by Lara Lacombe
Fiona replied automatically and took the pill she was offered. Despite her mixed emotions, she looked forward to getting to know Nate better and to see what their future held.
Together.
Chapter 14
It didn’t take long to get back to the station. Since Nate had left his car at Sal’s office, Owen met them at the hospital. He took one look at Fiona’s pale face and the ice pack she clutched to her side and jumped out to help her into the car. Once she was safely inside, he shot Nate a quizzical look.
“I don’t know all the details yet,” Nate said, responding to his partner’s silent question. “I told her to wait until we could take her statement, so she wouldn’t have to tell the story a million times.”
Owen snorted. “You know she’ll have to do that anyway. It’s never a one-and-done situation when it comes to witness statements.”
“I know. But in her case, her abductor is dead and so is Sal. I know the evidence will show she didn’t kill either of them, so I wanted to give her a chance to regroup before pummeling her with questions.”
Amusement flickered across Owen’s face. “So, in other words, you wanted to protect her.”
“It was the least I could do, after letting her get taken in the first place!” Nate felt his cheeks heat and knew he sounded defensive. But he didn’t care. Fiona might not blame him for what had happened, but it was going to take a long time before he forgot the sickening dread that had filled him at the realization she had been abducted.
Owen held up a hand in a gesture of placation. “Peace, man. I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time. I know what it’s like to see the woman you care about in danger.” He shook his head, the shadow of memory passing over his face. “It’s the worst feeling in the world.”
Nate nodded in perfect understanding. “It is,” he said softly.
Owen clapped him on the back. “Let’s get this show on the road. The sooner we get back, the sooner she can start to rebuild her life.”
Ten minutes later, they assembled in one of the interrogation rooms. “Can I get you anything?” Nate asked Fiona as she settled into one of the chairs. “Coffee? Water? Soda?”
She shook her head with a small smile. “I’m good, thanks. I’d kind of like to get this over with. How does it usually work?”
Sympathy welled in his chest, and he fought the urge to move his chair closer to hers so he could wrap his arm around her. But there would be time to comfort her later. For now, he was going to have to endure the torture of listening to the woman he adored recount her abduction and injuries, an experience he should have done more to prevent.
So he sat there, muscles growing tenser with every moment as she told her story. He tried to keep his face frozen so she wouldn’t see how much her words upset him. She’d already been through enough—she didn’t need to feel she had to comfort him. If anything, it should be the other way around.
Owen took it upon himself to steer the conversation, something Nate appreciated. He was in no frame of mind to do his job, not when it came to Fiona. He was too close to her to act as an effective detective when it came to her case, and he was grateful Owen hadn’t pointed that out. There was no doubt his partner recognized this particular weakness, but he was too professional to overtly mention it, at least to Nate’s face.
Owen was a master interviewer, asking Fiona pertinent questions in an unobtrusive way that didn’t disrupt the flow of her story or jar her out of the moment. Thanks to his input, Fiona painted a more complete picture of her time with Joey and Big Sal.
She had just started telling them how Joey had dragged her into Sal’s office when she was interrupted by a perfunctory knock on the door. The captain stepped inside, followed by two men sporting dark suits and white dress shirts. Their starched-shirt attitude screamed Feds, and Nate and Owen exchanged a loaded look. What fresh hell is this?
Nate glanced at the captain, whose pinched expression confirmed his first impression of the two newcomers. Captain Rogers looked like a grumpy basset hound, his thick brows drawn together and his mouth turned down in a frown that emphasized his jowls. “We have a problem,” he said, his voice low and unhappy.
“What’s going on?” Nate stood, not wanting to sit while the two suited unknowns towered over him.
The captain offered Fiona a small smile of apology and nodded at her. “Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Sanders.”
She glanced at the new arrivals, her eyes growing wide. “Uh, that’s fine.”
Captain Rogers jerked his thumb at the other two men. “This is Agent Golightly from Homeland Security, and that’s Agent Harmon from the DEA.”
One of the men spoke up. “Actually, I’m Harmon, and he’s Golightly.”
“Whatever,” the captain grumbled.
Owen rose, tucking his hands into his pockets. “What brings you to Houston, gentlemen?”
Golightly—or maybe it was Harmon—spoke up. “Someone in this unit recently uploaded a series of photographs to be analyzed by the facial recognition software. One of the individuals in those pictures is a known associate of Los Muerte, one of the largest and most dangerous Mexican drug cartels.”
Nate and Owen exchanged another look. Big Sal was known for his gambling empire, and all the evidence they had suggested that he stuck to that line of work. Had he fooled them all?
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Nate replied.
The agent gave him a thin smile. “We were notified of the hit, and dispatched to investigate. We need to talk to everyone involved in this case, to ascertain who knows what.”
Nate couldn’t hold back his scoff. “Well, unfortunately that’s a low number. The man in the photographs is dead. And the man who originally had the photographs—”
“Is also dead,” Captain Rogers put in grimly.
Fiona gasped softly, and Nate put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently to let her know he was still here.
