Concrete Evidence

by Rachel Grant

The damage to Joe’s reputation could be insurmountable. He hoped the FBI would act swiftly and find the guilty parties, but right now it seemed the only person they wanted to investigate was Erica.

  He gripped his phone tighter. He was desperate to call her. But he shouldn’t contact her while she was being investigated. Anything he told her would be suspect, could change the investigation, even make her appear guiltier. He was supposed to stay away even though it meant she would believe he’d abandoned her.

  He started to dial her number.

  A knock at the door interrupted. JT admitted FBI Agent Roger Pratt, the man who had agreed to keep them informed in exchange for their silence to the press. Lee glared at the man, unable to hide his anger.

  “I take it you’ve seen the news,” Pratt said.

  “Nice to know Anderson Cooper knew what was on that boat before I did,” Lee said through gritted teeth. “I’m the one who found the boat. I’m the one who handed you that arrest—which your team fucked up.”

  “I don’t need your shit right now, Scott. I just spent the past four hours trying to convince my boss not to arrest your girlfriend. I’m probably the only person in the department who believes she’s innocent, and if you want to keep her out of custody, I need your help.”

  He felt uneasy, wondering if this was a ploy to get him to admit he’d recognized the scuba diver was Erica. “What do you want?”

  “Another agent and I interviewed Ms. Kesling this morning. She was talkative. She knows more about Novak’s operation than anyone still alive.” Lee didn’t like the way he stressed that last point. “She even gave us photographs of his crew. The photos are a lucky break; they could save all our asses.

  “We’ve suspected for a long time that Novak’s underwater salvage business was little more than a cover for a drug smuggling operation. But the DEA came up empty each time they searched his boat—thanks to you, we now know how he pulled that off, dumping the drugs overboard for later pickup—and he did enough real treasure hunting to appear respectable. But the DEA was ready to pounce last summer when he hired Ms. Kesling and managed to produce a bona fide excavation permit.”

  No wonder Novak was so damn careful with the Internet. He knew he was being monitored by the DEA. Then the horror of Erica’s situation sank in. She had spent a summer on a boat with drug smugglers. Novak hadn’t been interested in the Manila galleon excavation; it had all been a farce, Erica merely his cover, his legitimate reason to be in Mexican waters for an extended time. Then, when Erica found something worthwhile, the bastard got greedy and decided to take that too, destroying her in the process. “Erica’s work was legitimate; she couldn’t have had anything to do with the drug operation.”

  “I’m inclined to believe her, and my boss is coming around,” Pratt said. “I don’t think she has a clue about the drug smuggling. Listen, she said she told Novak about the photos when she saw him last night. Novak must have shit a brick.”

  “Why?” JT asked.

  “One of his crew—Marco Garcia to her, but with her photo we’ve identified him as Marco Delgado—is the brother of a nasty Mexican drug lord. Marco is a brutal killer, suspected in at least a dozen execution-style murders, but we’ve never had the proof to nail him.

  “We believe Delgado fled with Novak this morning,” Pratt continued. “We had no idea Delgado worked with Novak, or rather, Novak worked for Delgado—the Delgados work for no one—or that anyone from the Delgado cartel was even in the states. If we can catch Marco Delgado, it will be Al Capone-like ironic that Erica’s photos and testimony can nail the bastard for artifact smuggling—especially given that treasure hunting was just a front to begin with.”

  Lee slammed his fist onto the table. “A Mexican drug cartel might be after her, and she’s not in protective custody?”

  “Her apartment is under surveillance, and we’ve got undercover security everywhere in her building. She’s safe. What’s important now is the artifacts. Ms. Kesling said she believed you had Sam Riversong remove the artifacts from the casino before the Aztec Room opened. We need the artifacts and fake provenance if we’re going to prove Delgado and Novak stole them.”

  “Sam Riversong said he thought the paperwork was real,” JT said. “He had no idea Jake stole them from a shipwreck.”

  “Where are the artifacts?”

