Wind Storm (The Gathering Storm Book 3)

by Marlow Kelly

  “Oh, the Syndicate.” He stepped back, putting some distance between them. Damn it. Not only was she too smart, she was also the only person he could trust. If he lied to her, he would destroy any faith she might have in him, and he wasn’t prepared to go there. He had to be upfront. “It has to be them. Who else could it be?”

  Kennedy never let him get away with anything. Behind her upper-class background, expensive clothes, and good looks was an ex-US Marine and a patriot who believed in doing the right thing regardless of the cost.

  She nodded. “Do we have enough surveillance on Lucy Portman?”

  “No, and Deluca was warned by the assistant director of the FBI to stay away from her. She’s well-connected. Our orders are not to go near her unless we have something concrete.” Finn had no doubt that his superior, FBI Special Agent in Charge Martin Deluca had nothing to do with the Syndicate. But he was a man who understood, and obeyed, the chain of command.

  Kennedy whistled. “You never told me it went as high as the assistant director. Do you think he’s the one who sent your personnel files to Ackerman? The Syndicate will share them publicly if we get too close.”

  He paced to the window, staring out over the Granite City Square. The sun rose, streaking vibrant shades of orange and pink across the sky. It was going to be a warm fall day. He suddenly wished he and Kennedy were having breakfast at a restaurant with a patio, talking about anything but work. The PDE building stood at the opposite end of the square, tall and forbidding in the stark morning light, a reminder there would be no time for intimate meals. “I wonder why they haven’t revealed my past yet. I expected it to be splashed across social media months ago.”

  “Maybe they thought they could blackmail you with it, but apart from a human-interest story, there’s nothing about the son of a prostitute making good that’s notable. It’s not like you doctored evidence, took bribes, or sent an innocent man to jail. You had no control over where you were born or who your parents were. None of us do.”

  Her comment reminded him she had her own family issues with which she grappled. He faced her and gave her a curt nod.

  She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against his desk. “How are we going to get anything on Lucy if we can’t go near her?”

  He understood her frustration. “We’ll start at the beginning, and if the evidence points to her, we will follow it, just like any other case. If we have proof, then the higher-ups can’t tell us to back off.”

  She nodded then pressed her lips into a thin line. Which meant despite her agreement, she had her doubts about his plan. “What do you want me to do?”

  He plucked a report off his desk and gave it to her. “Sinclair Quinn was attacked on the west side. Why don’t you see if there’s any footage from street cams? Let’s identify her attackers. The medical examiner won’t have the reports on the three men from the home invasion until this afternoon. I’ll call the Granite City-Elkhead County crime scene guys and see if they have anything yet. But first, I’ll call Deluca and fill him in on everything that’s happened.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t called him yet?”

  “No.” Deluca was as troubled by the discovery of the Syndicate mole as Finn. He had no idea if his superior was taking steps to discover the culprit. He was out of the loop, which wasn’t unusual. Investigators only shared the details of a case with those directly involved in the enquiry.

  Despite the early hour, Special Agent in Charge Martin Deluca picked up on the first ring. “Callaghan, if you’re calling at this time of the morning, it can’t be good.”

  “No, sir.” Finn explained the situation, ending with the fact that since Michael had been a federal agent, it would justify FBI involvement.

  “It’s better if you let the locals take care of it.”

  “Sir?” Finn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Michael Papin got us evidence. Evidence that was stolen by someone with access, and now they’re hunting him. There’s no proof, but I would put money on this being the Syndicate. They are going through his family and friends to get to him.”

  There was a long pause. “I agree. That’s why we’re better off letting the locals take this one, with our assist. The two crimes are essentially a mugging and a home invasion. They come under local jurisdiction.”

  Deluca wanted the Granite City-Elkhead County Police Department to lead, which must mean the FBI was still suspect. No, not the FBI. Paul Harris, the former mayor of Hopefalls and a witness in the Molly’s Mountain case, had been killed while under the protection of the U.S. Marshals. That meant the problem was within the Department of Justice, which oversaw both agencies. If the file was handled by local law enforcement, there would be no paperwork leading directly back to the DOJ. Finn knew the FBI had launched an investigation into all three security breaches; Harris’s murder, the stolen evidence that proved a connection between Marshall Portman and the Syndicate, which Michael had collected, and the release of Finn’s personal information.

  Given Deluca’s instruction to hand the cases over to local law enforcement, Finn had to assume the FBI were no closer to plugging the leak. “I understand. I’ll contact Captain Tate and share what we know.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Sir?” Finn said before his superior could hang up.

  “What?”

  “Just to clarify. You want me to tell them everything we know or suspect…about the Syndicate, too?”

  There was a long pause. “In confidence, yes, but make it unofficial. We have no proof they exist and…” He paused again.

  “Yes?” Finn prompted.

  “This should go without saying, but use your commonsense and don’t make us look bad. Be vague on the details.”

  “Understood.”

  “And, Callaghan, watch your back. That goes for Morris, too.” Deluca disconnected.

