Craft Brew

by Layla Reyne

  With a frustrated groan, Cam tossed aside the book in his hand and lay back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. “What did she think we’d find in these?”

  When Jamie didn’t reply, Cam lolled his head his direction. All of Jamie’s focus was on the book in his hand. “What are these?” he asked, turning the book to Cam and holding open the front cover.

  “Character names,” Cam answered. “From the book. She used to write them there so she could keep the family tree straight.”

  “But these don’t match.” He tapped with his index finger, holding the cover open. “The listed names are not the characters’ names.”

  “They can be for the series, not just that one book.”

  Jamie shook his head. “Cam, listen to me, none of them match. And they’re all female.”

  Cam righted himself and reached for the book he’d earlier tossed aside. It was the typical family tree sort in that one, but in the next book he grabbed from the stack, it was a nonconforming list, like Jamie’s. “The names in this one don’t match either. And I recognize some of them.” Especially the ones that had been crossed through. “They’re missing persons cases that we evaluated and discarded as—”

  Cam froze at the name halfway down the page, a line struck through it.

  “What is it?” Jamie said.

  He turned the book around, open, and held it out to Jamie. “Anyone’s name look familiar?”

  Jamie’s eyes widened at the halfway mark, same as his had. “Holy shit, Rebecca Wright? Is that the same Rebecca Wright from the case last spring?”

  “I think so. I remember an old missing persons report in her file.”

  Twisting, Jamie grabbed his laptop and brought it to his lap, fingers flying across the keyboard. Cam scooted to his side and waited for the search to run. Mentions of the heist case dominated, until Jamie added “Boston or Massachusetts” to the search parameters. On page two of the refreshed results, they got a hit. A missing persons report filed in Waltham, and it was their Becca all right. Same jet black hair, same dark eyes, same cocky, confident expression.

  “Did you know she was from around here?”

  Cam shook his head. “No, she didn’t have an accent at all.” That said, her ex-girlfriend was a linguistics expert. “She was reported missing when she was fourteen.”

  “Only two years older than Erin. She didn’t ping the investigation?”

  Cam shook his head. “We didn’t connect her to the case because she was found shortly thereafter. A runaway.”

  “Well, your mother did, for some reason.”

  “Mom was making lists too,” Cam said. “Of similar cases.”

  “And crossing out the names on girls who were found, like Becca. Do you recognize the other names? The ones not crossed out?”

  Most, but not all of them. And those were Cam’s first real lead in twenty years.

  * * *

  A stack of work was waiting for Nic when he returned to his office Monday morning—some of his own cases, some of Bowers’s—including a motion he had to argue on less than an hour’s prep. Even flying by the seat of his pants, it felt good to be back in his home courthouse, the judges and clerks happy to see him again.

  Outside the courthouse though, he couldn’t say for certain whether the tall, suited black man standing at the bottom of the steps was happy to see him. But then that hard, take-no-bullshit scowl broke into a gleaming white smile, and the man was transformed. Morphing from imposing federal agent to an absurdly attractive man who knew how to flash that smile to get exactly what he wanted, including a Bureau Assistant Director’s position. Helped that Elton Moore was also supremely competent at his job.

  “You think they appreciate weather like this in San Diego, when they have it year round?” Moore spread his arms, showing off his massive wingspan. The guy did not look like a bureaucratic desk jockey.

  “You’re right.” Nic made his way down the courthouse steps. “This is something only us Bay Area natives can truly appreciate.”

  “That’s what I told my ex-wife. She moved back to Georgia where they have—” he curled his fingers for air quotes “—real seasons.”

  “They can keep the snow.”

  “Not gonna argue that one, Counselor.” He nodded to the courthouse behind Nic. “You win your motion?”

  “Of course.”

  Moore laughed, full and loud. “You always were a cocky son of a bitch.”

  “Won you more than a few cases.”

  “That you have.”

  The chitchat was cordial—he and Moore always had been, each respecting the other’s talents—but Nic couldn’t help wondering what the Assistant Director was seeking him out for today. A case? Or the case Nic wasn’t supposed to be working? Only one way to find out; no use beating around the bush. “Something you need, El?”

  “Walk with me.” Moore extended an arm toward the food trucks parked around UN Plaza. A little after noon, it wasn’t too crowded yet. “Pick your poison, Price?”

  “I’ve got a staff meeting at one.”

  “Just need fifteen minutes of your time.” The AD was obviously stewing over something. “Promise, it’ll be worth it.”

  They grabbed sushi burritos, and Nic followed Moore over to the water fountain. Pigeons scattered as they claimed one of the empty concrete benches. Nic didn’t miss the AD’s strategic choice of seats. There were other people around—nothing to see here—but the fall of water from the fountain would make it impossible for anyone to eavesdrop on their conversation.

  He unwrapped the foil from his burrito and took a bite, crunching through crispy daikon and pickled carrots and cucumbers to reach the rice and tempura shrimp, all the flavors mixing with the sriracha mayo. He swallowed down the bite, then fixed Moore with his best questioning the witness stare. “What’s going on, El?”

