by Mary Stone
But the red color was only visible on his arms.
She had to put forth a Herculean effort to maintain a neutral expression as the significance dawned on her. So far, Natalie and Jon’s kidnapping had been connected to Drew Hansford’s death by the tiny metal particles found at each scene.
Until now, all the items illuminated by Winter’s sixth sense had been just that—items. This was the first time her brain had pointed her to trace evidence.
All at once, she snapped out of the contemplation.
The detective offered her a nod as he returned her smile. “Nice to meet you, Agent Black. Agent Weyrick. I’m Detective Johansson. I was just stopping by to see how Detective Vinson was doing before I headed out for the day.”
Winter turned her head to regard Bobby and dropped the feigned smile to flash him a look. He drew his eyebrows together as he shifted his gaze back to Detectives Johansson and Vinson.
She offered the two detectives another smile as she returned her attention to them. “We won’t be here for too long. We were honestly just hoping to get a little more perspective on the city. Can you both stay and help us out?”
Detective Vinson seemed pleased. “Sure, not a problem.”
When Winter shifted her gaze back to Detective Johansson, his lips curved into a slight smile. She hadn’t been sure before, but now she was certain that the expression was feigned. “Yeah, no problem.”
Stepping back to Bobby’s side, Winter spread her hands. “Great. Let us just grab a couple pens and some paper.” Once she was sure the detectives couldn’t see her, Winter threw Bobby another vehement glance.
“What?” Bobby asked as soon as they were out of sight. “You keep looking at me like that. Am I missing something?”
Dammit.
Now came the hard part—the part where she had to explain to another federal agent why they should be suspicious of someone that her weird-ass ability had pointed out.
Winter cast a paranoid glance in either direction before she leaned in to reply. “Detective Johansson. When we walked in, Vinson said ‘speak of the devil.’ That meant they were talking about the bureau or even us before we got here. He matches Sergei’s description. He’s tall, white, and he’s got dark hair. Sergei said something about a gray coat, too, didn’t he?”
She knew he hadn’t, but she was desperate. They couldn’t let Detective Johansson leave, and she needed Bobby’s help.
Bobby furrowed his brows as he cast a puzzled glance at her. “Maybe? I’m not sure. I can’t remember it, but if you do, then I guess so.”
“We stick to your plan. We dangle something about Drew’s murder, something about our case, and we see how he reacts. In the meantime, I’ll grab some tape or something and get a sample of what’s on his coat.”
Blowing out a quiet breath, Bobby nodded. “Okay. We told them we were getting paper and pens, so we’d better go grab those before we go back in there or he’ll know something’s up.”
Winter nodded. “Good catch.”
After they retrieved a few pieces of paper from the tray of a nearby printer and a piece of double-sided tape used for collecting trace evidence, she and Bobby made their way back to the two detectives. Though the method was unorthodox, Winter hid the sealed tape by stuffing it down the front of her shirt. Bobby’s expression turned curious, but he didn’t comment.
Waving the sheet of paper for the detectives to see, Bobby pulled up a chair to sit across the table. The sunlight that streamed in through the picture window on the other side of the room caught the face of his watch as he pulled the cap off his pen.
“Okay, well.” Bobby’s amber eyes flicked over to Winter as she made herself a seat at his side. “Y’all probably know a little bit about what we’re looking into, don’t you?”
Winter had to do a double take to make sure that the source of the down-home charm was Bobby and not Noah. If their accents weren’t slightly different, Winter might have been convinced she had stepped into The Twilight Zone to meet Noah’s twin brother.
Detective Vinson nodded. “A little. I was with Agent Black at the Falkner house. You guys think the same people who kidnapped her are the ones who killed the agent, right?”
With a charming smile, Bobby returned her nod. “We do.”
“What makes you think that?”
When Detective Johansson posed the question, Winter’s pulse picked up. His question pushed any lingering doubts out of her mind.
