Black Out

by Lynn Raye Harris

  Jennifer Clark, known at work as Jenny or Jen, had been found in her car that morning by a jogger who’d noticed her slumped over the wheel. He’d knocked on the window. When she didn’t respond, he tried to open the door. It was locked and he called 911. The police and an ambulance arrived within minutes.

  No report on what had killed her yet, but initial evidence indicated she’d been dead for about six hours at that point.

  Colt continued to twist Angie’s hair as she clung to him. He couldn’t tell her yet. Not when she was sick. The last thing she needed was to get emotional about Jenny’s death when she was still recovering from a stomach bug.

  So he didn’t tell her, and he felt guilty about it. He’d left her phone in the kitchen, turned off, so no one could blow up her messages with the news.

  His phone buzzed and he picked it up. It was Ian so he answered as quietly as he could. Angie didn’t stir.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “How’s the patient?”

  “Better, but still not feeling great.”

  “And you?”

  “I feel fine.”

  “Glad to hear it. Preliminary report on Jenny Clark is that she committed suicide. Prescription anxiety meds combined with bourbon. There was an empty bottle in the car. They ran a rape kit on her and she’d had sex just a few hours before. There were finger marks on her throat, but they didn’t kill her. The age of the marks is consistent with when she had sex—she also had light bruising on her buttocks. A little bit of vigorous spanking, possibly. And there were bite marks on her nipples. Whoever she had sex with, it wasn’t strictly vanilla.”

  “You’re telling me she had a few orgasms, and then she drove her car to a parking lot near the waterfront and downed pills with bourbon?”

  “It could happen. I don’t believe it did, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t.”

  “Do you think it’s connected to everything else?”

  “The million dollar question. Yes, I do.”

  “But you aren’t telling me over the phone.”

  “No. You’ll have to come in.”

  He knew what Ian meant. It was sensitive information and it had to be discussed behind BDI’s secure doors. “Can’t do that right now, boss.”

  “I know.”

  “Is she in danger?” He wasn’t saying her name because he didn’t want to wake her.

  “I think she’s fine for the moment. They don’t know where she is. I’m putting Tyler and Jared onto your security. They’ll be watching.”

  Staking out his house, Ian meant. “Is that necessary?”

  “Right now when she’s sick and you’re distracted by it? Yeah, it’s necessary. I don’t expect any trouble, but I didn’t live to be this age by being careless and whimsical.”

  Colt would never describe Ian as whimsical. It was almost comical to think of that word associated with him. “You’re the boss, boss.”

  “Need you here in the morning. Jared can stay with your girl while you come in.”

  His girl. She was his girl.

  “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Angie was feeling almost like herself the next morning. She managed to sleep all night, waking up only once to pee—and no puking, thankfully. It was nice not to have to run to the bathroom several times a night, or feel like hell when her stomach cramped.

  Colt had slept beside her last night. She remembered that clearly. He’d been wearing a shirt and shorts, but he was there with her. They’d slept together. Just slept. It was a strange thought, and a nice one too. Who would have ever thought it?

  She searched for her phone on the nightstand. It wasn’t there. She didn’t know what time it was, though she knew it was light because there was a sliver coming between the drapes. She got out of bed, feeling a little shaky, and went into the bathroom to freshen up.

  Colt had moved her toiletries to the master. Her heart thumped at his thoughtfulness. She went back into the bedroom, found that he’d brought her suitcase in, and rummaged through for something to wear. Her clothes from yesterday were neatly folded on a chair. She grabbed clean underwear and a bra and socks, selected another pair of yoga pants and a sweater, then went to take a shower. She pinned her hair up because it didn’t need to be washed this time.

  Freshly dressed, she emerged into the hall and headed for the living areas. She heard voices and stopped. She hadn’t realized Colt wasn’t alone. She listened until his visitor spoke again.

  Jared Fraser.

  Both men turned their heads as Angie walked into the kitchen. Colt was leaning against the counter, one leg crossed over the other. Jared sat at the table with a cup of coffee.

  Colt moved toward her. “Baby, how do you feel?”

  Angie smiled. “Much better.”

  He put a hand under her elbow to steady her and led her to the table where he sat her down. “Are you hungry?”

  She thought about it. Her belly didn’t rebel at the thought of food, which was good. “Maybe something light?”

  “Soup? Or toast and egg whites?”

  “Toast and egg whites sounds good.”

  “You got it.”

  She turned her attention to Jared, who was watching her. “Thank you for the medicine. I think it helped.”

  “I’m glad. We don’t usually do too much for stomach flu, but you learn a trick or two in the field. Helps lessen the impact a little bit.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I was that sick.”

  “Hopefully it’ll be a long time before you are again.”

  “God I hope so.”

  Colt finished the toast and brought it to her on a plate. He didn’t put anything on it, but he set out butter and jam for her. She knifed up some jam and spread it on a warm slice while he went back to the stove to scramble up a couple of egg whites. “Is there any news?” she asked when she’d eaten half of the toast.

  Colt tipped the pan and slid scrambled egg whites on her plate. She didn’t miss the look he and Jared exchanged.

