by Brenda Novak
“Hey,” she answered.
“You didn’t call me back.”
“I only got home a few minutes ago.”
“It’s after ten.”
She bristled at his possessive tone. She wasn’t Matt’s girlfriend. She wasn’t his anything. “I didn’t realize I had a curfew.”
“What happened?”
“He offered me a job. Wants an answer by tomorrow.”
“This isn’t a good idea. You can’t trust him.”
“You keep saying that, but isn’t this exactly what you and Dean Hooper wanted? It’s access to his operation.”
“It’s dangerous.”
She almost laughed. Not because she didn’t agree, but because he seemed to forget that she’d been a cop for twelve years, that she’d worked undercover for months in a far more dangerous situation than being head of security for the Lieutenant Governor.
It was obvious that Matt just wanted information about her dinner, that he didn’t have anything new to tell her. “I’m tired,” she said. She was, though she wouldn’t be able to sleep, not for awhile. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She hung up before he could argue with her.
She grabbed a second beer and booted up her laptop on the kitchen counter. She typed in the address on River Road into Google Maps. Maybe if she looked at it on the street view it would spark her memory.
A knock on her door interrupted her research. Who the hell was visiting this late? She strode over and looked through the peephole. Jim? She opened the door.
“It’s late. I hope this means you have good news about who tried to assassinate Hart.”
“Can I come in?”
She shrugged and opened the door wider, then closed it behind him. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with her ex-boyfriend, and considering her irritable mood, she was pretty sure a confrontation was brewing.
She sipped her beer, but didn’t offer anything to Jim. She didn’t want him to think he could stay, or that she wanted a long conversation.
“It’s been a long couple of days,” she said.
“You went on a date with Travis Hart?”
He sounded angry. What was it with possessive men? She was getting downright ticked off with the attitude. First Matt, now Jim. “Who the hell told you that?”
“So it’s true.”
“No, it’s not true. But how do you even know I went to dinner with him?”
“You went to dinner with him. And that’s not a date?”
He wasn’t answering her question, and she wasn’t going to play this game. “First, you and I broke up almost a year ago. I can date whoever I damn well please. Second, it wasn’t a date. He invited me to dinner to thank me for saving his life. Now that you know the truth, you can leave.”
He didn’t budge. In fact, he leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at her. “What’s going on with you, Alex?”
“Nothing! What makes you think something’s going on?”
“You’ve changed.”
“Yeah, I have. I lost my job, I’ve been ostracized by the police department, and I shot my partner in self-defense. After he shot me in the fucking back. In six weeks I’m going to have to testify against him at his trial. Sorry if I haven’t dealt with the trauma to your satisfaction.”
“It’s not that.”
“Isn’t that enough?” She walked over to the corner and tossed her empty beer bottle in the recycling bin. Jim was definitely far too interested in her life. She didn’t need any other complications.
“I told you to stay away from this case,” Jim said.
She whirled around to face him, her mouth dropping open. “Excuse me? I’m not involved in your case. I had dinner with Hart. Hardly news to write home about.”
“He has a target on his back and you’re socializing with him.”
“I can take care of myself, Jim. Why are you really here?”
“I’m worried about you.”
“No. That’s not it. You don’t just stop by my apartment late at night in the middle of the week to question me about my dinner companion.”
Jim said, “The coroner said it’s inconclusive as to whether our shooter killed himself or was murdered. The angle is self-inflicting, but there’s no gunshot residue on his hands. When I showed you his picture, you hesitated. Do you know who he is?”
She wanted to tell him the truth. Jim needed the truth. So she gave him a half-truth because she had to tell him something. “I thought I might have ... you know, where you think you know someone but can’t put your finger on it. I never arrested him, I never spoke to him, but I think I’ve seen him. I can’t tell you where or when, but it was when I was a cop. I’ve been trying to figure it out, but keep drawing a blank. Maybe he just looks like someone I’ve seen.”
She assessed Jim. She hoped he believed her. If the FBI gave her the okay, she’d tell Jim that she’d seen him with her former partner, but until then, she had to play the game.
“If you remember, you’ll call me, right?”
“Of course.”
Jim hesitated, and Alex wondered why the hell he’d come here in the first place. Just to question her about her dinner with Travis Hart? As she thought about it, she realized that made no sense. It’s not like Jim had been trying to win her back for the past year. Sure, he’d been jealous when they’d been living together, but it wasn’t like he’d been stalker boy after they broke up. He visited her once in the hospital after she’d been shot, but she hadn’t seen him in months before yesterday.
Jim said, “I’ll see you around.” And he left.
That was weird. Very weird.
Her phone rang almost as soon as Jim walked out. Matt Elliott. She’d said all she wanted to, and she was going to find out a bit more about this Sharon before she decided what to do about the information, if anything. She hit decline, and took a deep breath. Of course she had to talk to him about it, figure out what was going on. If she wanted a relationship. If she believed that Travis Hart was truly guilty. Because more and more it was looking as if Matt did have a vendetta against Travis Hart for no tangible reason.