  “You tell me,” Moore said, throwing the inquisitor’s stare right back at him. “Why have you been meeting with your father’s executive assistant? And don’t tell me it’s a sudden interest in joining the family business.”

  Nic couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped.

  The corners of Moore’s eyes crinkled, letting on that he was fighting a knowing smile. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

  Nic took another bite, deciding whether or not to trust the AD. Aidan and Cam both did, the latter urging him to go to Moore, especially if Moore had more facts on Vaughn and Curtis that they could use. At the same time, Moore was a skilled interrogator and an astute political climber, having played the game masterfully so far, becoming one of the youngest serving ADs. Nic had to tread carefully. “You’ve got eyes on the family office?”

  Moore took a bite and nodded.

  “My father too?”

  Nodded again.

  “Me?”

  He swallowed and swiped a napkin across his mouth. “Not unless you’re suddenly getting into the family business. A source tells me you’re not.”

  Nic let out a breath, relaxing. Ten to one he knew who that source was, and if she trusted Moore, if she had questioned him and come to that conclusion, including about this, then Nic trusted her instincts. “That source a certain bounty hunter of our mutual acquaintance?”

  One side of Moore’s mouth hitched up. “Bail enforcement agent.”

  Nic chuckled. “Sure, if that’s what we want to call her.”

  Moore’s smile faded and he set his burrito aside. “You know what you’re getting into here, Price?”

  “I think I’d know more if I saw the FBI’s file on the matter.”

  Moore seemed to consider him now, deciding whether or not to trust him, and Mel. Reaching the same conclusion Nic had, he withdrew a flash drive from his pocket. “Give that to Agent Hall. Should be what she needs to crack the encryption on the flash drives she copied last spring.”

  Nic
wiped off his hands before taking the jump stick. “Who encrypted them? Walker’s the only person I know who can outcode Hall.”

  “And Walker would have given you the key.” That devastatingly handsome smirk reappeared. “Which is why I had Walker’s mentor at MIT encrypt them.”

  “Why are you giving this to me?”

  Moore leaned forward, forearms resting on his crossed legs. “Because you’re a good attorney, Price. You were a good soldier too. You don’t deserve to have your name dragged through the mud for something you didn’t do. You need to be the one to shut it down, but you need to be careful. Vaughn has sources, everywhere.”

  Nic narrowed his eyes, parsing through the AD’s words. He didn’t want to offend, but he had to ask. “Your office?”

  Not offended in the least, Moore nodded. “Talley’s and Byrne’s conflicts weren’t the only reason access was restricted on this matter.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “No, we couldn’t figure it out, which is why I’m authorizing you to bring in Talley for the mole hunt. I don’t want that shark Vaughn infesting my waters.”

  So this wasn’t just about helping him. Moore wanted to clean up his own shop too, to make sure the way was clear for his next step up the ladder. Seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement to Nic. They both had skin in the game.

  Nic pocketed the flash drive. “I was already planning to loop Aidan in.”

  “Good,” Moore said. “But there’s a leak in your shop too.”

  “I think I know who.” The same person who’d known where he’d be each of those times a threat had been leveled against him. The same person who’d ridden his ass particularly hard as of late.

  “Don’t be so sure.” Moore scooped up his leftovers and stood, Nic doing the same. “He was my first guess too, but we didn’t find anything to connect him. Some people, like your boss, are just assholes.”

  If not Bowers, then who was the asshole helping Vaughn? That’s what Nic needed to find out before the gangster decided threats were no longer enough.

  Chapter Nine

  Captain Diana Pritchard sauntered toward the front desk of the Boston Family Justice Center, smile dazzling as she caught sight of Cam. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Agent Hard Ass.” That had always been Di’s favorite nickname for him, for multiple reasons. Dressed as he was in a suit and tie, Cam had been hoping for the professional one, but by the way Di’s big brown eyes raked him over, she was definitely contemplating the less professional context, which he’d admittedly welcomed when he’d been younger, hot-to-trot, and unattached.

  Then her gaze shifted to Jamie, and Cam might as well have been invisible.

  She pushed through the swinging counter door, whistling. “Damn, sugar, where you been hiding him?”

  “In San Francisco, with his husband,” Cam answered, and Jamie brandished his wedding band.

  Her face fell so fast it was comical. “Well, that’s a fucking shame.”

  “Di, Jameson Walker.” Cam gestured between the two. “Jamie, Diana Pritchard, Captain of BPD’s Family Justice Group.”

  Jamie held out his hand, flashing his good-ole-boy smile. “Captain Pritchard.”

  “Di, please,” she said. “You a fed too?”

  “Former. Consultant still, on occasion.”

  She shifted her assessing gaze back to Cam. “What are you doing back here? Just showing your boy around?”

  When he’d worked kidnap cases for the Bureau, especially those involving missing children, Cam frequently worked with Di’s group, the matters often crossing over. As they did again now.

  “Personal matter,” he said. “Looking again into some missing persons cases.”

