Tag scrambled to follow the gorgeous long legs and white lacy top that exposed toned tan arms. Grace was the perfect name for her.
Chief Whiteaker paced behind his desk and covered the phone’s receiver with his hand. “I’m trying to see what they found about the shooting yesterday. Have some coffee while—” He broke off, speaking into the phone. “Look at the surveillance video, for Christ’s sake. She heard a motorcycle, and I gotta believe her. Have you seen her Harley?”
Tag savored the coffee’s aroma and took a careful sip. They’d gotten up late and talked about their favorite coffees all the way down Howell Avenue. She watched Grace arrange coffee cups and made herself turn away, checking out Chief Whiteaker’s office to calm her heart. There were almost as many plants here as in AJ’s office. She smelled spearmint. Come to think of it, AJ smelled like spearmint too.
The chief slammed the phone down. “Nitwits,” he said, holding his cup out to Tag. “Give me coffee. Please? AJ’s going to be a bit late, but the men should be here any minute.”
“Sir.” A young female cop stood at the door. “You have guests.”
“Bring them up,” he said. “Tag, brace yourself. Grace is used to this. I know one of these days AJ will show up dressed as a clown.”
Grace laughed. “Just play along. It won’t be too bad no matter what it is.”
The cop ushered two men inside. Tag had never seen the first man, but the second surprised her and they smothered each other in a hug.
“I saw your parents yesterday,” he said. “They mentioned you were back.”
“And I miss them,” Tag said, her hand on his shoulder. “Everyone, this is my cousin, Jay Yardly.”
“And this is my client, Clint Weeks,” Jay said, turning to the second man.
“Sit down and have some coffee.” The chief shook their hands and finished the introductions. “I received your email, gentlemen. You have a nice trip down?”
“We did,” Clint Weeks said and reached for a cup. Grace unleashed her smile on him, and Tag watched him pause for a closer look.
The chief moved to his desk. “How did you get our name, Mr. Weeks?”
“It’s Clint, Chief. Earlier this summer, I finished the financing for my Niagara project at Bennings Bank and then dropped by the Federal Building. I met with Peter Adams in the Justice Department. He referred me to you.”
Tag took another look at Jay. He was more than their lead Reservation lawyer who happened to be family. He was her personal lawyer. He looked up at that moment and they both smiled. Once again, she settled deeper into home.
“As I explained in the email,” Weeks continued, “I’ve rebuilt the old Niagara Inn in northern Wisconsin and will open it soon. Last year I needed a local lawyer and met Jay.”
“Justice emailed me but they weren’t forthcoming with details and we’ve worked with Pete Adams,” the chief said. “The SAC, Allison Jacob, will be leading anything the ATF does in Niagara but she’s a little late this morning. I’ll be running things down here as a combined unit. While we’re waiting for her, let me give you my personal contact information.”
Tag measured Clint Weeks while the chief rummaged in his desk. Average height, he definitely took care of his body. His tanned skin set off pale blue eyes and thick, blond hair threaded with gray. The gray suit was expensive, as was his haircut, and the well-manicured hands. Everything about him shouted money. Entitlement.
“Hello, everyone.” AJ flew into the room, fast and hurried. She thumped a briefcase onto the chief’s desk, grabbed a mug, and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I am sooooo sorry to be late. Let’s see, which one of you is Jay Yardly?” Jay stood and AJ shook his hand. “So, that leaves you, sir. Clint Weeks.” She reached across the table and shook his hand vigorously.
“SAC Allison Jacob.” Her brassy voice shattered the relaxed atmosphere in the room. Both men looked startled and Tag blinked. AJ’s bright yellow dress left very little to the imagination. Her hair was styled big and sort of sloppy, and she wore enormous gold earrings and vivid red lipstick.
Just about a hooker was the first thing that entered Tag’s stunned mind. Had she put on twenty pounds last night? And bigger hair? AJ sucked up every shred of air in the office and seemed taller. Grace was staring at the table and the chief found some papers interesting.
“All right.” AJ rubbed her hands together. “Where are we?”
“I was about to ask if they were hungry,” the chief said and cleared his throat.
