by Kylie Brant
“Danny Munson. His black hat name is SpidyDance.”
Neither name was familiar. “Where do you send the merchandise?”
“It’s a Denver mail drop. I have a standing order for a few mixtures monthly, but sometimes he contacts me to ask for more.”
“Or to ask for favors. Like with the TASER.”
“Oh, yeah.” Tuttle was obviously unfamiliar with the concept. “Well, he’s getting billed for it, so…”
The plant particle found on the corpse dumped in Wyoming hadn’t come from Colorado. The trail was going to be more convoluted than he’d thought. Which was to be expected. The Collector would want to be insulated in as many layers as possible. That was likely how he’d avoided detection as long as he had.
“I need the address for the mail drop.” Tuttle recited it and he keyed it into his phone. Then he looked it up on the web for verification. Figured the man was probably telling the truth. The address was indeed for a mail drop service.
Having gotten what he came for, he stood. “I don’t need to tell you how very unhappy I’ll be if I discover you lied about the name. Or tipped Munson off.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to find out who you work for. Only takes an anonymous tip to the right person that you’ve been bragging about skimming profits. From my experience those guys are overly suspicious. Of course, maybe your books can stand up to increased scrutiny, right?”
Tuttle glared stonily back at him, but the muscle jumping in his jaw was evidence enough that Jude had struck a nerve. He backed slowly toward the door, the first gun he’d taken from the man still in his hand. He checked the judas hole before undoing the security chain.
“Hey, I want my weapons back.”
“That’s not going to happen. I’ll be watching your door. If I see it open in the next fifteen minutes I’m going to use it for target practice.” He let himself out quickly.
“Asshole.”
The man had no idea. Jude smiled grimly as he made his way back to his car, opening the trunk to place both weapons inside. When he got done with Tuttle, his lucky streak of avoiding conviction was going to come to an abrupt halt. And once he had a clear link between The Collector and the drug Tuttle had supplied, there was a very good chance Tuttle would be in jail for decades.
He got into the car, started the ignition. Tuttle had earned a far worse fate. And so did The Collector. Jude was going to make certain they both got the end they deserved.
11
Mia listened to a portion of the recorded conversation with Tuttle. “It’s not him.”
Jude was sitting at the desk of the motel room, using on his mini-laptop. “After talking to him it was clear the man doesn’t have the brains. We knew it was a long shot anyway. No harsh winters here.”
“I know.” But she still had a feeling of letdown. The hours had dragged by in his absence, despite the improved surroundings. Jude had wanted a better hotel because of the increased security. But four walls were four walls, no matter what color they were painted.
“How soon before we hear anything from Logan?” Hunter yawned and scratched his bare chest. Mia and he had been asleep when Jude had come in.
“Depends how long it takes him to get the information we’re looking for, and to get inside the CMRA’s files. This computer doesn’t have the tools I need to do it myself.” Jude shot a glance at Mia. “CMRA is the mail drop office. They’ll have an address for Munson. Either he picks things up there or they deliver on for him. But he’ll have had to fill out some sort of registration. Come look at these.”
Curious, she got up to join him, handing him his phone before looking over his shoulder. He had three photos on the screen that he scrolled through slowly. “Recognize any of these men?”
Peering closely, she finally shook her head. “They’re all named Danny Munson?”
“They all have Colorado driver’s licenses in that name. Once Logan gets back to me with an address, we might be able to match it with one of these.”
She reared back to look at him. “You’re in the Colorado DMV database? Is that legal?” His green gaze was amused. “You have an intriguing fixation on legalities for someone who has traveled with false identification for the last five years.”
Because he had a point, she returned her focus to the pictures. “The Collector is five foot nine or ten, one hundred sixty or seventy pounds. None of these guys are close.” One was a balding man with graying gingery hair in his fifties. From the weight stated on the driver’s license he had at least a hundred pounds on the kidnapper. Another man was Hispanic and the third would barely be out of his teens.
“Okay.” To her surprise he powered off the computer. Pushed his chair back. “I’ve got a call in to Raiker, but there’s nothing more to do tonight—or this morning—until I hear from him or Logan.”
“My thought exactly.” The room was a suite, with Hunter sleeping on the fold out in the outer room, and Mia and Jude occupying the double beds in the bedroom. Hunter padded back to the sofabed. “You’re going to pay the chiropractor bills after this,” he warned. “The springs on this thing are brutal.”
“There’s always the floor,” Jude said unsympathetically as he headed into the bedroom.
Mia was left with little choice but to follow him. Jude disappeared into the bathroom and she got in bed, now wide-awake. The entire day had been spent in alternating boredom and a now familiar restlessness while she awaited word about what Jude would discover. But now that he was back, the jitter in her pulse came from another source.
He hadn’t mentioned the kiss this morning. Neither had she. Perhaps regret was the reason he’d barely looked at her today during the drive to Virginia and the flight to Tucson. He took his security duties seriously. That was one of the first things she’d learned about him.
And after last night she’d learned something new about herself.