  “In a safe at tribal headquarters until we can authenticate the provenance.”

  “Good. Now here’s what I need from the two of you. To Delgado, Kesling is a loose end. Right now, we can’t connect him to the money, but Kesling and her photos can connect him to Novak. He’s not the type to leave witnesses who can testify against him, but he won’t approach her at home. They’ll come after her in a public place, where they can hide in the crowd. I think they’ll wait for her outside the office. Wisconsin Avenue is busy, difficult to secure—”

  “That’s why you haven’t arrested her.” Cold fear gripped Lee. “You want to use her as bait.”

  “Yes. And we need your help.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  MONDAY MORNING, ERICA DRESSED in a dark pair of slacks streaked with red paint and a torn but mended top. All her undamaged clothes were still at the Watergate and had been paid for by either JT or Lee. She wouldn’t touch them. Her current outfit would be part of her new homeless-but-clean look. She found a paint-splattered tote bag in a pile of salvageable items and dropped her cell phone, ID, keys, and a padded envelope inside. The paint stains matched her slacks. For once, her purse matched her ensemble.

  On her way to the Metro, she received several curious stares and stared back without flinching. On the train, people chose to stand rather than sit next to her.

  She arrived in Bethesda and walked down busy Wisconsin Avenue toward the office. The day looked like any other, yet felt vastly different. She berated herself for not getting up early to go to the workout room, but she felt listless, hollow. In the battle between the workout bag and herself, the bag would win.

  She reached the elevator vestibule on the eighth floor and was met by a security guard. “Erica Kesling,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been instructed to give you this box, which contains your personal belongings. Your services are no longer needed by Talon & Drake.”

  “You mean I’m fired.” So much for nepotism.

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  “I wasn’t told, but I’ve seen enough on the news to guess.”

  So there had been headlines. She should have at least picked up a newspaper to prepare herself. “What was on the news?”

  The security guard shrugged uncomfortably and held out his hand. “Please turn in your ID card.”

  “Can I speak to my boss, Janice Rabinowitz?”

  “I’ve been instructed to prevent you from entering the office.

  The knot in her belly tightened. She had no choice. “I want to speak with Lee Scott.”

  “Mr. Scott gave the order to fire you.”

  The man’s words hit her with the force of a fierce kick to the belly, and she staggered backward. The bastard had fired her and didn’t even have the decency to face her himself.

  She took several shallow breaths, acknowledging that deep down she’d expected this. But part of her had held out hope that he wouldn’t prove to be so vile.

  She gave the man her company ID and took the box containing her belongings. From the box she plucked out her gold pen—an engraved gift from her mother when she received her MA, paid for with the first credit card her mother had taken out in her name, and the only item Erica had to show for her massive debt. She used the pen to scribble a note on the padded envelope and handed the package to the security guard. “Please give this to Lee Scott.”

  She was about to drop the pen into her bag when she paused. “Here,” she said to the guard, holding out the expensive implement. “I don’t want this anymore.”

  The man looked at her curiously.

  “Melt it down,
sell it, I don’t care. Just take it.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Kesling.” He slipped the pen into his pocket. “And good luck.”

  She hit the button for the elevator, and the doors slid open. She leaned against the wall, feeling sick to her stomach as she descended back to street level.

  Outside, she found a bench and sat down. Gazing at the building, she counted the floors and stopped at nine. The corner office was Drake’s. Now Lee’s? She wondered if he was in there now, making himself at home in his new digs, enjoying the power of his new position.

  She remembered the joke he’d made on his first day, that he’d be her boss in two weeks, and she felt a laugh strangle in her throat. Today was two weeks to the day. Well, what do you know? There really was one thing he’d told her that was true.

  The security guard must have given him the envelope by now. She wondered if he suffered any pang of regret. No, he’d have to be human to feel regret.

  She glanced into the box which represented her six months at Talon & Drake and catalogued the contents: a bottle of antacids, a Metro SmarTrip card with a few bucks on it, a dollar seventy-three in change, a smooth heart-shaped rock she’d found on survey and used as a paperweight, her radio with headphones, and her favorite Marshalltown trowel.