AJ tossed a suggestive look at Weeks. “Hungry?”
“Uhhh,” he stammered. “No, we ate earlier.”
“Sorry, but I haven’t. Late night. I’ll be right back.” She turned and left the room with a saucy wiggle, her high heels clicking down the hallway.
“She has a standing order for pastry,” the chief said to the quiet group and laid a map of northern Wisconsin on the table. “Help me out here, Mr. Weeks…Clint. Where is Niagara?”
Weeks drew a circle around the town, adding a little information about the area. Tag concentrated on the map, identifying the back roads to the south where she’d grown up. Jay grinned at her.
Suddenly, AJ was in the office again with a large crystal plate, stacked with pastries. Her lipstick was a full shade lighter and her hair was styled more conservatively. Her suit was a more subdued yellow that showed less skin. Tag was sure the earrings were smaller…or had she just imagined it? Both Weeks and Jay were staring.
Tag took two large pastries. Grace refilled everyone’s mugs, and Tag tracked her slender body and discreet curves around the table, enjoying every move.
“What’s this all about, Mr. Weeks?” AJ said, munching on the food. Even her voice was less brassy but still a little loud. “I know the Inn was a mob hangout, built back in the twenties.”
He swallowed before he spoke. “The Floritinos from Chicago were the original builders and owners. Their mob ties were enormous. The last one, a great-grandson, sold it in the eighties. A local family took it afterward but couldn’t make it go.”
AJ wiped her hands briskly with a cloth napkin. “Is there still a mob presence up there?”
“No. The Inn was empty for over several years before I bought it. We had to rebuild and bring it up to code.”
“I found some history and old photos. Would you be interested?” She raised her eyebrows at him and stood when he nodded.
Tag watched her leave the room. AJ’s shoes were the same color, but certainly a lower heel.
“Nice August day, isn’t it?” the chief said and took another pastry off the plate. “How’s the weather up there?”
“Outstanding,” Jay said, turning to Tag. “Your dad and I nailed some bass at Crooked Lake earlier this week. You’d have drooled.”
“I haven’t fished in years,” Tag said as AJ entered the office for the third time with a folder and some magazines. Sure enough. AJ wore no makeup and there were gold studs in her ears. Her hair was the familiar bright, sun-streaked hair and style that Tag was used to. The curves were diminished, replaced by her true athletic body shape in a high-end linen suit, the color of island beaches. Tag grinned. She’d never seen anything like it. Jay began to laugh.
“Good show, Agent Jacob,” Weeks said.
“Thank you,” AJ said in her normal voice with an easy grin. “I’m sorry to take your valuable time, gentlemen, but I wanted to give you a quick visual of what can be done with very little time and effort. If we go up there, don’t even look for us.” She poured another cup of coffee. “Peter Adams from Justice mentioned your banker at Bennings, Michael Cray.” AJ had Clint Weeks’s complete attention.
“Yes, Michael. I liked him. He came up to the building site, early March, after the bank secured the project.”
“And Mr. Cray is still your contact?”
“No. The bank said he’d transferred to California, and it’s a shame because he had some very creative ideas, including design. I liked working with him. A nice young man from Kansas, I b
elieve. Am I right?”
“We knew Mr. Cray regarding another matter that was successfully resolved.” AJ leaned forward. “Also a group of children living there when you began the tear down and remodeling, and—” She shuffled papers. “There was something else in the basement that you were concerned about?” she said to Weeks.
“There were children in the basement. That’s why I spoke to Peter Adams at Justice. I’ve also known Lawrence Kelly, your bureau chief, for a long time. We each have a ranch in Wyoming in the same area and see each other frequently.”
Tag felt the sudden alertness in the room at the mention of Michael and Lawrence Kelly. She also recognized the bank. It was Katie’s current project. However, AJ calmly continued to explore Weeks’s background, the subtext of his interaction with Michael Cray, and the remote possibility that he was involved with Michael’s meth operations. Tag stretched her legs under the table with a quick look at Jay. He looked tense. Clint Weeks’s political affiliations in the western part of the United States were well known. A staunch conservative, Weeks bankrolled a huge super PAC and was influential in Congress.