Unconsciously she brought two fingers to her lips. She’d forgotten the exquisite intimacy a kiss could represent. She’d still been in her teens when last she’d experienced it. The intervening years of abuse—and her battle for recovery afterwards—had superimposed on her memory, hazing recollections that were sweeter. Gentler. And therein lay the risk. She’d already known Jude was adept at slipping through defenses she once thought stalwart. But their kiss had beckoned something inside her that would be better locked away. It summoned softness when it was critical to remain strong.
He was right about one thing…they both needed to retain focus. She knew how to guard herself: her security, her privacy, her thoughts. It had become not just a way of life, but a defense mechanism so deeply embedded that she was helpless to reverse course now. She couldn’t pretend to be other than she was. Flawless on the outside. A patchwork of semi-healed scars within. But despite realizing how little she had to offer, last night she’d been very close to offering more.
In a day laced with regrets, she could at least be grateful she hadn’t added another to the mix.
* * * *
Mia entered the outer room of the suite the next morning to discover Hunter and Jude grouped around the small laptop. The sight was familiar. So was the voice coming from the computer. Curious, she walked closer and saw Logan Spirrow’s face filling the screen.
“Long night, but fruitful.” The man was speaking animatedly. “I was able to infiltrate the system for the Denver mail drop Tuttle used. The CMRA server wasn’t too sophisticated. The Danny Munson associated with the registration had this address listed.” He read it off.
Jude looked up as she joined them, giving her that swift assessing gaze she was becoming to equate with his version of a visual wellness check. “That address matches the first photo I showed you last night.”
She remembered the one. A big middle-aged man with fading reddish hair, he was too large to be The Collector.
“Not only do they keep track of their clients, obviously, but they track the packages in and out of the service. This
is where it gets a bit complicated. Munson never actually picks up the package from Tuttle. His mail drop is little more than a conduit to the next one, in Binton, South Dakota. That’s in the southwest corner of the state. The South Dakota drop is registered to Eldon Weales, from Custer, South Dakota. And from there things get real interesting.”
Interesting was one word for it, Mia thought as she pulled up a chair in view of the screen. The information so far had her eyes glazing. “Weales does a ton of shipping from that CMRA in South Dakota,” Logan continued, “but not only to other mail drops. Frequently he mails to residential and business addresses all over the United States. A few are sent to mail drops, most recently in Iowa and Missouri.”
“But Weales actually picks up the package sent through Munson’s mail drop in Denver?” Hunter asked.
“He does.” Logan looked down at something in front of him. “Of course, there’s no way to tell if he later sends it on, but his drop isn’t a sail through. Packages are held there to be collected.”
“Maybe some illicit activity going on,” Jude murmured.
“My thought exactly.” Hunter rubbed a spot at the base of his spine. Mia made a mental note to make sure Jude got the man his own room with a more comfortable bed at the next stop. She was coming to like the big operative. He’d spent most of the day yesterday teaching her more than she’d ever thought to know about the intricacies of blackjack betting. “Lots of drug dealers make shipments that way.”
“Raymond Tuttle included.” Jude looked back toward the Skyped image of Logan. “Okay, I think I’ve got it. We need to check out Eldon Weales. What’d you find out about the black hat, Munson in Denver?”
Logan’s expression turned gleeful. “I recognized his nickname right away from the black hat forums. SpidyDance is a piece of work. Better than average skills, from what I gather. Not as stellar as he’d like to believe. Claims to have infiltrated the FBI and White House servers, but who knows how far he got. There was some pretty convincing talk that he was behind the breach of Belways customer payment information, though. Compromised more than a million credit cards. He definitely has the skills to have been the guy to track Mia.”
The blood in her veins congealed. She’d mistakenly considered the man harmless since it was clear he couldn’t be The Collector. But that didn’t mean he didn’t work for the other man. She’d have been no more than a name to him, representing an online game of hide and seek. “So you think my laptop was sent to him after it was stolen? And Dr. Halston’s?”
“We won’t know that until we get a look at his files.” Jude’s tone was cautious.
He’d tried to dissuade her from believing just that those only days ago, she recalled grimly. To assuage the guilt she was feeling for possibly being the link to Halston. They’d had no evidence of it then. But she was betting they could find it through Munson.
“With the K-Sleep drug going through his mail drop, the possible connection between him and The Collector definitely bears checking out.”
“Can’t hack a hacker,” Logan offered. “We’re too savvy. He’s not going to leave his system open to possible breaches.”
“So don’t breach it.” The three men looked at Mia. “He probably received two stolen computers to pry through, mine and Halston’s. Steal his and do the same thing.”
Hunter sent her an amused glance. “I’m beginning to like you more by the minute.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Jude told Logan. “In the meantime, put a dossier together on Munson. I’ll need details I can use when I confront him.”
Mia’s earlier resolve wilted a bit at the reminder. Jude would meet with the man alone, the way he had the drug dealer last night. He actually seemed to relish the possibility. But she knew she was in for more excruciatingly long hours waiting to hear that he was all right. She wouldn’t be allowed anywhere close to the encounter. So she’d have to start thinking of a plan that would minimize his risk.