  Di’s expression softened, the mother of four coming out in her. There was a reason she’d dedicated her career to the Family Justice Group, and a reason the officers working under her were some of the most loyal and hardworking in the BPD. “You going there again?” She’d found him more than once in the basement archives, combing through Erin’s file. After enough times, she’d made him an unauthorized copy. “If you’re gonna obsess,” she’d said, “at least be in stumbling distance of your own bed so you don’t keep falling asleep here.”

  “Special request,” he told her now. “Mom’s in the hospital.”

  “Oh, sugar.” She pulled Cam into a hug. “She gonna be okay?”

  “She had a heart attack. Bypass surgery today, maybe more later this week.”

  “So you’re here distracting yourself.”

  “That, and she asked me—”

  She raised a hand. “Say no more.” If anyone knew the lengths grieving parents and family members would go to find the truth, for better or worse, it was Di. As captain of the FJG, she oversaw human trafficking, domestic violence and crimes against children cases, many often involving runaways. “But won’t the FBI and missing persons databases have more info?”

  “We’ve put in all the usual requests,” Jamie said. “They’re compiling files and uploading for us to review.” With special emphasis on the names they’d relayed from his mother’s books and on any reported within the past year, since Cam had been on the West Coast.

  “We wanted to review BPD’s files too,” Cam said. “Since missing persons are usually reported here first.”

  “I got you.” She held open the swinging counter door and led them through the bullpen. Their path of travel was frequently delayed by officers interrupting to greet Cam, but they eventually reached the basement stairs. “Timing’s good,” Di said, leading them down. “Superintendent’s at headquarters.”

  “He owes me a favor, or ten,” Cam said.

  “Don’t doubt it,” Di replied. “But now’s not a good time for feds to be poking around BPD and missing persons cases.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Officer over in D4—” she looked over her shoulder at Jamie “—that’s District Four.”

  “South End,” he said with a nod.

  She halted and Cam nearly ran into her. “You sound Southern and look California...”

  “Grad school at MIT, and I spent summers here all through undergrad.” He jutted a thumb at Cam. “With this one.”

  She waved a hand and continued down the steps. “Okay, you’re local. So, over in South End, Officer Murphy’s daughter, Shannon, went missing day before yesterday. We’re trying to keep it in house, at least for now.”

  “Randall Murphy?” Cam asked.

  She shook her head. “Little brother, Billy.”

  “They’re Southies,” Cam told Jamie. Then to Di, “Like you said before, the feds have more resources that can help.”

  She raised both hands as they walked down the hall to archives, which took up the back half of the building’s basement. “Preaching to the choir, sugar, but they got their reasons.” She pushed open the swinging doors, and the lights automatically flipped on.

  Standing among the four wooden work tables, Cam eyed the rolling racks of files stretching endlessly the opposite direction. A sad sight in and of itself—so many cases—but the very files he needed access to.

  “You remember where everything is?” Di asked.

  “Yep, other than the coffeemaker.” He’d noticed it missing from the kitchenette.

  “Upgrade.” Waggling her blond brows, she opened a cabinet door to reveal a single-serve espresso machine.

  “Look at you,” Cam teased. “Gettin’ all fancy.”

  “Was the least I could do for the archives and evidence clerks.” Always taking care of her people. “You in town for a while?”

  “To be determined.”

  “All right, just don’t fall asleep down here. Lights go out automatically now.” She gave him a wink as she stepped past him toward the doors. “You boys let me know if you need anything.”

  The doors swung closed be
hind her and Cam sat at the table by the window, picking at the nick his own fingernail had carved there over the years.

  “How’s it feel to be back?” Jamie asked, claiming the chair across from him.

  “Better than it should,” he admitted, and that was a problem.

  * * *

  The first time Nic had visited “mobile command” it’d been a bright spring morning, right at the start of this mess with Vaughn. Five months later, they were meeting under the cover of darkness and Aidan, rather than Mel, stood on the deck of the yacht with Irish and American flags flying from its stern.

  “I see I’m late for the party,” Nic said, climbing aboard.

  “Nah, I just got here myself.” Aidan gestured for him to follow, headed toward the deck stairs. “You heard from Cam today?”

  “Not yet. He has the night shift with his mom, so usually later.”

  Aidan glanced back, smirking. “You know his schedule.”

  Nic pushed him down a step, and Aidan chuckled. A throat cleared from across the living area, and Nic looked up to find a reproachful Mel leaning out of what should have been the bedroom. “Lauren’s got something,” she said, then vanished back inside, muttering “children” under her breath.

  “Into mobile command we go,” Nic said with a grin.

  Aidan held a finger up to his lips, half shushing him, half holding back his laughter.

  It was an accurate description, though. Befitting a Chief of Security for a major shipping company, and bounty hunter on the side, Mel had retrofitted the main cabin with a wall of monitors and high-speed computers, satellite connections that ran up to the roof, police band radios, and an AmSec 800 safe, courtesy of their heist crew case. Who knew what was behind that armored door.

  Even with all the gear and four people, the area was relatively spacious. “Moore’s key worked?” Nic asked Lauren, who was working at the bank of computers.

  “Like a charm.” Her glittery red nails flew across the keyboard, and the screens filled with PDFs. “We’ve now got the full FBI files on your father and on Duncan Vaughn.”