“The children you found,” AJ said. “How old were they? And were they girls…boys?”
“Mostly girls, but some boys, early teens or younger, and there were adults with them. They were actually living in the basement of the Inn, not just hiding out. My builder called me and I flew in to view the problem myself. My family lives at our home in Vermont.”
“That wasn’t mentioned in the article on you and your company in Biz magazine last month. A nice write-up.” AJ held up a magazine.
“Thank you.” Weeks beamed. “Business is off a bit because of the slowdown in Afghanistan. I’d hoped for further involvement, but the current president is too weak. As you know, I manufacture military vehicles. I not only keep us safe in the US, but my company provides a lot of employment over there.”
Tag’s stomach tightened as a trace of arrogance leaked into Weeks’s voice. Here was one of the men she so disliked. She thought of Islamabad where she’d been injured and the private American industry her group had to work with.
“They’re familiar with your trucks and other products, Clint,” Jay said, obviously uncomfortable. “Both SAC Jacob and Agent Beckett are decorated veterans.”
Weeks looked embarrassed for a split second but covered it quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply that I’m profiting off your service, ladies.”
AJ’s eyes never changed nor did she acknowledge his words. “The children in the Inn. Are they still there?”
“No, they’ve disappeared.” He looked at Jay for confirmation.
“He’s right,” Jay said. “The police looked into it but couldn’t find them. When we began to investigate, the locals reported various groups of children and teenagers. The way that town talks, someone should have said something. However, the Inn has always had a reputation, that old mob threat, and people avoid the place.” Jay laid some papers and a thumb drive on the table. “This is what the police found. The meth lab in the basement had been there a while.” He pushed everything across the table to AJ. “We also took some video of the area and Clint’s construction.”
AJ plugged the flash drive into the tablet in front of her and studied it. “This was functioning recently.” She handed the tablet to Grace and turned to Weeks. “You want us to investigate the meth lab?”
Weeks shook his head. “No, the local police took care of that. It’s the children I want to pursue. Also, I saw a group of young girls and boys in tents by the Menominee River and took some video for the local police on my phone. When we went back the next day they were gone.”
AJ’s expression was innocent but interested. “Do you think it was trafficking?”
“I don’t know. I have children that age. I’m sure some of those kids weren’t more than ten or eleven.” Weeks held up his hands. “You tell me. I’m just a citizen, asking for advice and assistance from the government.”
“There’s a Homeland Security and FBI national task force currently in northern Wisconsin. I wonder why Peter Adams didn’t mention that to you. They’ve made quite a few well-publicized arrests.”
Weeks nodded. “He did bring it to my attention, but with the Inn opening this month, I wanted something soon, and he recommended your group.”
Tag thought he wanted to sweep all of this under the rug so the public would never know.
More interesting was the information he hadn’t mentioned. Grace had discovered that Clint Weeks had a daughter who had gone missing four years ago and was still missing.
Tag was sure, regardless of his politics or money, he was thinking of that girl now, but why hadn’t he mentioned her?
Chapter Seven
The chief walked Yardly and Weeks out of the office and down the steps to the main floor of the police station. AJ waited until the voices faded, and then firmly closed the door.
“Ladies,” she mimicked Weeks. “I’m just a citizen. Don’t you wish you’d met him in Afghanistan, Tag? He’d have wet his pants.” She opened the tablet again. “Grace, look at this. Anything familiar with the setup?”
Tag stood behind them. “Tell me what I’m seeing.”
AJ pointed out tubing, jars, and faucet couplings. “It’s a meth lab like Michael’s setup we found last spring. Those sink couplings were his trademark. He must have bought loads of them. See all that ephedrine stacked against the wall? Where is it now?” She touched the screen. “I’ll notify Charles.”
“Where is the video Weeks claims to have given to the local police? Or is there more?” Tag shuffled the papers Jay had left for them. “This is off Weeks’s computer. Has anyone talked to the police up there? Jay’s normally precise about details.”