She called Dean Hooper. Though she hadn’t always been happy working undercover for the Feds, Hooper had always been straight with her. If anyone was unbiased in this situation, it was him.
“Hooper,” he answered the phone on the second ring.
“This is Alexandra Morgan. I’m sorry for calling so late.”
“No apologies necessary. Is something wrong?”
“No, but I have some information. I had dinner with Hart tonight—he offered me a job as his head of security. Wants me to work for him, do his advance work, act as his bodyguard in public.”
“That’s fabulous. But—would you be comfortable going that deep undercover? It won’t be easy.”
“I don’t expect easy. He wants an answer by five tomorrow.”
“Would you be willing?”
“Yes—but I need to know exactly what you have on Hart and why you believe he’s criminally involved with Sergei Rykov.”
“We should talk about this in person, Alex.”
“I agree.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Hart had some unflattering things to say about Matt Elliott.”
“How did Matt’s name come up?”
“We were talking about past careers, about his case files that he’s going through to look for a possible suspect. Detective Jefferson is fairly certain that it’s someone from Hart’s past that wants to kill him, a criminal or victim who blames him for whatever. And Jefferson has good instincts, it’s the first thing I’d look at if I were investigating. Hart talked about his campaign against Matt for D.A., and then about their history when they both were new prosecutors.”
“And that disturbed you? Do you think he knows about your relationship with Matt?”
Was it that obvious? “No, but it seems to me that this investigation into Travis Hart is solely at the behest o
f Matt Elliott, and that they may have more personal issues than professional ones.”
“Explain.”
“Hart claims that he and Matt were involved in a love triangle of sorts with their law clerk, that the girl picked Hart over Matt and Matt turned vindictive.”
“And you believe him.”
She carefully picked her words. “I don’t believe or disbelieve him. He doesn’t know about my working relationship with Matt, so what reason would he have to lie? I did consider that there are two sides to every story, and maybe Hart is bitter about the whole thing. Still...” her voice trailed off. When she said it out loud, it made her seem shallow. “Essentially, if I’m going to commit myself to working undercover for you, I need to believe that there is enough evidence to warrant the risk. I fear that this might just be a fishing expedition.”
Hooper said, “I see your concern. We have a tenuous connection between Hart and Rykov. Rykov has legitimate businesses, but the set up is typical of organized crime because it makes it extremely easy to launder money. I don’t know how Hart operates, but I know Rykov. He would not give any money to a politician unless he benefited in some way. The amounts in question are substantial, but within legal parameters. I don’t have enough to go to the AUSA and make my case, but I’ve worked white collar crime my entire FBI career. I would not have opened this investigation if I didn’t believe Hart was corrupt.”
“So you didn’t open it simply on Matt’s say-so.”
Hooper didn’t say anything for a moment. “Matt brought me the information three years ago after his election. I hadn’t made the connection between Hart and Rykov, but it’s there. Matt didn’t make it up. I’ve known Matt for some time, and I’ve never found him to be less than honest and honorable. Obviously, Hart said something that bothered you.”
“I guess it did.”
“And you’re certain he doesn’t know that you’re friends with Matt?”
“Yes. But, my father endorsed Matt over Travis, and because I was a cop for so long, it’s natural that our paths have crossed in court. I didn’t lie about knowing him. But you think Travis is trying to taint my opinion. Or fish for information.”
“It’s possible. We’ll meet tomorrow, with Matt, and get to the bottom of this. I don’t want you walking into Hart’s office if he has any clue what you’re really doing there.”
“Shit, I just remembered. Hart commented that Eric Huang, his legislative director, has some troublesome friends. Said Huang came from a good family, is a good employee, but made bad choices with friends. Have you looked into him? Sac PD thinks he’s clean.”
“I ran through your theory with our SWAT commander that Huang may have been the intended target. We went through Sac PD’s report on the shooting—there was no mention of your theory, but the crime scene techs prepared an accurate trajectory based on video from the television and security cameras as well as eyewitness reports. There’s no way we can conclude that who was the target, but my people believe it could have been—or that Huang and Hart were both targets. The first bullet hit the glass behind Huang and Hart, but they were only standing about eighteen inches apart when they entered the hotel. The bullet went between them. You’d already identified the gunman and people were moving seconds before the first shot was fired. The second bullet went through your arm, and had you not been there it’s hard to say whether it was intended for Hart or for Huang if he had continued walking along his projected trajectory.”
“That’s more information than Sac PD gave me.”
“I have a few ideas about what might have made Huang a target.”
“Do you care to share them with me?”
He hesitated. “Tomorrow. I’m bringing Huang in for questioning first thing in the morning. Everything depends on what he tells me. At this point, I’m just speculating.”
“But the shooter was Russian.”
“Matt told me that you ID’d him. I have his photo from your file, but we still don’t have a name to go with it. We can’t even prove he’s attached to Rykov. In fact, your photo of the shooter with Cordell is the only photo we have of the guy.”