  Colt dragged out a chair and sat down beside her. His expression was more serious than she’d seen it these past couple of days. “There’s a little bit of news, Ang. Eat first.”

  She thought about rebelling, but her stomach rumbled and she decided she needed the protein. She ate the eggs and finished the toast while Jared and Colt waited. When she was done, she pushed the plate away.

  “Okay. You can tell me now.”

  “It’s not good.”

  Her heart dropped. “Did they find Charles? Is he dead?”

  Colt’s blue eyes bored into hers. “Charles is still missing, baby. But a jogger found Jenny Clark yesterday. It looks like she committed suicide.”

  Angie went cold and then hot. Her throat closed. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and willed herself not to cry before glaring at them both. “Oh my god. I just saw her. She was upset about the fire, but she didn’t seem suicidal. We went to breakfast. Oh god.” She looked at Colt. “It doesn’t make sense. If she was ever going to kill herself it would have been last year when Dwight—that’s her ex—left her for another woman. It was an ugly divorce. They share custody of the kids. Oh lord, her kids…”

  Colt put a hand on her back and rubbed. “I know, minette. I didn’t tell you yesterday because you weren’t in any condition to deal with the news.”

  She shook her head as a hot tear fell down her cheek. “I wish you had.” The kitchen was getting blurry. She tried to push her chair back, but Colt blocked it with his foot. “I need my phone.”

  “I’ll get it for you. Here.”

  He shoved a box of tissue under her nose. She pulled some out and pressed them to her eyes.

  Her phone appeared on the table in front of her. “Look at your messages, but don’t send any just yet, okay?”

  She frowned. “Okay.”

  She picked up her phone and unlocked it. There were text messages. Lots of them. Liam had texted her. Maddy. Jenny.

  Oh god.r />
  Jenny: Hey, Angie. I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere? Call me.

  Angie swallowed. “She tried to get in touch with me. She had a couple of Charles’s accounts. I asked her if she’d found anything wrong but she said no. Maybe she found something later…. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  Colt put an arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. “I know, baby.”

  “I think I need to lie down again.” She got to her feet, her phone clutched in her hand.

  “Baby, you need to leave the phone here.”

  Annoyance pricked her. “I can lie in bed and look at my messages. I’ll be fine.”

  “No, Ang.” His tone told her he wasn’t going to let her take the phone from the room. And that made her angry.

  “It’s my damned phone,” she spat. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “You’re under my protection, and I can tell you what to do.” His voice was harder than she’d ever heard it. Commanding and final. “You aren’t going to answer any of those texts right now. Or your emails. It’s best if you stay dark, don’t let people know where you are. Until we know what’s going on, you can’t take any chances.”

  She bit her trembling lip as anger and grief assaulted her senses. Colt and Jared both looked at her calmly, like it was no big deal. To them it wasn’t. Neither the anger nor the grief. They were used to death.

  If she insisted on keeping her phone, they could overpower her, take it by force. There was nothing she could do to stop them.

  She was powerless, and she hated it.

  “Fine,” she growled. Then she threw the phone onto the table and stormed out of the kitchen.

  “I think that went well,” Colt said to Jared as soon the bedroom door slammed.

  Jared snorted. “Only if pissing her off was your intention.”

  He hated that he’d had to do it, but she didn’t realize how lucky she was to still have access to her phone. He’d checked for spyware when she’d been sleeping. There was none. He’d also made sure tracking was disabled. If this was a different kind of mission, he’d have turned it off, put it in a metal box, and left it that way.

  “Angie’s smart and logical. She’ll realize it’s for the best once she thinks about it some more. She’s emotional. It doesn’t help that she’s just gotten over being sick.”

  Jared nodded. “She seems to trust you. I’d heard you were hung up on her, but she wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

  Jared had been out of the country on assignment for a good part of the past few months, so he’d missed the push and pull between Colt and Angie. Still, people thought he’d been hung up on her? Maybe he had.

  Maybe he still was.

  “She spent time in the hospital with me after I was shot. When I got better, she cooled off. Seems as if she blamed herself and thought I hated her for it, so she avoided me.”

  “She might start avoiding you again once this is over.”

  “Maybe. But at least she’ll be alive.” He didn’t really intend to give her the chance though. Yeah, maybe he wasn’t the right kind of guy for Miss Angie Turner, but he wasn’t giving up without a fight. Even if part of what he had to fight was himself. He stood. “I guess I’d better tell her you’ll be here with her so I can head out.”

  “Make sure you don’t present yourself as too big a target. I fear she might throw something at you the next time.”

  Colt laughed. “Yeah, I got you. I’ll use the door as a shield.”

  He didn’t though. He walked back to his bedroom, knocked softly on the door, and entered the room. Angie was under the covers, smashing the channel button on the remote, her eyes glistening with tears. She glanced at him, then concentrated on the TV again.

  “I’m sorry, minette.”

  She sniffed. “For what? Jenny’s death, or ordering me to leave my phone with you?”

  “Both.” He went over and perched on the side of the bed. She still didn’t look at him. Her pretty face was pale and tear-streaked, her eyes puffy. His heart twisted. “I’d do anything to change what’s happened, but I can’t. All I can do is protect you and keep you safe.”

