by DiAnn Mills
His wife called to Daniel. “The woman called him Crow.”
Daniel circled the name on his report. “What were they driving?”
“A dark-green Dodge pickup. It was beat up too. Full of holes.”
Sounded like the truck that followed him and his grandparents. He nixed the similarities, viewing it as too coincidental. “Did you happen to get the license plate?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Please, find them.” The woman set two Styrofoam cups on the table and wrung her hands. “The man who did this to my husband threatened to come back and finish the job.” She flushed. “What he planned to do to us is unthinkable.”
Daniel clenched his fist. Sometimes it was hard not to get personally involved. His job: find those two and make an arrest. If they’d bullied this couple, then they probably had a string of other crimes too. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to ensure these men are apprehended.”
“Thank you.” The owner sipped his coffee. “What can we do for you? Donuts or a muffin sounds pitiful, but I don’t have anything else to offer.”
“I’m fine.” Daniel shook his hand “Sir, make sure you get those injuries checked out. Your wife wants you healthy.” He glanced to a corner facing the door. “You have a security camera.”
“Yes. It feeds into my computer. I should have pointed it out earlier. Nervous, I guess. Want to see the footage?”
The man retrieved a laptop from the back of his bakery and pulled up the security camera footage. Clear images of the man and woman. The woman received a call. Less than ten seconds later, she grabbed Crow’s arm.
A siren alerted Daniel to another patrol car. He needed to work fast and e-mailed the camera footage to himself before finishing up the report. Call it his suspicious nature, but he wondered if these two had gotten hungry after surveilling Laurel . . . less than half a mile from her apartment.
10:30 A.M. MONDAY
Daniel wore his uniform to his appointment with SSA Preston. After all, if the call had been legitimate, they didn’t call the shots until Tuesday. He’d woven through back streets to the FBI office. Taking chances often left bodies in the wake.
Once at the FBI office, SSA Preston confirmed the previous night’s call. He escorted Daniel to an office where he was introduced to the assistant special-agent-in-charge, David Stearns, and Special Agent Thatcher Graves, whom he’d met previously. Preston explained the undercover operation, noting Laurel’s position, Wilmington, and now Daniel.
“Your records indicate success in undercover operations, and you have a personal stake. We respect your discretion,” Preston said. “We need to infiltrate the operation and secure evidence to make arrests. Wilmington claims Geoff Cayden is part of the scam, and he has a partner.”
“Do you have any reason to believe Wilmington is telling the truth other than the claims?” Daniel said.
“We’ve verified what he’s given us.”
Daniel had worked with informers who’d slit his throat for the right price. Wilmington didn’t strike him as any different. “I’m ready to see this to the end. My grandparents have been threatened, and two of their friends are dead.”
“The scammers understand natural deaths rarely lead to an investigation. Family members have no reason to request an autopsy.”
The problem with Tom Hanson and Emma Dockson.
“We can handle a disguise,” Preston said.
Daniel shook his head. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Special Agent Evertson and Wilmington are taking the necessary steps to prove themselves to Cayden,” Preston continued.
Thatcher gestured for Daniel’s attention. “The FBI agent killed last night in the Kroger parking lot? None other than yours truly.”
Daniel smiled. More pieces slid into place. A reason for the FBI not to release the victim’s name. “Who supposedly fired the shot? Laurel or Wilmington?”
“Laurel.”
“That cements whose side she’s working for. Are either of them wearing a wire or recording device?”
“Too dangerous. It’s your job,” Preston said. “We’ll equip you with a few before you leave.”
He nodded. Too dangerous for Laurel and Wilmington to be wired, but not for him. At least ASAC Stearns, SSA Preston, and Agent Graves hadn’t asked if he had personal feelings for Laurel. But all of this was about justice, and he was on board with whatever it took.
“We want to bring you up to date on the latest findings. Wilmington says a woman by the name of Josie Fields is supposedly working with Cayden. You know her as Liz Austin, one of her many aliases.”
