by CW Browning
Before she could give it more thought, Tito appeared again, this time with a duffel bag in his hand. He tossed it up to the other man in the trailer, then reached into his pocket. Stephanie watched as he pulled out his phone, holding it up to his ear and walking away from the car trailer, towards her.
“Yeah?” his voice floated on the breeze. “What's up?”
He was silent, listening and walking slowly toward the drums, his head down.
“But you got them?....Good....Don't worry about it. They don't know nothing....no...definitely no...” Tito stopped walking about four feet from where Stephanie crouched listening, her heart pounding. “No, listen to me. Nothing's changed. Meet at the meeting place like we planned...no....yes, Dominic knows.....he's handling it....”
Silence fell again as Tito listened, staring down at the dark cement at his feet. Stephanie could almost feel his impatience as the caller continued on and he listened. With his darker skin tone and black shirt, Tito almost blended with the shadows and Stephanie peeked through the space between the drums to get a better look at the man who planted a bomb in John's wheel well and killed her partner.
Anger more intense than anything Stephanie ever experienced suddenly exploded through her. Her hands clenched into fists as she watched him. He was so close. At this range, it would only take a single shot.
“.....Look, quit worrying.” Tito's voice jarred her and Stephanie forced her fists to relax and took a deep breath, swallowing the raw emotion that was threatening to overtake her. “Just be there Sunday....yes, eight-thirty....yes in the morning....and let the others know it's still on.”
Tito hung up and turned back to the garage, tucking his phone into his pocket as he walked. Stephanie watched him go, her lips pressed together grimly. She waited until he was out of sight behind the truck before she let out a deep breath.
“Miss me?”
Blake dropped down beside her and Stephanie jumped, almost knocking over the top drum in front of her. Blake reached out swiftly and steadied it before it crashed down, glancing at her with wide eyes.
“Holy shit, woman! Are you trying to sound the alarm?” he hissed.
“You scared the crap out of me!” Stephanie shot back, her heart pounding.
“I thought you saw me coming,” he exclaimed, looking through the drums as the sound of the trailer doors being closed at the back of the truck echoed off the garage. “They just loaded up most of the tools from inside that building, and I'm sure you saw the Hemi Cuda.”
“Is that what it was?” Stephanie asked.
Blake looked at her, amused.
“Yes, dear,” he said. “Don't know much about cars, do you?”
“I know a little.”
“It's a beautiful Hemi Cuda,” he told her. “There can't be more than ten or fifteen that well restored left in the country. I got a good shot of the plates. It should tell us something.”
They watched as the driver went around to climb up into the cabin.
“Do you have the plates on the truck?” Stephanie asked as he started the engine.
“I do now,” Blake murmured.
Stephanie glanced over in time to see him click the picture from his phone before the truck lights came on, pointed straight at the drums. They both grimaced and stayed perfectly still as the truck shifted into gear and ponderously began to turn back toward the gate. After a few long minutes, the lights moved off the drums and they both breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing as darkness once again enclosed them. Tito stood off to the side, near the bay door with his Camaro, watching as the truck navigated the turn and began to roll through the gate.
“Any idea where it's headed?” Stephanie asked.
“All I heard was that Tito will meet him on Monday,” Blake answered with a slight shake of his head. “No time, no location. Just Monday.”
“He's running,” Stephanie murmured.
“Yep.”
They watched as the truck rolled out of sight into the side access road behind the track and Tito turned back into the garage. A few minutes later, the truck engine was fading into the distance and the bay doors were sliding closed again.
“Well, I got more than that,” Stephanie finally said as the night closed in around them again. “It looks like the drivers have to be somewhere by eight-thirty Sunday morning.” She straightened up and looked at him. “I think we just found out the 'when.'”
Dominic looked across the table at the man sipping his bourbon and water. They had been business associates for the better part of ten years now, but even so, Dominic knew little about the man's life outside their business venture. He never had the slightest inclination to be interested. Now, however, Dominic was beginning to wonder if he was amiss in never looking further than their mutual interests.
“How's your lovely wife, Melissa?” the man asked, setting his glass down.
“She's vacationing in the Keys,” Dominic answered readily. “Her family has a house there. She goes every Spring for a month. She enjoys the sun.”
The man nodded and fell quiet as a waiter approached the table with their entrées. After setting the plates on the crisp, white linen table cloth, the waiter disappeared and the man looked at Dominic.
“Are we still on schedule?” he asked, picking up his knife and fork.
“Yes. The drivers will be in place Sunday morning as agreed.”
“I understand an FBI agent got curious,” the man said, glancing at Dominic. “Has that been taken care of?”
“He met with an unfortunate accident.” Dominic smiled. “He passed away yesterday.”
“Good.” The man cut into his steak. “We can't afford any scrutiny from the FBI. No one else in his agency is picking up where he left off?”
“There is one,” Dominic said slowly.
The man looked up sharply.
“What?”
“He came to see me earlier today. He wanted to know about the street racers around here. He thinks they're running product for the Casa Reino Cartel.”
The man set down his knife and fork carefully.
“Now that's a problem,” he murmured. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.” Dominic shrugged and reached for his glass of water. “I told him all the ones I knew were fine, upstanding citizens.”
The man studied him for a long moment thoughtfully.
“And did he ask about the dead agent?” he asked softly.
“He mentioned him,” Dominic replied. “I took care of it.”
“Does he suspect his accident was anything other than an accident?”
“Not now,” Dominic said confidently. “Don't worry about the FBI. By the time I'm finished, they'll be convinced they had a dirty agent who wound up dead because he was careless.”