Logan signed off and she went to the other room to pack, a feeling of foreboding tightening in her belly. People with a connection to her continued to die. And she knew she’d never be able to live with herself if Jude was next.
* * * *
“What happened with the Tucson police?” Hunter wanted to know as they fastened their seatbelts. They sat three abreast on the plane, Mia in the middle.
“Raiker made a call to smooth the way.” The plane began its taxi down the runway. “I met with a vice cop by the name of Sanchez who seemed pretty interested in the video I took of Tuttle’s apartment. And he was more than happy to take the guy’s guns off my hands.”
“How did you explain discovering Tuttle’s ownership of the TASER?” Mia asked. Seeing Hunter’s fingers grip the armrests, she gave the man a sympathetic smile. She’d noticed yesterday that he was a nervous flyer.
“Said I had a tip. He seemed satisfied with that.” His legs fit the small space only slightly better than Hunter’s. “He’ll get in contact with the investigation out east and law enforcement can take it from there.”
“Good.” There were more drug dealers on the streets than would ever be brought to justice, but she desperately needed to believe that eventually Tuttle would pay for arming criminals with exotic drugs specifically blended to assault women. The man was just as responsible for the misery caused as the ones who executed the abuse.
There had been other drugs in The Collector’s arsenal. Her inner defenses rose, but too late to keep the memory from surging. Ointments to apply after a beating that kept the pain inflamed. Hallucinogens during the abuse to turn the nightmare experience into a fiery pocket of hell.
“Raiker thought his people might be able to do something with the recording the state police took of the conversation you had with The Collector. It’s on its way to his lab right now. And he had a message for you,” Jude told her.
Mia welcomed the distraction from her thoughts. “Did he get a DNA match?”
“He did.”
Unconsciously, her hand crept to touch his where it lay atop his denim-clad thigh. “And?”
His fingers linked with hers. “Her name is Jody Wilcox. She’s from Detroit, Michigan.”
Jody Wilcox. In death at least, thanks to Raiker, the woman had resumed her identity. Perhaps the most dehumanizing part of their captivity had been to be stripped of their name. To be denied the very integral sense of self that accompanied the personal label affixed at birth. Tattooed with a number, the meaning of which they’d never known.
Tears were a human function she was no longer capable of. But deep inside her something wept for the woman she’d known only as Eight.
Jude’s voice softened. And he didn’t let go of her hand. “The Detroit detective who had her case said she’d disappeared at a concert. He’ll be looking into her disappearance with a new eye, especially since Raiker informed him of the details surrounding your kidnapping.”
When her gaze flew to his, he cautioned, “Long road there. Lots of law enforcement entities to get on board before we get a national manhunt for this bastard. But the pieces are falling into place.”
She took a deep breath. Released it. “Then we’ll get them more pieces.” Jody Wilcox and her family had closure now, finally. But there were eleven more women waiting for someone to release them from never-ending torment.
“Next step is figuring out how to approach Munson. I’ll want a clone of his hard drives, because he almost certainly has several computers.”
“We wait for him to leave the house and stage a break in.” Hunter had been listening.
“There’s no we,” Jude reminded him drily, as he sent a thumb skating over the top of Mia’s hand still clasped in his. “You and Mia will be in a secured hotel.”
“These hackers…they’re paranoid sorts, right?” The last time Mia had held hands was when her Gran helped her cross the street. She might have been five. Her pulse was jumping from the sustained contact. But there was no underlying sense of panic. Perhaps she’d com
e further than she’d given herself credit for.
Hunter and Jude smiled broadly at her statement. After a puzzled moment she understood why. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Don’t look at me,” the operative said. “I’m not on the techy side of things. I was hired for my brawn and my movie star good looks.”
“You do bear a striking resemblance to Homer Simpson,” Jude told him consideringly.
Mia wouldn’t be distracted. “I mean these black hat guys. Distrust of the government is part of it, right? So he’d likely have some pretty good home security. Both for his house and his computers. I’m guessing it would take some effort to get into them.”
“I’m not without my own skillset.” Jude’s voice was dry. “But yeah, there’s a few details to work out yet.” He rolled his shoulders tiredly, brushing against hers with the movement.
“Perhaps Munson could be, uh, persuaded to let you make the clones,” Hunter suggested delicately.
“You need to approach him when he’s in the house.” Mia broke off when the attendant stopped a cart next to their seats and proceeded to hand out beverages. She drank thirstily from her soda. She hadn’t had near enough caffeine before they’d left the hotel this morning. “Likely if he’s home, the computers would be running. He’d be logged in and save you a lot of trouble.”
When she leaned forward to pull the tray down for her drink, she caught both men’s gaze on her. “What?”
“There’s a kernel there we can massage,” Jude said slowly. “Go up to the door? He’s a suspicious type, remember? He’ll never let a stranger in.”
“Getting the door open at least gives you an opportunity,” Hunter inserted.
Mia thought more about it for a moment. “He has to want you inside. If you can do something for him…have something for him…”
“Pretty sure the Publishers Clearinghouse scam isn’t going to work.”