by Mary Stone
“Oh, definitely.”
“So, what’s this case you’re working on?” He lifted an eyebrow as they stepped into the breakroom. The white light overhead caught the faint tinge of red in his dark blond hair.
“One of the guys in our office, Special Agent Noah Dalton, his, well…” She paused as she accepted a ceramic mug from Drew’s outstretched hand. “His biological father. They aren’t close. From what I’ve gathered, the guy hasn’t even really been around since Noah was a little kid, and Noah doesn’t seem real keen on his company. He’s from here, or at least, he lives in Baltimore currently. He’s from Texas originally, but he’s been here for the last twenty-plus years.”
Drew glanced to the counter as he filled his mug. “The case is about him, then? About the jackass father?”
“Right.” Bree couldn’t help her amused smile. “He called Noah in the middle of the night a couple days ago, and he said that he was in trouble with some bad people.”
“Bad people in Baltimore?”
Bree nodded and poured the suspiciously dark coffee into her own mug. She hoped the brew wasn’t as stomach dissolving as the muck that came out of the breakroom in the Richmond field office.
“Yeah,” she said. “Do you still work on the Russians, by chance? I know you were one of the first few here who investigated them when they started showing up in town.”
He flashed her a quick smile. “Sure do. They’ve been pretty quiet lately. There’s a big RICO case pending against a bunch of them, and if we can get it to stick, it’ll make a pretty big dent in their operation.”
“RICO?” The Racketeer Influence and Corrupt Organizations Act had given the FBI the authority to link together a pattern of crime to form one comprehensive case against a criminal organization. “Wow, that’s impressive. RICO against the Russians? How’d you manage that?”
Drew shrugged. “Got one of them to roll over. I don’t even know if our snitch knew the full extent of what they gave us, honestly. Dates, locations, you name it.”
“Well, I guess I’m late to the party, but congratulations.” She held out her mug for a toast. “Nice work, Agent Hansford.”
He tapped the ceramic edge against hers with a light clink. “Thank you, Agent Stafford.”
“That’s good, then. I think you’re just the person I’m looking for right now.” She took a tentative sip of the coffee. As she suspected, it was no better than the battery acid in Richmond. “Our guy, Eric Dalton, he’s in debt to the Russians. I’ll spare you his life story, but he wound up with a metric ton of medical bills after his wife got in a nasty car accident. Something to the tune of eight hundred grand.”
Whistling through his teeth, Drew shook his head. “And let me guess. He went to the mob for money?”
“He did.” Bree took another drink. The breakroom coffee was like liquor. The first drink always stung, but each subsequent pull hurt a little less. “But there’s something about it that doesn’t seem quite right to me. I don’t know a lot about the Russians, so I want you to tell me how feasible this all sounds.”
“All right.”
“This guy went to them to ask for a half a million dollars. I know they rake in money hand over fist, but even so, that’s a little more than a drop in the bucket for them, right?”
Drew nodded. “Right.”
“And this guy’s from rural Texas, so there’s definitely no hidden connection to the Russians there. We ran background checks on his wife and all her extended family is Polish or German. Not even a smidge of Russian. She’s been a goody-two-shoes her whole life. Graduated high school with honors, cheerleader, prom queen. Got a scholarship to play volleyball here in Baltimore, not that she needed it.”
Shrugging, Drew sipped his coffee. “Rich people need help sometimes too.”
Bree rolled her eyes at the sarcasm. “Her parents live in Upstate New York, so there’re no ties to the Russians there, either. So, that rules out the possibility that they might’ve been doing a favor for an extended family member or an associate. That makes this guy a perfect stranger to them, so he’d have to offer collateral, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Serious collateral, no doubt about it.”
“From the way he tells it, he offered them his life insurance payout as collateral. So, I guess if he didn’t pay them back, he made an agreement with them that they’d kill him and collect the payout for themselves. It’s a one-million-dollar policy, so they’d walk away with a profit, but it just seems, I don’t know. It seems off. Like I said, I didn’t deal with the Russians while I was here, but I know none of the Italians worked that way.”
