to the psycho upstairs. Romero had so many enemies and so many black-market activities going on that when he’d purchased the mansion on his stately ten acres, his first order of business had been to have an escape route excavated beneath the house.

  To guests of his home, it appeared to provide passage from the private basement game room to the pool and the expansive entertaining area behind the house. But there was a secret passage that led into a trio of tunnels, one of which led to a hidden helipad nearly a mile from the property. Along with the helicopter was an all-terrain vehicle. And weapons.

  All the amenities a wealthy, overachieving criminal would want.

  Nora hadn’t seen Vandiver since he’d been dragged away from her. He could be down here somewhere, but if he was, he was damned quiet. The slightest sound echoed in the endless sea of concrete.

  Could be dead, for all she knew. Victoria Colby-Camp would be less than happy, but Nora wouldn’t have to worry about that. She would be dead, too. Whatever Ivan said, he would kill her. He would never let her leave here alive. Tallant would have to deal with the fallout.