As Bobby leaned back in his chair, he shrugged. “There’s some evidence we picked up that ties them together, but honestly, we’re a little bit stumped on the motive. We can’t quite make out why the people who killed Agent Hansford would’ve wanted to kidnap Natalie Falkner. And Natalie was kidnapped before Agent Hansford was killed.”
Winter dared a glance at Detective Johansson. The glint of curiosity in his pale blue eyes was unmistakable.
Bobby’s gaze flitted from the detectives to the whiteboard. “You know what? Here, maybe this’ll help.” With one more look to Winter, he pushed himself to stand.
At the wordless comment, she nodded.
Even if Bobby could capture Detective Johansson’s attention, they still needed him to take off his damn coat.
As Winter took in a sharp breath, she made a show of rubbing her upper arms. “I’m so used to Virginia’s weather. I forgot my coat at the hotel this morning. Do you guys have access to the thermostat by chance? I’m freezing my ass off.”
Detective Vinson gave her a sympathetic smile and gestured to the doorway. “Beside the door. People are always messing with it this time of year, so someone probably turned it down.”
Winter bit back a curse of frustration as she rose to stand, but once she faced away from the detectives to adjust the thermometer, she grated her teeth.
She was sure Bobby would have more than a few questions about her logical connections, but she shoved the thoughts from her mind.
The clock was ticking, and they had a corrupt cop to nail.
33
A panicked phone call from Eric Dalton was close to the last experience Noah wanted for himself that day. He’d just gotten word from the Baltimore office that the remainder of Drew Hansford’s 911 call had been cleaned, and his initial plan had been to head to the office to listen to the recording.
Before he’d even had a chance to wake up his laptop, he’d received the panicked call from Eric. Then again, panicked didn’t quite encompass Eric’s desperate tone and flurry of words. Noah had half-expected the man to hyperventilate in the middle of their short phone call.
“Please, Noah. I need to see you. Can you come here right away?”
If it hadn’t been for the blatant desperation, he would have been inclined to tell Eric where exactly he could put his request. Clearly, something was wrong, but Eric had been unwilling to elaborate over the phone. Instead, he’d assured Noah that he would fill him in as soon as he arrived. But not before he stopped by his place and changed out of his monkey suit. The last thing a safe house needed was a bunch of suit-clad people going in and out, drawing unwanted attention.
Clad in worn jeans, a Chris Stapleton concert t-shirt, and black and white flannel, he greeted Miguel Vasquez and stepped into the living room, where he found his father. Eric’s eyes were hallowed, his expression one that bordered somewhere between unadulterated fear and paranoia.
As soon as he spotted Noah, Eric leapt to his feet.
Miguel cleared his throat. “You want me to leave, Dalton?”
Without glancing back to him, Noah raised a hand. “Just a second. I don’t think you need to go anywhere. What in the hell is going on, Eric?”
The skin-crawling sensation that Noah got when he felt he was being watched—the slight chill of unease mixed with hyper-awareness—rushed up to greet him as soon as his eyes met those of his father’s.
This wasn’t right.
Nothing about this entire damn room was right.
To reassure himself, Noah glanced over his shoul
der to Miguel. Agent Vasquez had been with the bureau for close to twenty years. Though his carefree demeanor made him seem like a jovial uncle, there was the same sharpness behind his dark eyes as there was behind Bree’s or Aiden’s.
“All right, Eric.” Noah retrieved his phone and raised the device for Eric to see. “I’m giving you one chance to tell me what in the actual fuck is going on right now, okay? And if you lie to me again, like you’ve been doing all damn week, I’ll have the city cops drag you out of here in cuffs. You understand?”
As Eric dropped back down to sit, he managed a weak nod.
“Good. Talk.” Noah didn’t let his intent stare falter.
Eric’s gray eyes flitted over to Miguel. “Could we, I mean…could you give us a minute, Agent Vasquez?”