Drew’s face turned thoughtful as he tapped an index finger against his coffee mug. “No, the Italians don’t work that way, and neither do the Russians. They might be a bunch of criminals, but they aren’t stupid. They don’t take unnecessary risks when it comes to their bottom line. They wouldn’t run the risk of handing this guy all that money.”
Bree didn’t always like being right. “That’s what I thought.”
“Yeah. The risk is high. He could’ve run, could’ve gone to the cops, could’ve changed the policy, could’ve done all kinds of shit to get out of them cashing in on their collateral. No way. They wouldn’t make that deal, I can almost promise you that.”
“So, what do you think, then? He had to give them collateral, so what the hell would it be?”
“The Russians, they’re something else. They’re almost like the Mexican drug cartels. They make money from all sorts of nasty stuff, kidnapping for ransom, human trafficking, that kind of shit. If someone owes them and they want to collect, then they’ll absolutely collect. If they can’t get to him directly, then they’ll get to him by proxy. They’ll go for his family.”
Bree leaned back in her chair. “Shit.”
“Now, I know some of the other crime families around here resort to that too, but the Russians are notorious for it. Just like the Mexican cartels. If someone crosses them, they’ll kill that person’s entire family and leave them alive just to send a message. They operate on a whole different level.”
Bree nodded her understanding. The Russians might have been new to Baltimore, but they weren’t new to organized crime.
Drew scratched the side of his face. “My question is this. How exactly did he say he was going to pay them back? Because there’s no way in hell they’d lend him money if they didn’t know they’d get it back with interest. What does he do for a living? If he’s a hedge fund manager, then that makes perfect sense. But if he’s just about anything else, then, well.” He left the sentiment unfinished and shrugged as he took another sip from the white mug.
“He’s a commercial airline pilot. I’ve seen his W-2 forms from the last decade. He makes about two-hundred grand a year, and his wife pulls in about a hundred. She owns a yoga studio here in Baltimore, but it’s valued at about a quarter of a million. Not even close.”
Drew shook his head. “No, not even close. He’s lying about something. He had to agree to repay them somehow, but I’m not really sure what types of favors a local business owner or an airline pilot could manage.”
“Wait.” Bree snapped her gaze back to Drew, her eyes wide. “His wife’s a business owner. What if he agreed to start working for them, to start laundering money for them?”
As he extended an appreciative finger in her direction, he nodded. “That, Agent Stafford, is a distinct possibility. And it’d explain why he doesn’t want to tell you guys about it. Tell you what. I’ve still got an in with the Russians. I’ve been undercover with them a few times over the past few years. Just for little shit, nothing big-time or super risky. But my cover’s never been blown, so maybe if you give me a day or two, I can do some poking around for you and see if anyone’s gotten word of a new business partner they’ve invested in.”
“I’d owe you.” She offered him a wide grin for emphasis. “You know, just in case you ever need a serial killer tracked down or something. That seems to be a lot of what we deal
with down in Virginia.”
He chuckled. “We get some of them around here too. All right, well. Let’s go see if we can find SAC Judd and get this thing moving.”
Bree pushed to her feet. “We can ask her about getting Eric’s wife and kids into a safe house too.” As best as she could tell, Eric Dalton’s family was unaware of his dealings with the Russian mob. How they’d react when the bureau showed up to cart them off to a safe house was anyone’s guess, but Bree didn’t especially care.
“Absolutely.” It was his turn to smile sarcastically. “If she’s not there, then we can just go sit in front of her office like a couple creeps.”
Bree laughed, but even as she followed Drew out of the breakroom, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something was very wrong.
11
As Winter glanced over to Bree, the other woman nodded and raised one arm to rap her knuckles against the beige door labeled room “315.”