“The chief will contact the local police.” AJ rubbed her throbbing temples. “I’m still hungry. Give me time to change clothes again and I’ll buy lunch at the Copper Penny.”
Later, AJ leaned against the Copper Penny bar and studied her worn boots. She’d changed into comfortable jeans and a soft, long-sleeved light green cotton shirt to hide her wounded arm. She hadn’t liked Weeks, and it wasn’t just politics. Like Jock, his arrogance was obvious.
The usual old swing music was playing, and she took a steadying breath. Her first Milwaukee meal had been here almost a year ago, and she still liked the old, dark polished oak with the smell of burgers and beer. This bar held much of her history in this city. And Katie. Their first kiss had been by the exit sign at the back entrance.
The chief hung his coat over a chair at a table at the back and loosened his tie. Tag’s skin looked darker than usual in the subdued bar light. She was certainly attractive. AJ’s gaze skidded to a stop. Grace was laughing at Tag with an expression AJ had seen before, but never on Grace’s face. Some of it was interest, like the party last night, but this was happiness or anticipation, something brand new. “Huh,” she said under a breath and turned to order.
“I’d give anything for a picture of their faces when you flew into the room the first time,” Tag said when AJ joined them.
“That whole act was for Clint Weeks. What did you think, Tag?”
“She’s too polite to say you did a good imitation of a hooker,” Grace said. Everyone laughed, including AJ.
“Yeah, what she said.” Tag stretched her long legs.
“Good. I was trying for rough and hard on that first shot. Katie helped. Did it work?”
“Are you kidding?” The chief gave a little snort.
“He looked like he wanted to take a bite out of Grace.” Tag grinned.
“That happens a lot.” AJ lifted an eyebrow at Grace. “Still, think how he’ll look at people every time he’s in Niagara. Or anywhere. His eyes will be sore, but I still couldn’t get him to talk about his missing daughter.”
The barkeep brought a big tray of burgers and fries. AJ slathered mustard on her burger, and added onions. The door opened just as she took the first bite. Jock was suddenly in front of her, covered i
n soot and grime from the burned-out building. Bonnie stood behind him, equally dirty.
“What the hell, AJ?” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me you had someone at Home Base?” He gripped the table and leaned toward her.
She swallowed her food. “You didn’t ask.”
He bent over her. “And someone’s taking shots at you? You could have mentioned that. We should share,” Jock said.
“Okay, get some food and eat with us. I’m buying. Tell me about the fire.”
“Bonnie can fill you in.” He gave Tag a cool look and left. The door slammed behind him.
“Bonnie, go order and put it on my bill,” AJ said and got back to her burger before it was cold. Someone had plugged in the jukebox and Ella Fitzgerald began to sing. A shot of déjà vu ran through her as she thought about last winter and Jock. Or Michael, Elena, and Ariel in this room, all dead now. She fussed with the straw in her glass.
“I would have done the formal apology,” Tag said, “but he was so angry.”
“He’s always angry, but you won’t see much of him.” She glanced at Tag. “He’s very good at some things but hard to deal with personally.”
“This business in Niagara is connected with Michael and the meth?”
“I don’t know. This is the first we’ve heard about that, and I’m glad Clint Weeks doesn’t know Michael’s dead. If I were the bank I wouldn’t say anything either. Michael’s operation here wasn’t anything compared to some places in this country, but his contacts were huge. They’re still finding traces of him. Niagara might have been simply someone he was trying to develop.” She drank the remainder of her iced tea.
Three Milwaukee cops were at the bar, noisy and laughing, giving Bonnie a hard time about her dirty clothes. She gave it right back to them.
The chief was watching Bonnie, and AJ said, “How’s she doing?”
“She’s ready, but I hate to lose her.”
“She’s a natural,” Grace said. “AJ, you’ll swear her in tomorrow.”
“Oh darn. I forgot. What time?”
“One o’clock at the Federal Building.” Grace checked her phone. “I sent you the information this morning, but you were busy being all those women and didn’t catch it. Tomorrow’s a combination of departments, including the police. You’ll be up first so don’t be late. Want to go, Tag?”
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