She shook her head. “I’ll ask Zach to research them, but we should talk to McMahon’s supervisor as soon as possible about both McMahon and Paul Grey’s disappearance.”
Leo glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly five. We’ll go over there after the debriefing tomorrow once we have more information about Grey. Are you up for talking to his wife tonight?”
“Better now than later.”
“What do you make of all this?” Leo asked Lucy as they left the office and walked back to the staging area. Most law enforcement were gone; only a few officers and the forensics unit remained. “Three months ago Charlie McMahon was a normal, happy professional with a wife and two kids. He spiraled down to a paranoid hostage-taker.”
“We need to search his house,” Lucy said. “There may be evidence that will help us figure out what he was thinking.”
“Let’s do it now, since Grey’s wife lives in the same area. I’ll talk to the lieutenant and tell him what we’re doing, he may have already sent a team to McMahon’s. But I know how this is going to work—no one, other than McMahon, was killed or seriously injured. Young will want us to do due diligence, but this isn’t going to be a priority.”
“Meaning, do just enough to close the case.”
“Exactly. We need to be prepared to dig in our heels, even though this isn’t an official FBI investigation and we’re here at the pleasure of SAPD. I’ll work over Jordan—I’ve known him for years, I can convince him not to rubber-stamp the investigation. But he’s going to want something tangible to justify spending time and resources. We’ll have a day or three to put it together, because that’s how long it’ll take to process the statements and get the coroner’s report, but we might need more time.”
“My gut impression, based on what Mrs. McMahon said and what McMahon said to you, is that he was seriously paranoid, possibly drug-induced paranoia or some sort of neurological disorder. I talked to Julie Peters, and she’s bringing in a neurosurgeon to assist with the autopsy. Maybe that will give us the answers we need. Except for what happened to Paul Grey.”
CHAPTER SIX
Sean Rogan had never been as happy and content as he’d been the last three weeks.
He was finally getting to know his son.
For nearly a year Jesse had been in witness protection with his mother and stepfather. On June 1 the US Marshals determined that the threat to the family had diminished. While they might never be 100 percent safe because of Carson Spade’s criminal activities and then his turning state’s evidence, everyone he had worked for was now dead.
Carson avoided jail because he agreed to work with the DEA and FBI to show them how he had used banking laws and shell corporations to launder money for a drug cartel. His knowledge was vast and would help law enforcement develop the skills and tools to go after other criminals. One of Sean’s close friends, ASAC Dean Hooper of the Sacramento FBI, was working directly with Carson, and the terms of his deal required the family to relocate into Hooper’s jurisdiction.
Sean was from Sacramento, and his brother Duke still lived there. Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid main headquarters was located in Sacramento, and it was an easy flight. Though Sean’s ex-girlfriend Madison had lied to him about Jesse, then tried to thwart Sean from seeing him, she’d finally come around. From guilt, Sean figured, for lying to him about something so important. Sean could visit Jesse whenever he wanted in Sacramento with twenty-four-hour notice, and she agreed to let Jesse stay with Sean for six weeks this summer. Sean flew to Sacramento to pick him up after Jesse’s thirteenth birthday.
They were now in the middle of those six weeks, Lucy was finally home from training, and Sean felt like he was on top of the world. So even though Lucy called to say she’d be late, Sean didn’t mind. He and Jesse sat back down to play more video games. In this heat there wasn’t much else to do, though Jesse could spend just as much time in the pool as playing games.
“You beat me again,” Jesse said, frustrated that he’d never beaten Sean at Halo Reach.
“I’m the best.”
Jesse frowned.
“Would you rather I let you win?”
“No, but—”
“You’re getting better. It took me two minutes to beat you the first time, and today it took me nineteen.”
“I’ll never win.”
“You’ll go home and beat all your friends. Isn’t that good?”
Sean didn’t believe in letting a kid win just because he was frustrated, but he also didn’t want to kill Jesse’s spirit or excitement for games.