Daniel absorbed this news without reacting. Now he understood why the woman had been interested in him. Who’d suspect someone involved in a scam who dated a cop?
“We have addresses for her in Seattle, Dallas, Denver, Phoenix, and last placed in Miami. Ten years ago she worked alone. She likes wealthy, married men. None issued a complaint until she hooked up with a man in Phoenix. She claimed to be pregnant, and he discovered her game. He was sterile, demanded to see the pregnancy test. She threatened to go to his wife with their affair, but he reported her to local law enforcement. She stabbed him. Left him for dead. Then skipped town. Looks like missing credit cards were in the mix. We haven’t heard from her in all these years, which feeds into the scam. She served with Wilmington and Cayden in Delta Force. Same unit. Her specialty is disguises.”
“Silver Hospitality does extensive background checks. She covered her tracks.” Daniel mentally placed what a relationship with Austin could have cost him. “I had her phone number at one time. Suspected her involvement in the scam and called her, but it was disconnected.” He jotted down the number from his contacts and handed it to Preston.
“Looks like she’s gone from rich, married men to preying on the elderly with Cayden.”
“Maybe Wilmington too. If he’s involved, you’re about to bust a huge case.”
“We’re about to.” Preston pressed his lips together. “Another reason why we want you on the inside. This afternoon our media coordinator will hold a press conference, alert the public again before anyone else is victimized.
“One more thing,” Preston said. “You begin tonight. Before you leave here, we have three burner phones. The three of you are to use them for all communications regarding the case. I can’t force you to leave your other phone at home, but the scammers could trace you.”
CHAPTER 32
12:45 P.M. MONDAY
Laurel whipped across two lanes of traffic. Late for a hair appointment, and her locks had taken on the look of a drenched golden retriever. A dark-green pickup shadowed her rearview mirror, resembling the one that had tailed Daniel and his grandparents and the one from the Kroger parking lot when she and Thatcher did their acting stint. If this was the same person, then why was she being tailed after she’d murdered an FBI agent? A crystal ball would help. She picked up her phone from the console and called Daniel. By now he’d been briefed.
“Got a truck on my rear. Matches the description of the pickup that blasted the rear windows out of your truck.” She rattled off the license plate number. “Check on it, would you? Maybe this one isn’t stolen.”
“Give me a minute. Do you have a visual?”
“Looks like only the driver. Hard to tell with the tinted glass.”
“Be careful, Laurel. Remember Josie Fields might not want you as a part of Cayden’s operation. Where are you?”
“Just past the railroad tracks heading east on 1960.” She changed lanes. “They must have been watching my apartment, and that says Cayden or Wilmington. Except . . .”
“Except what?”
“Seems too soon for Wilmington to turn on us. Wish I could see the driver.” The pickup tailed inches from her bumper. She registered every detail. “I’m getting off this busy street, turning left onto Champion Forest Drive.” The truck turned with her.
Stepping on the gas, she raced down the street. A bullet pierced her trunk. Two m
ore pelted the bumper. She whipped into the right lane past a retail center with a popular breakfast restaurant. Couldn’t stop there. A half mile later, a huge church loomed behind a massive parking lot. Empty, and just what she needed to get rid of the green monster and its gun-totin’ driver.
In the middle of the parking lot, she whirled her car around and skidded to a halt. She exited and crouched low, her breath coming in spurts. No place to run in the parking lot. The pickup sped toward her.
She fired repeatedly into the pickup’s windshield. It headed straight toward her, its speed failing to diminish. She stepped to the rear and rolled over the trunk. Her feet hit the pavement as the vehicle roared toward her. She stumbled and ran to her right, clearing the truck’s path just as it pounded her car and pushed it into a light pole.
A dark-haired man stepped out and aimed. Laurel cut him down.
Daniel swung into the parking lot and hurried to her side. “I called Preston. He said for you to get out of here now. They’ll handle it.”
She glanced at the body sprawled out on the parking lot, lifeless open eyes. Who was he? Why?