  As far as Finn could tell, the Syndicate was a multinational criminal organization. There was no way the Granite City-Elkhead County Police Department were equipped to deal with the case, but this wasn’t an investigation—this was damage control.

  Chapter Nine

  Sinclair kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep as Michael crept around the small cabin. Hopefully, he would leave, and she could have some time to get her act together before she had to face him and the rest of his family.

  She’d woken in the middle of the night to find herself curled against him, his breath warming her neck. She’d lain there for a moment to enjoy their closeness and the feel of his strong body alongside hers. His deep and even breathing had told her he was asleep and unaware of their physical contact. The intimacy of them sharing a bed, if not a blanket, brought back all the sensual memories of their wild weekend. For that short time, they had lain together, hot and sweaty with their legs entwined.

  Finally, she’d summoned all her willpower and turned away from him. Unfortunately, the mattress drooped in the middle, so she was forced to cling on to the edge to prevent herself from rolling back to the center.

  After that, she had napped, waking at every unfamiliar noise. She was haunted by disjointed dreams in which she replayed the day’s events over and over. Finally, when the gray light of dawn leeched through the flimsy curtains, she had sunk into a deep sleep.

  The bed sagged as Michael sat on the edge, mug in hand. “I wasn’t sure how you take your coffee. I figured black would be good.”

  She opened her eyes, yawned, and then glared at him. “Go away.” She rolled to the middle of the bed, happy to have the space to herself. Her head still ached, probably from a mild concussion, and the swelling around her bruised eye meant it would only open a crack. She patted her fat lip and then ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth. There was a split where the punch had landed, but it wasn’t bad, and luckily her teeth weren’t damaged.

  “My family enjoyed your baking. Ava, especially, liked the muffins. It’s nearly nine. I’m not going away.”

  She sighed and sat up. “You
do know I have jetlag, don’t you?”

  When he smiled, she was captivated by the lines around his mouth. Deep creases formed a dimple on one side, making him look young, cheeky, and charismatic. His face was fuller now than it had been when they were teens. There were crow’s-feet at the corners of his dark eyes and a smattering of gray at his temples. His high cheekbones, thick pelt of short-cropped hair, and tanned complexion spoke to his Native American heritage.

  Funnily enough, it’d been years since she’d noticed his appearance. Not because he wasn’t a handsome man, but because the way he looked really didn’t matter. His intelligence, integrity, and the way he’d always been there for her were way more important. She had an overwhelming urge to reach out and trace the contours of his features. She fisted her hands, resisting the temptation. At eighteen, she’d imagined he was as in love with her as she’d been with him. That had been a mistake. She took the coffee from him and sniffed. It smelled great, not too strong.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled and took a sip.

  “I thought we could go for a hike after breakfast.” He leaned across her legs and rested his elbow on the bed so his head was supported by his hand. He was essentially lying over her so she couldn’t move. She hadn’t expected him to be so familiar and wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

  She attempted to comb her hair away from her face. What should have been a soothing move became a tug of war with her fingers getting stuck in a giant knot. Finally, she managed to disentangle herself and calmly took another sip of her coffee as if nothing had happened.

  He lay before her, looking like a cover model for a men’s fitness magazine, whereas she probably had the appearance of a woman who’d just survived a blender. That thought brought her back to reality. She pointed to a neatly folded pile of clothes on his side of the bed. “Are those mine.”

  He gave a mock salute. “Yes ma’am. Clean, fluffed and folded.”

  She placed her coffee cup on the end table. “You need to leave so I can get dressed.”

  “Really? I saw you naked yesterday.”

  “That was a mistake, as you well know. I want some alone time to get my act together, and you are going to give it to me.” Was he trying to aggravate her on purpose or was he just an idiot? If she was a betting woman, she would put her money on him being an idiot.

  “If I don’t go, you’ll probably kick my butt.” He levered himself into a sitting position.

  “I am armed.” She pulled her baton from under her pillow but didn’t flick it open.

  He grinned, stood, and walked to the door.

  “Let’s set some ground rules,” she said, stopping him as he reached for the handle.

  “Such as?”

  “I let you sleep here last night because I was too tired and sore to argue, but do not take that as a sign of weakness. You will not push my buttons. You will not crowd me or try to goad me. Do you understand?” She wasn’t a woman who played games. The fact that she had feelings for him didn’t mean she would put up with any crap. In fact, it meant the opposite. He was important to her, and she should matter enough for him to treat her with respect.

  He gave her a small smile. “It’s good to see you’re feeling better.” And then he left, closing the door gently behind him.

  She stared after him, unsure of what had just happened. Was he testing her resilience? She thought he might be. She’d recently finished reading a biography of the British wartime leader, Winston Churchill. He was credited with coining the phrase, “It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” Churchill hadn’t been talking about Michael when he’d uttered those words, but the description fit him to a T all the same.

  ****

  Michael stood with his back against the kitchen counter, watching Sinclair interact with his family. They liked her, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. She was a good person, with a kind heart, who could kick butt with the best of them.