“What?” Owen’s incredulity was palpable. “How is that possible? I left him in a holding cell a little over an hour ago.”
“He was given a sandwich, and he choked to death.”
“Just like that?” Nate didn’t bother to mask his skepticism. Ben Carson was a grown man who had spent a lifetime chewing his food before swallowing. It was highly unlikely he’d forgotten how to eat on today of all days.
Captain Rogers shot him a quelling look. “We’re looking into it,” he said gruffly.
Uh-huh. Something was definitely off here. First, Sal committed suicide for no apparent reason. Then Ben died under suspicious circumstances. And now two uptight Federal suits were butting in on the investigation.
The two men didn’t look surprised at the news that another possible witness connected to the case was dead. “It’s starting already,” one of them murmured.
“What’s starting?” Nate asked sharply. He didn’t like these men, he decided. With their arrogant, standoffish attitude and their expectation that Nate and Owen would hand their case over to them on a silver platter, they rubbed him the wrong way. It was time they started sharing what they knew—or thought they knew—about this investigation.
The two men remained stubbornly silent, which only served to further antagonize Nate. He felt his temper building and could tell from Owen’s posture that his partner felt the same. It was time to take control of this conversation and show these two suits they didn’t run things in this station.
“You know, you haven’t told us who popped up in the image analysis,” Nate said, striving for a conversational tone. “Big Sal is—or was, rather—one of our local treasures. He ran a gambling syndicate, but he wasn’t into drugs. I can’t imagine it was his picture that brought you vultures to our door.”
The two agents shared a look but didn’t respond.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, partner?” Owen asked.
Nate nodded. “They’re not here for Big Sal,” he replied.
“Nope.” Owen’s expression was frie
ndly enough, but his eyes were cold. “They’re here because of the woman in the pictures.”
“She’s your cartel link,” Nate finished. He eyed the two men carefully. One of them had a decent poker face, but he caught the flash of subdued irritation that passed across the other man’s features. Gotcha, he thought, the spurt of satisfaction he felt doing wonders to improve his mood.
He glanced at Owen, pleased to see his partner had noticed it, too. “I think it’s time you shared what you know,” Owen said quietly. “Otherwise, we can’t help you.”
One of the agents glanced at Captain Rogers, clearly expecting the higher-ranked officer to intervene. But the captain merely stared back, his expression pleasantly blank. Seeing they would get no help from that quarter, the two agents glanced at each other again. Some kind of silent communication passed between them, and finally one of them shrugged in acceptance.
“We’ll tell you what we know,” he said. Then he glanced at Fiona, seeming to register her presence for the first time. “But not in front of her.”
“No.” Nate rejected the offer swiftly, before Owen or Captain Rogers had a chance to respond. “Whatever is going on here involves her, and she has a right to know about it.”
Fiona looked up at him, her eyes shining with gratitude. He acknowledged her thanks with another squeeze of her shoulder. She’d been through hell already and had come out a winner. If this nightmare wasn’t over yet, she deserved to know why and what she was up against.
The agent—Nate decided he was Golightly—shot another look at Captain Rogers. The captain’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t overrule Nate’s declaration. Nate made a mental note to take the captain out for a drink when this was all over. He could tell from the man’s expression that he wasn’t thrilled with Nate’s pronouncement, but he was too loyal to his men to undermine Nate in the face of these strangers.
He caught his captain’s eye and gave him a subtle nod of thanks. Captain Rogers returned the gesture. Then they both glanced at the two agents, who now wore identical expressions of pinched annoyance.
“Whenever you’re ready, gentlemen,” the captain drawled.
“The woman in the photographs is Isabella Cologne,” one man said grudgingly. “She is the daughter of Cesar Cologne, who runs some regional operations for Los Muerte in Mexico.” He stopped, clearly thinking he’d supplied enough information.
“So?” Nate prodded. “Why all the drama over the daughter of a Mexican mob boss?”
“She’s not just his daughter.” Golightly spoke through clenched teeth. “She acts as a recruiter for the organization.”
“Meaning what?” Owen asked.
“She identifies potentially useful allies and sets out to align them with her father’s interests. Using whatever means necessary,” he finished, his emphasis on the final words leaving no doubt as to his meaning.
“It’s a honey trap,” Nate said, nodding slowly. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book—use sex appeal to trick a man into giving up secrets or doing what you wanted. It was a crude strategy but eternally effective.
Golightly nodded approvingly. “Usually, it works. And in this case, it appeared to be successful. We have reason to believe Big Sal was in negotiations to use his gambling connections and resources to launder money for the cartel.”
Owen whistled softly. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“Like I said, the deal was all but done.”
“Then why did he kill himself?” Fiona asked softly. Everyone turned to look at her, and her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. She cleared her throat and spoke again, louder this time. “If Sal had such a great deal coming his way, why did he kill himself today? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I suspect he committed suicide to avoid answering to the cartel,” the other agent said drily. “Once those pictures were out, Sal’s links to Isabella and the cartel were no longer secret. That’s something the cartel doesn’t appreciate.”