“Laurel, I left my car running. Yours isn’t drivable. Get out of here. Not sure what’s happening, but this isn’t the first time this guy has struck today. I’ve already called for backup.”
She nodded and headed to his patrol car. “All right. Find out who he is. Call me. I’m heading home.” She stopped. “Is this the same truck that chased you?”
“Yes. Now get out of here.”
12:55 P.M. MONDAY
Daniel snapped a pic of the dead man with his burner phone and sent it to SSA Preston. It was the same man who’d assaulted the owners of the bakery. His hardened features spoke of a rough life, and the tats were typical tough guy but not gang related. The man lifted weights and had needle marks on his arm. He wore latex gloves, increasing the unlikelihood of fingerprint detection, but his right knuckle held blood. The Asian bakery owner’s? Once the gloves were turned in to the FBI, they’d undergo a thorough search.
Daniel wanted facial recognition done on the woman from the bakery. Where had she gone? Wilmington’s men were typically more high class than these two. He took another pic of the man’s P220 Sig. Grim reality hit him. The gun used was a .45, the same caliber that had taken a chunk out of Laurel’s shoulder. He’d find out if ballistics matched today.
Bits and pieces slowly rolled together.
If the man had been out to kill Laurel, why didn’t they take her out one of the many times she came and left from her apartment? Knowing who fired the shot would help. He’d investigated enough crimes not to put a hasty conclusion into a report until all the evidence lined up, but this tempted him.
Climbing inside the man’s pickup soured his stomach. The interior reeked of spoiled food and stale beer. A few to-go bags from McDonald’s and a boatload of empty beer cans littered the truck. A party gone south.
A black SUV arrived behind an ambulance. Special Agent Thatcher Graves emerged from the vehicle and walked his way while his partner, a man Daniel didn’t recognize, spoke to the paramedics.
“You started sooner than you expected,” Thatcher said. “Got a call this truck was chasing Laurel.”
“Whoa.” Daniel didn’t attempt to cover his anger. “Why are you here? You might have blown Laurel’s and my cover.”
“Relax, Hilton. I know what I’m doing.”
“I have my doubts. I suggest you leave the scene, since you’re supposed to be dead.” His insides burned. Thatcher’s arrogance could get good people killed.
“Don’t worry about me. For the record, Laurel and I were at Quantico together, training you haven’t had.” Thatcher made his way to the body. “One of Wilmington’s or Cayden’s men?”
“Good guess.”
The other agent snapped pics, a steady clicking. Thatcher bent to the dead man. “I want everything on him—records, his buds, underwear size, blood analysis on the glove. Now.”
So the case now had a hero.
Thatcher stood and studied the surroundings. “This parking lot is about the safest place for a shoot-out with a minimum of casualties.”
Daniel pointed to the church. “The staff would appreciate your comments, especially since they have a preschool on the other side.”
Thatcher groaned. “Good call.”
Thatcher’s cell alerted him to a text. “Have an ID already.” He scrolled through the message. “The name’s Trey Messner. He went off the grid from 2010 to 2012. Wanted in British Columbia for questioning in a suspected murder. A year ago he appeared in Miami. Pending further investigation.”
“Is Wilmington mentioned?”
“I’ll find out. And if Messner visited Wilmington before he was released from prison.”
“Check on the reported elderly scams in Miami. See if Messner was there then.”
“I’m also requesting Messner’s pic be sent to the offices in other states and law enforcement where elderly scams are reported,” Thatcher said. “Wilmington claims to be innocent, but that’s hard for me to swallow.”
“Possibly. Why jeopardize his freedom to scam innocent people who don’t know what day it is? His style was drugs, bank fraud, prostitution, and gambling. Then give to charities. Check the bullets that the FBI pulled from my truck to see if they match Messner’s gun.”
Thatcher grinned. “Might recruit you yet, Mr. HPD. Keep your eyes open and your head down.”