“Yeah. I guess I’ll have to settle.”
“You never have to settle. I’ve been playing video games for longer than you’ve been alive. I designed a couple games. Maybe tomorrow we can check out some new games—something neither of us has played—and we’ll start off on equal footing.”
“Really? That might be fun.”
“Hungry? I’m starving.” Sean looked at his watch. Eight o’clock and Lucy wasn’t home. After the intense hostage situation and subsequent takedown of McMahon, he hadn’t expected her to leave work on time, but it was getting late. He sent her a text message.
“Can we go to that barbecue place again? The Rib House?”
“My favorite. We’ll go pick it up. We don’t have to wait for Lucy—she doesn’t know what time she’ll be back—but I’ll get plenty. And there’s nothing I love more than leftovers for breakfast.”
Sean whistled for Bandit, who was sleeping on the dog bed in the game room where they were playing. The golden retriever immediately came to him, alert and eager. Sean scratched him behind the ears. He liked bringing Bandit with him when he went out—he’d given Lucy his Mustang because Bandit’s claws would damage the leather seats, and he’d bought a Jeep Wrangler with durable seats that wouldn’t be easily destroyed by the eighty-pound dog. He’d spent months training Bandit after they adopted him in November while on their honeymoon, and while Bandit was still learning—it was hard to break him out of eighteen months of no training whatsoever—he had made great strides. Sean was taking him to a tactical training class to learn how to search and rescue. Bandit was a natural, and Sean enjoyed working with him. He wasn’t ready to go out on an assignment, but the instructor was confident by the end of the summer Bandit would be prepared.
But it was too hot to leave Bandit in the car, even with the windows down, so Sean closed him in the sunroom, which was off the laundry room. Sean had wanted to give him the run of the house, but he was still a puppy in many ways and when he was bored he chewed shoes, paper, belts—anything he could find. The sunroom was dogproof, and fortunately Bandit didn’t chew furniture.
Sean’s phone vibrated with a message. He glanced down. Michael Rodriguez, one of the boys at St. Catherine’s Boys’ Home, asked if he was coming over this weekend.
Some of us were wondering if you were going to come by this weekend, since you haven’t been around in a while. Are you still out of town? Too busy?
Sean felt bad—he usually went over to the boys’ home once a week to talk to them, help with homework, or just have dinner. But with Jesse in town, he hadn’t really thought about it. What kind of benefactor did that make him?
“Is something wrong?” Jesse asked.
“Nope, nothing. Just a friend of mine wanting us to come over this weekend.”
“Are we?”
“Maybe.” Sean responded to Michael that he’d get over there soon. He didn’t want to make a promise he couldn’t keep, so didn’t give a specific day or time. Maybe he should bring Jesse over there, introduce him to the boys.
They left, and Jesse chatted while Sean drove. Sean couldn’t have been happier. He’d always been focused on his own entertainment—video games, driving cool cars, taking risks, flying planes. Before Lucy, he’d dated a lot of women as well. But he’d never been truly happy, he realized, until the last two years. Falling in love could do that, but it wasn’t just Lucy. It was a contentment that he’d never had before. A sense of securi
ty. That even though he hadn’t raised Jesse for the first thirteen years of his son’s life, they were okay—they’d already gotten over the hard part.
He’d also had three weeks of just him and Jesse while Lucy was training at Quantico. That time really helped them both adjust to the changes in their lives. Since Lucy had been back, Sean realized he’d been unjustifiably nervous. He wanted time with Lucy, but didn’t want Jesse to think that he didn’t want him in the house. And while Jesse had of course met Lucy, they hadn’t spent enough time to really get to know each other. What would Jesse think of her? Would he think she was trying to replace his mother? Would Lucy feel left out?