“He’s young. Could he have recently come up the ranks?”
“Anything’s possible. It’s clear from the crime scene that he’s not a trained assassin. No shooter with experience would have picked that venue.”
Alex was relieved that Hooper was taking her theory seriously. “What time do you want me at your office?”
“I should be done with Huang by noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
***
Travis Hart lived in Fair Oaks, in a comfortable home overlooking the American River and the city beyond. In the evening, it didn’t take long to drive there, and he was eager to get to his computer and see if Sergei Rykov had made good on his promise. He dismissed his driver and went inside.
He’d always lived alone. He’d never wanted to get married, though he’d been thinking lately that maybe he should find himself a pretty, articulate, but not-too-smart girlfriend who he could turn into a long-term fiancée. While California was progressive, it wouldn’t serve him well to be labeled as gay, especially when he wasn’t. He just didn’t want to be attached to one woman. He wanted—needed—his freedom.
He strode to his home office and turned on his computer. And, as promised, received a link to the live feed from the bug that Rykov’s man had planted in Alex Morgan’s apartment while Travis took her to dinner. The idea had been last minute, just to make sure she wasn’t playing him. Travis was still very suspicious that a former cop who’d turned her partner in for using a prostitute was at the hotel at the same time as Huang was supposed to be taken out. All his contacts said she was completely on the outs with Sac PD, but she had been screwing the lead detective investigating the shooting. Travis couldn’t be certain of anything at this point.
He clicked the link to listen. A moment later Alex’s voice came through his speakers.
“... I fear that this might just be a fishing expedition.”
He frowned. Who was she talking to?
There was silence for a moment, which told Travis that she was on a phone conversation. Then Alex said, “So you didn’t open it simply on Matt’s say-so.”
Matt. Matt fucking Elliott.
That lying, manipulative bitch. What was she doing? Was she a political spy? Trying to get into his campaign? Or worse? Working for Matt Elliott? Except ... she was talking about Matt, not to him.
Had this whole night been a set-up from the beginning? He’d intended to dangle the job offer, then pull it at the last minute, with some excuse that the CHP was bringing in an expert to set up his security, and he’d call her when he needed her, or some such crap. He simply needed her to trust him tonight, to tell him everything she knew.
And she hadn’t. She’d lied.
“But the shooter is Russian.”
How the hell did she know that? There was absolutely no connection between the young shooter and Rykov, so how did she know he was Russian when the police didn’t even have an ID on the kid?
If Travis had a problem, Sergei Rykov had a problem. As soon as Alex Morgan got off the call, Travis called Rykov.
“That bitch is working for someone. You need to find out who. I only caught part of her conversation, I want the rest.”
“You are in no position to demand anything, or do you forget why you’re in this little mess in the first place?”
“If I go down, you go with me. And don’t even think about taking me out, because I have enough evidence to put you away for the rest of your life.”
“Do not threaten me. You have far more to lose than I do.”
Travis kicked his desk. “What are you going to do?”
“You’re prone to acting rashly. I will find out what Ms. Morgan knows, then determine the best course of action. You, go about your business and do not get in my way.”
Rykov hung up.
Travis threw his cell phone against the wall. One acc
ident and he was under that bastard’s thumb.
It’s not like he’d planned to kill anyone. He’d felt awful, but he shouldn’t have to go to prison for an accident.
He heard a loud knock and almost feared that someone had bugged his place, heard his conversation with Sergei Rykov, were coming to arrest him. Then he realized it was his computer, still running the live feed from the bug in Alex’s apartment.
He walked back to his desk and put his palms down. Closed his eyes and listened.
As soon as he heard Matt Elliott’s voice, he punched his fist through the wall.
Chapter Thirteen
Matt knocked on Alex’s door. The entire drive to her apartment his emotions bounced between anger and fear. Anger that Alex had called Dean and not him to ask about whatever Travis Hart said that upset her, and fear that she believed Hart.
Ultimately, he was determined to set the record straight. He had never lied to Alex, and she was damn well going to believe him before he walked out.
She answered the door, wearing cut-off sweat pants and a tank top. She stared at him, incredulous. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“Why are you ignoring my calls?” Matt asked. “You called Dean, but won’t pick up your phone for me?”
“I talked to you what, an hour ago? What’s going on?”
“Tell me what Travis Hart said to you.”
She blinked, then realization crossed her face. “Oh.”
He walked in and shut the door.
“Sure, come in, why not?”
She turned away from him and he took three long strides until he was face to face.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said.
“Like hell it isn’t. What did he say?”
Her expression was blank, which irritated him. He was on the edge here, needing Alex to trust him, and she maintained a poker face. “That you’re vindictive.”
“What else?”
“Who is Sharon?”
It took Matt a good thirty seconds to put it all together.
“Whatever he told you can’t possibly be the truth.”
“Then why don’t you tell me? Since you’re already here.”