Though Bree was fresh off her flight from Baltimore, she looked as awake and alert as if she’d spent the entire morning lounging in the sun while completing Sudoku puzzles. Winter was convinced that it was impossible to stress out Bree Stafford.
They had departed the field office at quarter past noon, but for the four and a half hours Winter spent at her desk before then, she hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Noah. Their carpool that morning felt normal enough. Noah actually seemed like he was in the best mood he had been in since Eric’s arrival.
Still, neither of them had brought up the impassioned kiss from the night before.
Before Winter’s mind wandered down a well-traveled road of what-ifs and doubts, the heavy door swung inward to reveal a tall man with a neatly kempt beard and a head full of dark hair.
His gray eyes shifted from Winter to Bree and then back before he stepped aside to permit them entry. He was dressed like he was about to go to dinner at a five-star restaurant, not like he was about to spend a day tucked away in the room of a mid-grade hotel.
Did he sleep in a white dress shirt and black slacks?
Wow. I guess Noah wasn’t kidding. The guy maintains his appearance no matter what.
“Agents.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “What can I do for you? Is everything all right?”
Winter glanced at Bree, and they both shrugged.
Eric looked between the two of them, his expression a combination of anger and concern. “Wait, what does that mean?”
“You haven’t told your wife and kids about any of this, have you?” Bree’s query was cool and professional, a far cry from her usual cheery demeanor. There was a reason she had done so well at the FBI.
His expression gave them their answer, even before he opened his mouth. “No.” He lifted his chin. “I haven’t. I wanted to keep them out of it.”
Winter pushed down the reflexive urge to call him an idiot. “You were hoping to keep your debt to the Russian mafia a secret from your wife and kids?” she asked instead, the incredulity in her tone saying the words for her. “The half-million you borrowed from the damn mob. You legitimately thought you’d be able to keep that a secret? While you…what? While you took out a second mortgage so you could pay them back? Tell me, Mr. Dalton. How does that work exactly?”
Eric collapsed into a nearby chair. The desk at which he sat was empty aside from a local phone book. But even though Eric’s legs had given out, the physical weakness seemed to have fueled his anger.
“I didn’t tell them so I could protect them!” The words were like bullets coming from his mouth.
“Mr. Dalton.” Bree braced both hands on the mahogany surface of the unadorned desk and pinned him to the chair with her intense stare. “We know you aren’t telling us everything. What I want you to know is that, one way or another, we’re going to find out. And one way or another, they’re going to find out too.”
His panicked gaze flicked back and forth between Winter and Bree. “What do you mean? I told you everything!”
Bree scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “No, you haven’t. You said that your agreement with the Russians was that you’d use your life insurance policy as collateral while you paid them back. So, if you missed a payment, they’d come kill you and take the money after the insurance company paid it out, right?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed once…twice. “Yes. That’s right.”
“That’s bullshit, Mr. Dalton.” Bree’s glare was as icy as her tone.
Anger flickered back to life in his gray eyes as he shoved to his feet. “What?”
Winter bit back a smile as she watched her fellow agent get ready to take this bastard down. In a blur of movement, Bree was in his face, and although she was much shorter than the man, she seemed to tower over him.
“If you say ‘what’ to me one more time,” Bree’s tone was light and sharp, like a thin blade used for precise incisions, “I’m going to cuff you and throw you in a holding cell instead of a safe house. Obstruction of justice, Mr. Dalton. That’s what you’re doing right now.”
Winter pushed away from the door she’d been leaning against and joined her partner. The sooner they got Eric to tell them the truth, the sooner she could focus her efforts on helping Aiden with the investigation into Justin’s kidnapping.
“We have agents headed to pick up your wife and your kids,” Winter said. “They’ve probably already picked them up by now, actually.”