All Sean’s fears were unfounded. The transition was seamless. Lucy didn’t play video games (well, she had tried after they started dating, but she didn’t enjoy it like he did), but she was a whiz at board games and they’d developed a very comfortable habit of playing games after she got home from work. And on Saturday, they had a big Fourth of July party at the house—the first party since their wedding reception—and it had gone smoothly. Jesse had befriended a couple of kids in the neighborhood, and Sean let him go to the park with them.
Sean didn’t tell Jesse that he kept his eye on him at the park. Jesse was old enough to go out on his own, but Sean was still concerned about the people Carson Spade had turned against. They might all be dead and buried, but there could be others they didn’t know about. Or someone who thought Carson had more information or money that would benefit them. Diligence would keep everyone safe.
Sean didn’t want to return Jesse to Sacramento in three weeks. Less than three weeks, really—two weeks from the coming Sunday. Eighteen days.
He was going to miss his kid. It didn’t seem fair, because he’d missed most of the first thirteen years of his life through no fault of his own. But Madison hadn’t put Sean on the birth certificate, which complicated things, and he supposed that he was grateful that she’d agreed to give him liberal visitation rights and have him legally declared Jesse’s biological father. He didn’t want to push it and ask for more time.
Sean had set up a trust fund for Jesse with what he would have paid in child support for thirteen years. He wasn’t giving a dime to Madison—she didn’t need it, her family was well off, and she’d never told him about Jesse until she was forced to—but he wasn’t going to shirk on his financial responsibilities to his son. Jesse would be able to access the money when he graduated from high school. And for the next five years, Sean would continue to pay into the trust. It’d be more than enough to get Jesse through college, or provide him with a cushion for virtually anything he wanted to do.
What the money wouldn’t do, however, was make up for time lost. And the money Sean had put into the trust had drained almost all his accounts. He wasn’t broke—he and Lucy owned two houses and he had a plane—but he wasn’t fluid. He’d have to double down on jobs for RCK over the next couple of years to rebuild his savings—but he didn’t mind. He liked working, and corporate and personal security was a good business.
They walked into the Rib House—a casual hole-in-the-wall restaurant that had the best BBQ Sean had found in the city—and ordered the largest family meal, two and a half pounds of meat and four sides. Sean was serious about wanting leftovers. They sat at a table while they waited.
“Dad, can I ask you something?”
Sean’s stomach fluttered. Jesse had started calling him Dad more often than not, and every single time Sean felt goose bumps.
“Anything, you know that.”
Jesse remained silent.
“Is something bothering you?”
“No—sort of. I want to change my name. To Jesse Rogan.”
Nothing could have surprised Sean more, or made him happier. “Okay.”
“So you’re good with it?”
“I’m more than good.” What could he say to Jesse? He was ecstatic. Jesse was his kid—and Jesse was proud of it. Just like Sean was of Jesse. “You didn’t think I’d be upset about it, did you?”
“No, but—well, I haven’t told my mom yet. I looked on the internet about the rights of kids—kids don’t have a lot of rights.”
That was for certain. It had been a bone of contention between Sean and his brother Duke when Duke, as his guardian, made some decisions Sean didn’t agree with that impacted Sean’s life.
“Maybe if you talk to her you’ll be surprised what she says.”
“Maybe. But—well, I guess I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“I can respect that.”
“But I don’t want to wait until I’m eighteen—when I know I can do it without anyone’s permission.”
“So you want advice on how to talk to her?”
“I guess I wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”
“I am very okay.”
“And then—maybe you could be there when I tell her.”
Sean didn’t know how well that would go over. “If you think that would be easier. When I take you back to Sacramento, I can stay for a few days, no problem. But you need to think about it a little more. You don’t want your mom to think that we’re ganging up on her, or pressuring her.” Sean didn’t actually care—Madison had hurt him deeply, and his knee-jerk reaction was to hurt her back. But fortunately, he wasn’t the brash, reactive man he used to be. He recognized that his son would look to him for guidance, emulate him in many ways. He wanted to be the best person he could be, even when he wanted to rub reality into Madison.