Before Miguel could confirm his willingness to comply with the request, Noah waved a dismissive hand. “No, Vasquez. You can stay. This isn’t personal between me and you, Eric. I don’t know what in the hell made you ever think it was. This isn’t between you and your son. This is between you and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Whatever you want to tell me, you can tell the bureau. You got me, Pops?”
Shadows shifted along his throat as he swallowed. Finally, Eric Dalton nodded. “Okay. Yeah. It’s Natalie, your…your sister. She was kidnapped a week ago. That’s…that’s how long they gave me. And t-they killed Jon. Jon’s dead. Oh my god, Jon’s been dead for days.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eric covered his eyes with one hand as he slowly shook his head.
“What the fuck.” Miguel’s voice was quiet, and Noah doubted Eric could hear the remark.
Noah clenched and unclenched one hand. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
A portion of the bluster returned to Eric’s eyes as he looked back up to Noah. “Because they’d already killed Jon, and they said they’d kill Natalie if I told you. If I told the FBI. I was supposed to tell you, not the entire damn bureau!”
Narrowing his eyes, Noah crossed both arms over his chest.
He knew it. Lucy knew it. His mom knew it.
Even when his daughter’s—the daughter he actually gave a shit about—life was on the line, he couldn’t help but step on her to get where he thought he needed to be. He thought it was some kind of God-given right, thought that he had earned his status because he’d struggled during the first portion of his life. He thought that gave him a free pass to manipulate and use those he was supposed to protect.
The sting of bile crept up the back of Noah’s throat, but he ignored the unpleasant sensation.
“Why didn’t you want to tell the bureau?” He let a tinge of condescension find its way into his tone. “What, exactly, led you to believe that I would help you?”
“Because she’s your sister!” Eric’s voice was just below an outright shout.
Noah feigned surprise. “Really? You thought I’d do the Russian mob’s dirty work just because I happen to share half my DNA with your daughter? Is that what you’re telling me? You wanted me to facilitate the execution of a federal witness in a high-value RICO case because, well…what? Because you thought that I had some hidden soft spot for your kids?”
Eric shook his head, but Noah cut him off before he could speak.
“No, don’t bother with an excuse, okay? You wanted to turn me into a disposable asset for the Russian mob so they’d let your daughter go. What do you think would’ve happened after I gave them that witness, anyway? You think they’d just shake my hand and be on their merry way? Because, wow, if that’s how your mind works, you really are naïve.”
“I don’t, that’s not—”
He raised a hand. “Save it. I know you’re not stupid. I know you knew damn good and well what you were going to sign me up for. How long do you think it would’ve been before they started to go after the people I cared about?”
“That’s not—”
“No!” Noah barked, the word sounding like a whip. “Eric, this is done. I’m sick of you, I’m sick of your bullshit façade of nobility, I’m sick of all of it. Agent Vasquez, could you do me a favor and escort Mr. Dalton to the field office?”
He could tell that Miguel’s befuddlement hadn’t lessened, but the man nodded. “Yeah. We’ll get an official statement out of him and send it up to Baltimore.”
Noah’s face was a deadly mask of anger as he looked upon the man half responsible for giving him life. “I suggest you cooperate with them. You tell them everything you know so they can make the best possible effort to save your daughter’s life.”
As Miguel led Eric through the foyer and out into the night, Noah wasn’t sure what had just snapped in the back of his mind.
Eric was right—Natalie was his sister.
Maybe he should have been more distraught at the thought that she might get hurt. If he was honest, he wanted to be more distraught. He felt like he should be distraught. He should be anxious, something.
Instead, he felt no more anxiety than he did when he worked a case for a perfect stranger.
His half-sister was a civilian who needed the bureau’s help.
She’d never been anything less, and to Noah, she’d never be anything more.
But dammit…he had vowed to serve and damn protect.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he waited for Max Osbourne to pick up the line. He had a request to make, and if SAC Osbourne didn’t approve him heading straight back to Baltimore to work the case, he’d take a couple days off and pay for the trip himself.