  She’d brought her gym bag to the Watergate on Friday. Somehow she’d have to get that and her purse back. Stupid decision number 963: placing her copy of the key to JT’s—but now she suspected it was Lee’s—condo in the envelope for Lee before claiming the items that belonged to her.

  She popped an antacid in her mouth and turned on the radio, hearing familiar top-of-the-hour music on the local NPR station. The reporter ran through the major headlines. While she listened, she slipped the flat, sharp-edged trowel in her back pocket and transferred everything else into the tote bag.

  She ate another antacid tablet, but the medicine couldn’t keep up with the burn in her stomach as she listened to the news.

  LEE STOOD IN THE WINDOW and looked down at Erica, alone on a bench. He turned to Agent Pratt. “Promise me she’s protected.”

  The agent pointed to a woman window-shopping across the street, pushing a baby stroller. “There’s no baby in that stroller. There are other agents on Wisconsin, ready to follow her wherever she goes. If Delgado is watching, he’ll know she’s been cut loose from Talon & Drake.”

  Lee pressed his hand against the glass and watched her put the headphones on. Her computer, TV, and radio had been destroyed. The agents watching her hadn’t seen her buy a newspaper in the last twenty-four hours, and his hacking had shown she hadn’t used her cell phone since Friday. Was she only just now learning what was being said about her on the news?

  “We should have told her what’s going on and faked the firing. She’d still be bait, but she’d know what she’s facing.” He hated everything about this, starting with Agent Prick, who had insisted a security guard fire her to make sure Lee didn’t screw up by telling her the truth.

  Which, of course, he would have done.

  “Until we know for certain she’s in the clear, we can’t risk it,” the agent said. “If she’s innocent, Delgado will come after her. If she’s guilty, now that she’s without you for support, she’ll contact Novak and flee with him. Either way, we get them.”

  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. “She’s innocent. And if anything happens to her, Pratt, I’ll—” He wasn’t stupid enough to threaten a federal agent, not in front of witnesses, anyway.

  “She’ll be fine,” JT said. “Erica’s smart.”

  “Dammit, how would you feel if Alexandra was bait for a drug-dealing murderer?”

  “I’d be ready to strangle someone. But we have to do it this way. We don’t have any evidence she’s not in it with Novak. I don’t care what you claim; she was on the boat Sunday morning.”

  He flinched at the reminder he hadn’t told JT the truth. Everyone knew he was lying, risking his integrity, his self-respect, to protect her.

  All of Talon & Drake’s employees currently working in Iraq were now on military transport, heading back to the United States for questioning. If all went well, the guilty party would cut a deal and identify the individuals they shipped the cash to stateside. Erica would be cleared then.

  But eleven billion nine hundred million dollars were still unaccounted for, and if the senator’s political opponents had their way, they’d pin it all on Talon & Drake.

  He glanced at the front page of the Washington Post, which ran a photo of them on the red carpet as he kissed her cheek. The headline said, SENATOR’S STEPSON INVOLVED WITH SUSPECTED TALON & DRAKE CONSPIRATOR.

  Minutes after the photo was taken, he’d surprised himself by coercing her into saying she loved him. The need to hear her say the words before everything exploded had come from some unknown part of his soul.

  When he watched her climb aboard the Andvari, he’d thought she was involved with the artifact smuggling, but only because she believed she was protecting artifacts destined to be stolen or destroyed in the war zone. Now, knowing Novak was a drug smuggler, he was convinced of her innocence. “She’s not money driven beyond wanting a secure job and a steady paycheck. She would never touch drug money or the money from Iraq. She’s not greedy; she craves security.”

  “Money is security,” JT said.

  “She values her reputation more than money. She wanted her name cleared.”

  “Lee, for all we know, her next stop is a pawnshop to hock Alexandra’s earrings so she can join Novak. She could have several million waiting in a Swiss bank and was just sticking around for one last score.”