He frowned. “I didn’t think about that.”
“We don’t have to make the decision right now. We have time. Just think about how you want to do it. You’ll know what’s the right choice. But Jesse? You could not have made me happier.”
* * *
Sean knew he was being followed almost as soon as he left the Rib House.
There was little parking at the restaurant so he’d parked on the street around the corner. As soon as he turned onto Becerra, a dark sedan pulled out from the adjoining business. Normally Sean wouldn’t think twice about it, except that this wasn’t the best area of San Antonio, and the car was so shiny it was practically new. Still, the clincher was there was no front license plate—a no-no in the state of Texas.
Sean didn’t normally run surveillance for RCK, but he was aware of the principles, and one of them was to avoid being identified by removing the front license plate.
It was also a tactic among criminals and stalkers.
That didn’t mean the vehicle was following Sean. There could be a legitimate reason for not having a front plate. But Sean had learned to be cautious—and he wasn’t going to take any chances with Jesse in the car.
He hopped onto the I-90 east in the direction he’d take to go home. The sedan followed. Sean turned off at the next exit.
“Do we have another stop?” Jesse asked.
“I need gas. Should have done it on the way.”
Sean pulled into a chain gas station and up to a pump. He did in fact get gas, though he had more than half a tank. As he watched, the sedan passed the station and was out of sight.
Still, Sean couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been followed.
He filled his tank and jumped back in the car. As soon as he merged onto the freeway, he spotted the sedan again—the same one, distinguishable only because of the missing plate.
Shit.
The windows were tinted and he couldn’t make out the driver, but there were two people in the car, both large men. The passenger appeared black, the driver white or Hispanic.
Sean merged south on I-35 instead of north to go home. The sedan went south.
Shit shit shit.
“Hey, aren’t we supposed to be going the other way? Or am I all turned around?” Jesse asked.
“You’re right.” He had promised Jesse early on that he would never lie to him, and he couldn’t start now. “Don’t look. We’re being followed.”
“Really?” Jesse almost looked, but stopped himself.
&
nbsp; “I can lose them, they don’t have a tag team.” The best way to tail someone was with three vehicles. Two usually worked, but three was best. Either these guys were amateurs or they had targeted Sean to rob.
They picked the wrong mark.
Sean didn’t know San Antonio as well as his hometown of Sacramento, but he’d lived here for a year and a half and had made a point to learn the streets and get a sense of his surroundings. He exited at SW Military and went east. The sedan followed. He kept his speed steady, but as he approached Roosevelt—where he knew there was a traffic camera—he slowed down, timing the light until it was about to turn yellow, then sped up and ran the yellow light.
Either they would stop at the red and Sean was free and clear, or they’d run it and Sean would beg, borrow, or steal the photo from SAPD.
They ran it.
If Jesse weren’t in the car, Sean would engage rather than evade, but no way in hell was he putting his son in danger—especially since he had no idea what the danger was. He made a series of turns and then hit I-37 going north. Traffic was a bitch, the tail end of the peak commute hour, but Sean maneuvered better than the sedan and five minutes later he’d lost them.
Still, he wasn’t taking chances. He continued north, then took I-10 west, and finally hit I-35 again.
No sign of the sedan, and there didn’t appear to be a second car tailing him.
While he was relieved, he wasn’t happy. He needed to figure out exactly what was going on. The first call would be to the US Marshals. They’d done a threat assessment that concluded the Spades were at low risk if they left WITSEC, but they refused to share the report with Sean.
He needed to see it. He considered that he might be able to sweet-talk his way into viewing it, but if not, he might have to hack into the marshals’ database and retrieve it himself. But the marshals had some of the tightest cybersecurity of any government agency, and hacking them was a major felony. Sean didn’t think he’d be caught, but he wasn’t positive. He hadn’t been a hacker in a long, long time.
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