If Preston wanted Daniel risking his life, he’d better give Special Agent Thatcher Graves a few guidelines.
CHAPTER 33
4:38 P.M. MONDAY
Abby picked a burnt-orange mum from her flower garden, stuck it in her hair, and yanked on a weed. A clod of dirt dumped on her favorite boots, the same ones she’d worn with Earl to hunt big game in Africa and bear in Alaska, the same boots from her trek along the Amazon and her hike to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro. A chuckle rose deep in her throat. The trip to the Amazon had almost been her last encounter with nature when she nearly stepped on an anaconda. Same boots. Still fit like a glove, better than her house slippers.
She stood and stretched her back. Getting old was for those who were finished living. Not Abby Hilton. Too much of this earth yet to experience.
Reveling in the spectacular display of fall color in her backyard, she spotted a cropping of weeds near a bottlebrush.
“Like life,” she said. “Just when the days ahead look blessed, some jerk gets money hungry and goes on a scammin’ and killin’ spree.”
“Gran, who are you talking to?” Daniel said behind her.
“What are you doing sneaking up behind an old, defenseless woman?”
“Old, maybe.”
“Watch it.” She adjusted her baseball cap over her eyes and admired the second love of her life. “Did you finish your shift to help me pull weeds?” She startled. “Where’s your uniform?”
“I’m taking some time off until the scammer’s arrested.” He scratched his left shoulder.
She’d read him for years, and he was keeping something from her. “How long?”
“I have a few weeks’ vacation coming.”
She wagged a gloved finger at him. “Daniel, when you’re ready to tell me the truth, I’m ready to listen.”
His face held a trace of a smile, but his body language told a different story. “The nurse said you didn’t eat much lunch, and squash casserole and meat loaf are your favorite.”
“I’m out here because I need to think. You know my best thoughts come when I’m working with my hands.”
“Let me help.” He pulled a handful of weeds. “I’d be upset too if my friends were dying and I didn’t know if it were natural.”
“What if you were afraid someone you loved was next?”
“I won’t let that happen, Gran.”
“Nearly did. My fault. I should have changed the lock on the gate.”
“If anyone is to blame for Gramps walking off, it’s me. And I never considered the ga
te.”
“Wish I could do something besides pull weeds.” In truth, she wanted to go hunting for two-legged animals who preyed on old people.
“I’m on it with a team of others.”
“How are you going to stop them? By taking vacation time?”
“Now, Gran. I haven’t taken time off in a long while.”
“Hogwash. What’s the FBI saying?”
“Hasn’t been enough time to complete an investigation.”
“They were working on this before we met with them.” She grabbed a weed. “Why was Laurel fired?”
“I’m not exactly in the loop.”
Abby fumed. “How sad if an HPD officer made the arrest.” Her temper rose with sarcasm, not against him but at the unfairness of it all. “And the stupid excuse to release Laurel from the FBI is a black lie.”
Daniel touched her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter who finds the most evidence or makes the arrest. When I can, I’ll tell you about Laurel.”
She narrowed her gaze. “That’s what I thought. You’re keeping information from me.”
Sadness swept over his rugged features. “Gran, I’m keeping you and Gramps safe.”
“You’re right.” She glanced around them, drinking in the peace her garden offered. “I simply want it stopped. Earl is eighty-five, and I’m eighty-four. In all the years we’ve been together, I’ve never been more afraid. Not with Jimmy’s death. Not with your mother’s trial or the insurmountable task of raising you and praying I didn’t make the same mistakes twice.” She swallowed her melted emotion. “Don’t let anything happen to you or Earl. Please.”
7:05 P.M. MONDAY
Laurel watched the clock, nervous and filled with anticipation. Wilmington would call by eight if Cayden agreed to a face-to-face with her. She blew out her irritation. Dinnertime came and left, her appetite lost in the heat of this morning’s firefight.
The silence rang deafening around her, her apartment like a tomb. She shivered.
A knock at her door caused her to jump. Great undercover agent.