  The office door opened, and Agent Marie Silver stepped inside. “Ms. Kesling gave this to the security guard, instructing him to give it to Mr. Scott.” She held up a padded envelope.

  Pratt was immediately on his feet, reaching for the package.

  Silver ignored Pratt and handed Lee the envelope. “I’ve checked the contents.”

  Lee tossed Agent Pratt a glare, then saw the writing on the outside of the envelope. Her usually neat handwriting was choppy; the words looked angry, rushed. He read the opening line and didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. “You’re sure this is for me?”

  Agent Silver nodded, sympathy in her eyes.

  “Congratulations on finding a whole new low—just when I thought it would be impossible for you to sink further.

  Inside this envelope are copies of the photos I took while working for Jake. I had hoped you’d help me get the artifacts from Riversong before they’re lost forever on the black market, but since you’re a selfish pig, I give up. Frame the photos or burn them, I don’t give a damn.

  The doubloons are the only payment I ever received from Jake. Having them made me feel sick and ashamed, but selling them would have been worse. Since you are a conscienceless bastard, it is only fitting you have them. You should be able to get about $9000 on eBay for them—use the money to buy your next victim a dress.

  —Erica”

  He opened the flap. In addition to the stack of photos and gold coins, he pulled out a key to his apartment and a pair of perfectly matched large diamond earrings. He handed Alexandra’s earrings to JT.

  “I think I misjudged her,” JT said. He held the earrings up. They caught the light and sparkled and flashed. “Guess how much these are worth.”

  Lee shrugged, more interested in the gold doubloons than the earrings. “A few thousand.”

  “Fifteen thousand, to be exact. I think lending them to Erica—a woman she’d never met and was told not to trust with the truth—was a game for Alexandra, letting me know how little my expensive gifts mean to her.”

  “Alexandra’s never been interested in money. It’s always pissed her off you couldn’t see that.” The gold warmed in his hand. Clean, smooth edges bit into his palm as he squeezed.

  “I’m stupid when it comes to women.”

  “I’ve been telling you that for years.” Lee held up the doubloons. “She’s so broke,
she skips meals, yet she’s had these all along. She wouldn’t hock them because selling artifacts violated her ethics.”

  “I was wrong about her.” JT set the earrings on Lee’s desk and picked up the stack of photos. “Which one is Delgado?” he asked Pratt.

  “That’s him, holding up a necklace.”

  JT paused, studied the picture, then began flipping through the photos, slowly at first, then again, more rapidly. Lee watched his usual olive complexion turn pasty white.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “These aren’t the artifacts in the tribe’s safe. You’ve got Erica out there playing bait to a killer for no fucking reason. You can’t prove shit with these photographs.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  ERICA USED THE METRO CARD to go through the faregate. She heard a train coming, and, even though she wasn’t in a hurry, habit made her run down the escalator to the platform, dodging slow-moving tourists. She raced into the car, and the doors whooshed closed behind her. She took a seat at the back of the car and wondered why she’d bothered. She didn’t even know where she was going.

  The morning rush had ended, and only five other people shared the car. She usually loved riding the Metro. Surrounded by solitary people commuting together, she lost her feeling of loneliness. The subway was one place she belonged. But now she wondered if the other passengers would recognize her and tried to keep her head down.

  She’d used the change from her personal belongings to buy a newspaper and studied the picture of Lee and herself on the front page. He was a damn good actor. Even knowing it had all been an act for him, she would swear the besotted look on his face was real.

  She’d heard on the radio Jake was still at large. The article said his accomplices remained unknown. She wondered if the FBI guessed Marco was the man who’d fled with Jake. Yesterday she’d told the agents Marco Garcia was Jake’s first mate, but because she didn’t admit to being on the boat, she couldn’t identify him beyond that. She wondered for the thousandth time if she’d made the right choice in fleeing. She’d be in jail right now, but at least she could tell the truth.