Nate realized with a growing sense of horror just what the other man meant. Without meaning to, he tightened his grip on Fiona’s shoulder, making her squirm in protest. “So what you’re saying,” he began, speaking slowly to get the words out, “is that anyone who has seen those pictures is now a target of the cartel?”
Golightly’s expression was deadly serious. “Yes. I’m afraid so.” He turned to address Fiona. “We need to talk about getting you into protective custody, to make sure you’re safe from the cartel.”
Fiona went pale at his words, the color draining from her face so quickly Nate thought she might faint. “But why? No one else knows I’ve seen these pictures.”
Golightly shook his head, dismissing her protest. Nate spoke up. “She has a point. Her name is not connected to these photographs. Why should she uproot her life when she’s not a target?”
“Because she will be,” Golightly replied. “It’s only a matter of time before the identity of everyone who has seen the pictures is known. And the cartel will stop at nothing as it tries to employ damage control.”
Nate frowned, the explanation sounding a bit off to him. “That doesn’t make any sense. You already know Isabella tries to lure people into forming an alliance with her father. That means she’s had unsuccessful attempts before, and someone lived to tell about it.”
“Someone who is now in the witness protection program,” Golightly interrupted.
“But I’m not a threat!” Fiona protested. “There’s nothing I can do that will hurt these people, or their business. I don’t understand why they would focus on me when my existence doesn’t impact them at all.”
Golightly shot her a pitying look. “These people don’t care. To them, lives are cheap and disposable. And they’d rather snuff out someone who might one day turn out to be a threat than err on the side of letting them live.”
Fiona looked up at Nate, her expression a silent plea. His heart ached for her and the fear he saw in her eyes. It was so unfair—she hadn’t asked for any of this, and it was only through the selfish actions of her boss that she’d been pulled into this nightmare. He wished he could snap his fingers and make it all go away, but it didn’t work like that. Instead, he was going to have to come up with a way to keep her safe, because he wasn’t letting these two strangers load her into a black SUV and take her away from him forever.
“What are the options?” he asked. “For all of us.”
Golightly frowned. “What do you mean, all of you?”
Owen piped up, his brows drawn together in a frown. “We’ve all seen the pictures. If what you say is true, then all of us are targets of the cartel.”
“I’m only authorized to bring in one person today,” Golightly said. “I’ll have to talk to my superiors and explain that we need protection for an additional three police officers.”
Nate nodded. “Why don’t you do that now,” he said, his tone making it clear it wasn’t a suggestion. “Because I can tell you, she’s not going anywhere alone.”
Golightly shot him a disgusted look but stepped out of the room, his hand already reaching into his pocket for his phone.
Nate waited until the door closed behind the other man, then blew out his breath. “I don’t know how you stand working with that guy,” he said to Agent Harmon.
Harmon shrugged. “I don’t really know him. This is the first time we’ve met.”
Fiona stood. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“End of the hall, last door on your right,” Captain Rogers directed.
She nodded her thanks and started for the door. Nate followed her. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. “Do you want me to walk you there?”
“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. “I just need a minute. It’s a lot to process.”
“Take your time,” he said, briefly touching the small of her back. “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”
She gave him a grateful smile and slipped out the door.
Nate turned to find that Owen had stepped closer. �
�Is it just me, or does something about this whole situation seem off to you?”
His partner nodded. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
Captain Rogers drifted over, leaving Agent Harmon on the other side of the table. The man seemed oblivious, totally absorbed by the lit screen of his phone. Good. Nate didn’t want his input on this conversation.
“I don’t like this,” Captain Rogers said as soon as he was close enough. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“It’s almost a little too perfect,” Nate observed. “Their explanations for everything, I mean. And it doesn’t match up with what we know.”
Owen nodded. “If a major Mexican drug cartel was moving in, bodies should be piling up. We haven’t seen that, and we haven’t seen an uptick in the type of violence cartels are known for.”
“Unless they’re trying to keep a low profile,” Captain Rogers said. “If they really are in the early stages of making a deal, they might not want to draw attention to it.”
“That’s possible,” Nate allowed. “But I find it hard to believe the cartel would move this quickly. I scanned those photos into the system this morning, and you’re telling me that in a matter of hours they saw them and dispatched goons to erase anyone who’d seen them? That seems awfully fast to me.”
“It suggests they have someone working on the inside,” Owen said, dropping his voice even lower. “What do you know about these two guys, Captain?”
The older man shook his head. “Next to nothing. I called their superiors, who verified they’d been sent. But that’s all I know.”
“Maybe it’s time to do a little digging of our own,” Nate suggested.
“Couldn’t hurt,” the captain agreed. “I want to hear what Golightly says first, and then I’ll see what I can find out.”
Nate tamped down his rising impatience. The captain knew what he was doing, and it would be good for all three of them to hear Golightly’s report. He was glad he wasn’t the only one who was uneasy about the situation. At first he’d worried that his growing feelings for Fiona were clouding his judgment, but knowing that his partner and his boss thought the same thing validated his suspicions.