  She looked at him, pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Her eyes were wet, wounded. “I hate this, Colt. Hate that I got sick, hate not being in charge of my own life, hate everything that’s happened since Charles left and I got that account.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s connected. It has to be. Jenny, I mean. She was crying the morning of the fire. When I asked what was wrong, she said it was silly. She said she was crying over photos of her children that had burned though she could just print them again. But if she could reprint them, why cry about it?”

  “Some people are strangely emotional about stuff like that.”

  “Maybe. But what if she wasn’t? What if it was something else? Maybe she knew something about Charles and the Cardinal Group. Maybe she wanted to tell me about it and somebody killed her to stop her.”

  He hated the idea that Jenny might have known Angie’d found something suspect in Martinelli’s files. “Anything is possible at this point.” He paused. “Ang, I have to go out for a while. Jared will be here with you if you need anything.”

  “How long will you be away?”

  “An hour or two.” He bent and kissed her on the forehead. She didn’t pull away from him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  She caught his shirt in a fist before he could sit up again. Their gazes met. “Do you promise?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  Her fingers untwisted the fabric. He stood. She was so small in his bed. He wanted to see her there when she was completely better—and he wanted her naked.

  “Be careful, Colt.”

  “I will, baby. Get some rest. We’ll watch one of those old movies of yours later.”

  Ian was waiting for him when he exited the elevator onto the fifth floor.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you could pull yourself away for an hour.”

  Colt didn’t rise to the bait. “I said I’d be here.”

  “Come on then.” Ian turned and led the way to one of the conference rooms. Jace was waiting. Dax.

  And Brett.

  Colt stopped in surprise. “Brett. Didn’t expect you back yet.”

  Brett extended a hand. They shook. “Man, after all you did for me and Tallie, you think I’d stay away when you needed me?”

  “You could have finished your vacation. It’s not that dire.”

  Brett shrugged. “Both of us were ready to go. Tallie found the pieces she needs for the new store, so she’s eager to get back to it. Besides, when she heard Angie might be in trouble, she knew you’d be involved.”

  Colt frowned. “How did she hear about that?”

  “Maddy. The three of them have become friends since Tallie moved up here. She also knows Angie had a stomach virus, and she wants me to tell you she’d be happy to help out. Do the shopping, fix a casserole—that kind of thing.”

  Colt was touched. He liked Tallie Grant a lot. She was perfect for Brett. She softened his rough edges, made him more human. Like Maddy did for Jace.

  Did he have rough edges that Angie could soften?

  “That’s sweet of her. Angie’s over the worst of it, but I’ll let you know.”

  Ian pulled out a chair and sat. “All right, kids. We ready?”

  They took their seats and Dax began the briefing. “We found the account in the Caymans. Angie was right about the number. I had to unscramble it, but it was all there. Account, routing, and pin. Charles Martinelli reversed every third number, then went back in and cut the number into thirds before swapping it again. Which made it into a whole lotta nothing until the program figured it out and made a match for the routing number. After we knew which bank, we could start trying to find the account.”

  Colt would’ve been impressed if he’d expected anything less than perfection. As it was, he wasn’t surprised. The people who worked at BDI were good at figuring things
out. They had to be or the world would be in a lot worse shape than it was.

  Ian propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “The condensed version is this. The account belongs to Gorky Construction.”

  “Shit,” Colt said. “Martinelli was stealing from the fucking Russian mafia?”

  They all knew that Steve Gorky and his sons were connected to the mafia. Construction, gambling, sex trafficking, drugs, weapons—those were the Russian mafia’s rackets, and the Gorkys were a major part of it. Steve was first generation American, but that didn’t mean a damned thing. He was in it up to his dirty neck.

  They’d had dealings with him before, though nothing so close to home.

  “Our old friends,” Ian confirmed. “The Cardinal Group was founded by Christopher Shaw and Paul Sobol. Shaw and Sobol went to college with Martinelli—and Sobol’s sister is Gorky’s fourth wife.”

  That explained a lot. “Sobol and Shaw are laundering money for Gorky then. And Martinelli was a part of it.”

  Ian cocked a finger gun at him. “Bingo. Sobol and Shaw set up a business as venture capitalists—one guess where most of the capital comes from—and they use the firm as a front to move money for Gorky. They get kickbacks, Martinelli gets kickbacks, everyone’s happy. Except Martinelli wants more and figures nobody will miss it since he’s cooking the books.”

  “Well somebody sure as hell found out,” Jace said.

  Colt shook his head. “Martinelli is probably at the bottom of a well somewhere. Or he’s been poured into a foundation in a Gorky Construction project. Shit. How is this connected to Jenny Clark?”

  “Ah, but there’s more,” Ian said. “That spreadsheet doesn’t just contain snapshots of Gorky’s and Martinelli’s accounts. There are two more accounts. The biggest one, besides Gorky’s, has Paul Sobol’s name on it. Shaw got money too, but he doesn’t seem to have gotten the kind of cash Martinelli and Sobol did. Sobol was stealing from his brother-in-law, with Martinelli’s help, who was also stealing for himself and logging everything. Dax, tell them the rest.”