  His mom had given him a knowing look as she made breakfast. He’d shrugged it off. He was a grown man, and if he wanted to spend his time in the company of a beautiful woman, he would. Especially when that woman was Sinclair Quinn, warrior woman and savior to the victimized.

  Ava and Milo had stayed for a while, but as the conversation drifted to his mom’s job as a victim’s advocate, they said their goodbyes and went outside, planning on trying their hand at carving a dugout canoe. The process required them to find a large tree, chop it down, and shape the trunk into a boat. It was a lot of work and didn’t interest him in the slightest.

  He took another gulp of coffee. It was cold and stale. He hadn’t slept well. Being in the same bed as Sinclair had reminded him of their weekend together. Those memories had led to a raging hard-on. Thank God, they’d been in separate sleeping bags, so she was in no danger of being poked by his erection. But when she’d curled up against him in her sleep, he thought he might explode.

  He’d always been physically attracted to her, and that hadn’t diminished after all this time. But he was surprised by how much she’d changed. She wasn’t the lost teen who needed rescuing. She’d saved herself. This woman was confident, centered, and capable.

  Her laughter brought him back to their conversation.

  She’d showered and left her hair to air dry and wore no makeup. It was as though she was saying to the world, “I am who I am. Take it or leave it.”

  His mom refilled her coffee cup and sat next to Sinclair. “You knew Michael when he ran away, didn’t you?

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “Yes. We met the first night he arrived. There were a group of pimps who worked the bus station. They’re specialty was convincing runaway boys they would care for them, and then they would force them into prostitution as repayment.”

  “And you got him away from them?” His mom tilted her head to one side, questioning Sinclair’s version of events.

  Sinclair Smiled. “The way my brother tells it, he was trying to get away. He just needed a little help. After that, he joined us.”

  “Who’s us?”

  “Me, my brother, David, and Tim.”

  “And you were all living on the street?”

  Sinclair nodded as she fingered the top edge of her coffee cup, her nervousness evident. “Then we met Finn when we were in boot camp, and he…I don’t know really. He just became a friend, someone we could trust.”

  “And now you help find missing children?” His mom’s eyes narrowed. She was assessing Sinclair.

  “Child Seekers investigators work on a variety of cases. Depending on the skillset required for the case. We can deal with runaways, lost or stolen children, or sex trafficking,” Sinclair explained. Her green eyes met his mother’s gaze, revealing her confidence. “Because I speak several languages, my work often involves rescuing women and children from human trafficking. Most slavery is domestic, although there are occasions when it crosses international borders.”

  Nadie patted Sinclair’s arm. “That sounds…intense.”

  “It is. I just got back yesterday evening from Ukraine.” Sinclair took another sip.

  “And then you came to save us. You must be exhausted.”

  Sinclair gave a sheepish grin. “That’s why I slept so late.”

  “I’m so pleased Michael has you in his life.” His mom stood and scanned the cabin. “If we’re going to live here, I need to get organized. We have no food or cleaning supplies.”

  Her abrupt change of subject surprised him. It was as though she had found out what she needed to know and was now ready to move on.

  “I’ll help.” Sinclair pushed her chair away from the table.

  Michael cleared his throat. “Actually, there are things you and I need to discuss. I thought we could go for a hike.”

  Her brow crinkled. “Sure, I’m ready. I just need a water bottle.”

  He reached into the cupboard above the fridge and took out a canister. “And bear spray.”

  Chapter Ten

  She’d been armed at breakfast.
Her Glock was secured in a thigh holster. Michael had been so worried about his mom’s reaction to Sinclair, he hadn’t noticed. She led the way through the yard toward a dirt track. She wore skintight black leggings, a white T-shirt, and her water bottle, and baton hung from her gun belt, which was wrapped around her middle. Her outfit accentuated her slim waist and her curves. His mouth went dry, and he suddenly felt light-headed. He needed to get his act together and not allow himself to get distracted by her long legs, great butt, or the powerful way she moved.

  He pushed ahead of her. “I’ll lead the way. I know the area.”

  What a load of bullshit. He hadn’t been here since he was a kid. He knew there was a narrow trail that ran around a small lake. The path had probably changed over the past twenty years, but staring at her behind for the whole trek was not going to do him any good.

  They reached the water’s edge and stopped. The snow-capped Rockies were no longer obscured by the dense forest.

  The western larch trees were bright yellow, a stark contrast to the green pine and the bright blue sky. The whole panorama was reflected in the still water of the lake, creating a breathtaking mirrored effect.

  She stared at the view. “You wanted to talk to me?”

  He nodded, picked up a flat stone, and threw it, trying to skim it across the water. It bounced twice and then sank. “When I went undercover at PDE, I noticed some accounting irregularities.”

  “What kind of irregularities?”

  “They were funneling a lot of money to other companies, ones held by Lucy Portman.” He turned to face her.

  Her gaze darted from his butt to the water as her cheeks reddened. “I don’t understand the significance.”