He was going to Baltimore if he had to steal a bicycle and peddle the entire way there.
34
Special Agent Bobby Weyrick had been rambling on about the Hansford and Falkner cases for only fifteen minutes, but Bobby felt like he’d been posted up at the whiteboard for closer to an hour. He’d been sure to avoid any pertinent information, but he doubted he could keep Detective Johansson’s attention for much longer before the man decided he was a bumbling idiot.
Winter better be right about this, Bobby thought to himself.
Her logic made sense, but he wondered if the chance they’d decided to take was worth it. Because no matter how hard he tried, Bobby couldn’t recall Sergei Kolesov mentioning a gray coat.
If it hadn’t been for the unabashed certainty in her eyes, Bobby would have given voice to his suspicions, to the blatant uncertainty.
But as he’d rambled on for the past fifteen minutes, he second-guessed his own skepticism. Despite the number of times Bobby had repeated the same line of reasoning or piece of evidence, Detective Johansson’s intent stare remained fixed on him.
There were only two reasons a city cop would be so interested in a shitty rundown of a federal case. Either they had a personal stake in the outcome, or they were only pretending to be interested so they could get on the FBI’s good side.
From what little he’d seen of Detective Johansson, Bobby doubted the man was here to brownnose the Feds. He’d worked for the Boston PD for sixteen years, and he’d worked with plenty of federal agents in his tenure. So, by that logic—which was arguably a stronger line of reasoning than Agent Black’s justification—Detective Johansson had a personal stake in the Drew Hansford or Falkner cases.
As he glanced back to the chicken scratches on the whiteboard, Bobby prepared to launch into another round of pointless musing. He’d been told by friends and family members that he was the most charismatic person they knew, but until now, he’d thought they were all full of shit.
Apparently, they were right.
Before Bobby could open his mouth to blather on about some nonsensical theory he had scraped off the top of his head, Detective Johansson rose to stand. For a split-second, Bobby’s mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He racked his brain for something that would keep the detective interested as his heart rate climbed.
No, Bobby couldn’t let the detective leave. Not yet. Not when he’d become convinced that Agent Black’s farfetched theory wasn’t wishful thinking.
But what could they do? If the
man grabbed all his belongings and slunk out the briefing room door, what could they do? They couldn’t demand that he hand over his coat—they had no probable cause. Just because he believed Agent Black’s theory didn’t mean he could convince another agent, much less a judge.
If he left now, they were screwed.
The dirty cop would be back on the streets. He’d be on his way to the airport to fly to Timbuktu or Papua New Guinea.
Sergei didn’t even know who Natalie Falkner was, and Alek had already made it clear he intended to remain silent.
Mr. Bad Lieutenant was their only viable lead to find Eric Dalton’s daughter and her husband.
Grating his teeth, Bobby watched in slow motion as Detective Johansson shrugged out of his light coat.
Holy shit.
He wasn’t about to leave. He’d finally taken off the godforsaken coat. The coat that Agent Black was convinced held the same trace evidence they’d found in the Falkner house. The same evidence they’d found on a fellow agent’s corpse.
Bobby shot Winter a vehement glance. It was now or never. He needed to get Detective Johansson away from that damn coat.
Where in the hell were they supposed to go? Should he ask for a tour of the precinct?
The evidence room.
Not a tour, but close.
Painting an enlightened expression on his face, Bobby turned back to Detectives Johansson and Vinson. “I just thought of something.” He hoped he didn’t sound too close to a game show announcer.
Vinson arched an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Bobby glanced to Winter, and she nodded. He didn’t know what in the hell the gesture meant, but he assumed she’d given him the green light to work his magic. “We’ve got the names of a couple suspects. Do y’all suppose I could take a trip down to the evidence storage with you? Maybe there’s something from one of these guys down there.”
A glint of something akin to nervousness flickered in Detective Johansson’s eyes, but he nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”