Eric cursed and raked both hands through his hair, pulling at the roots, like those fragile roots could ground him. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
A hasty effort at a prayer couldn’t save him now. Maybe Winter should have felt a pang of sympathy, but she was unable to drum up even a shred of empathy for this man.
“The Russians wouldn’t just agree to set up a payment plan with you.” Bree’s tone sounded so matter of fact, she might as well have been providing them with the time. “They’re the Russian mafia, Mr. Dalton, not J.P. Morgan Chase. And your story about the life insurance policy is total, complete…”
Winter had to suppress a smirk as Bree paused until Eric turned his anxious gaze to hers.
“Bullshit,” she finished. “You could’ve run from them, which you did. You could’ve gone to the cops, which you also did. The Russians might be a lot of things, Mr. Dalton, but when it comes to their bottom line, they aren’t stupid. What did you actually agree to?”
“Dammit.” With a weary shake of his head, he dropped down to sit at the edge of one of the two beds.
Winter kept her gaze fixed on the man even as he glanced to the floor. “Spit it out. The sooner you tell us what in the hell is going on, the sooner we can make sure these assholes don’t hurt your family.”
Bree had given her a full rundown of Drew Hansford’s assessment that morning, including the theory that Eric had agreed to work with the Russians to launder money in lieu of paying back the entire half-million dollars. They’d also toyed with the idea that they might use Eric Dalton as a mule. Having an airline pilot indebted to you would be handy.
“How about this,” Bree announced. “I’ll tell you what I think you agreed to do, and you can tell me if I’m right. I think you told the Russians that you’d pay off your debt to them by helping them, by working with them.”
With a groan, Eric raised a hand to cover his eyes. As he held the stance, Winter half-expected him to cover his ears and belt out “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”
“Your wife owns a yoga studio, right?” Bree paused, but she didn’t give him a chance to answer. “That’s a pretty low-risk business, and on paper, you’re both solid, upper-middle-class people. There’s no way anyone would think that you were laundering money for the Russian mafia through something as innocuous as a yoga studio, right? So, instead of actually paying them back the entire five-hundred grand, you told them you’d work off the debt. At least part of it, anyway.”
Winter stepped in. “How many trips did you promise them in return, Captain Dalton? A littl
e money laundering here, a little drug or weapon smuggling on an airplane there.”
Eric’s face was buried in both his hands now, and Winter wanted to yank his head back to force him to look at her partner.
Bree shot Winter a knowing look and offered her a quick wink.
Winter winked back. They had the bastard.
Bree’s tone didn’t change. “There were too many ifs about them accepting your life insurance as collateral while you paid them back month by month. But I’ll hand it to you, that was a good story. There wasn’t really anything illegal about it, nothing that’d land you in jail, anyway. So, as long as we thought that’s what they were after, you didn’t have to worry about facing criminal charges, right?”
Bree paused, letting the silence stretch until Eric lifted his head, his face deathly white in contrast to his darker beard. He didn’t look like the same person he had been five minutes ago. He looked…dejected. Worn down. Defeated.
Lifting an index finger, Bree kept her stare on the man. “But here’s the thing. There was too much you could do to mess that up for them. Now, they haven’t been in Baltimore for that long, so they’re still looking for connections to help them with stuff like, oh, I don’t know. Stuff like money laundering, for example. Does that sound about right, Mr. Dalton?”
Eyes wide, he opened and closed his mouth as he glanced from Winter to Bree. Rather than press for an answer, Winter stood beside Bree in silence. Eric’s shock was plain to see, and gradually, nervousness edged its way into his expression.
“Please don’t tell Kelly.” He raised his pleading face up to them, and as he shook his head, the sunlight caught the glassiness in his eyes.
Winter and Bree exchanged knowing looks. Apparently, their theory had been right on the money.
With a sigh, Bree gestured to the partially unpacked suitcase sprawled on top of the second bed. “All right, Mr. Dalton. Get your shit together. We’re leaving.”
“For where?” He looked confused but still rose to comply with the order.