“And this investigation into the street racers?”
“It can't possibly go anywhere,” Dominic assured him. “They have nothing to base it on, no proof. If they did, they wouldn't be fishing. He's just looking for something to start with, and I didn't give him anything.”
“What's his name, this agent?”
“Special Agent Hanover.”
“Blake Hanover?” The man stared at him, startled.
Dominic looked up in surprise.
“Yes,” he said. “Do you know him?”
“Everyone in Washington knows him,” the man muttered. “The man's built a reputation for himself, and he's a decorated Marine to boot.”
“What do you want me to do?” Dominic asked, his fork pausing on its way to his mouth.
“Nothing. I'll handle Agent Blake Hanover,” the man said after a moment. He picked up his knife and fork again. “If you see him again, call me.”
Dominic nodded and the fork finished its journey to his mouth.
“Do you go back to Washington tonight?” he asked.
“I'm staying over in Philadelphia. I have a meeting in the morning before I go back.”
“A meeting? On Saturday morning?” Dominic shook his head.
“You should relax more.”
The man smiled thinly.
“Relaxation is over-rated,” he murmured, “especially when you can be making money instead.”
Dominic raised his glass in a silent toast.
“Now there's something I can drink to.”
Both men drank, sublimely unaware of the waiter hovering a few feet away in the shadows, listening to their every word.
Chapter Forty-Two
Stephanie stifled a yawn and sipped her coffee, watching as Blake disappeared into the bar. She glanced down at the tablet on her lap and sighed. As soon as they got into the car back at the racetrack, Blake pulled out his tablet and plugged in the flash-drive Lina gave her with Dutch's GPS information. As he pointed out, they had thirty-four hours to find a driver and determine where the meet was taking place Sunday morning. Stephanie didn't argue. Starting with a twenty-mile radius, they began retracing Dutch's steps. In two hours, they hit four stops. This was the fifth. So far, they had nothing.
Stephanie pulled out her phone and hit speed-dial. They were running out of time. While most of the pings were in public places like the bar in front of her, it was already after midnight and they had no idea what they were really trying to find.
“Yes?”
Alina answered shortly.
“Are you sleeping?” Stephanie asked.
“No. What's up?”
“Blake and I are working our way through Dutch's stops,” Stephanie told her. “What should we be looking for? So far, we've got nothing.”
“Cars. Don't waste your time if you don't see any.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Remember that list I sent you?” Alina asked, a thread of impatience in her voice. “Look for any of those.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes in self-disgust.
“I forgot about that,” she muttered. “I'll pull the list. Thank you.”
“Are you ok?” Alina asked after a brief silence.
“I'm fine,” Stephanie said. “Just not thinking clearly, apparently.”
“Where's Blake?”
“In a bar, talking to the bartender,” she replied tiredly. “We went to Atco earlier.”
“And?”
“Tito was loading up a truck. He's getting ready to run, but I overheard a conversation he had on his phone. The drivers are meeting at eight-thirty Sunday morning.”
“Where?” Alina asked sharply.
“I don't know,” Stephanie answered, sipping her coffee. “I only got the time.”
“I'll take it,” Alina murmured. “Good work.”
“Thank Blake,” Stephanie retorted with a short laugh. “He's the one who decided to go to Atco. I thought he was out of his mind.”
“You said Tito was loading up a truck,” Viper said suddenly. “With what?”
“Tools, boxes...and a car.”
“The Camaro?” she asked sharply.
“No.” Stephanie watched as headlights pulled into the parking lot from the street. “Blake said it was a Hemi Cuda. I'll run the plates when I get home.”
“No need,” Viper said grimly. “It's Lani's.”
“Dutch's sister?” Stephanie asked, surprised. “How do you know?”
“Did you get the plates to the truck?” Viper asked, ignoring the question.
“Blake did.”
“Send it to me,” Viper instructed. “I'll take care of the truck. You concentrate on finding the bombs.”
“OK.” Stephanie frowned as a royal blue sports car rolled by her and pulled into a spot a few yards away. “I'll send it as soon as Blake gets back.”
She disconnected and watched a young man get out of the driver side, beeping the alarm on as he walked toward the bar. Stephanie's eyes narrowed and she swiped the screen on her phone, pulling up her email. A moment later, she had the list of cars Alina provided open on her phone. She scrolled through it quickly, catching her breath as her eyes fell on the make, model and color of the sports car now parked across the parking lot.
“Gotcha.”
Viper hung up and slipped the phone back into her pocket, glancing at her watch. It was getting late. Dominic would be on his way home soon. Once the car started moving, the tracker she installed would automatically alert her. Right now, he was still at the club, but Viper knew she was running out of time.
She turned and crossed the hall to go into what looked like Dominic's den, his big black Labrador padding after her happily. The sprawling, two-story house was empty with the exception of the dog. However, like all animals, he quickly fell under her spell and was following her around the house during her search quite contentedly.
Viper switched on the light and headed for the large, dark wood desk. A monitor and phone were on one end of the glossy surface, while a framed picture of a dark-haired woman sat on the other end, accompanied by a potted lucky bamboo plant. Alina glanced at the picture, then turned her attention to the computer. She sat in the leather chair and pulled out the keyboard from its hidden shelf, wiggling the mouse and waking up the monitor. There was no password on the computer, and the screen came right up to an open email.
“Sloppy,” she murmured to herself, scanning the email quickly. It was an invitation to a gala in the city in three weeks.
Viper minimized the email and scanned the rest of the inbox, unabashedly noting his contacts and the amount of senators and representatives on his contact list. The dog sidled up to her and a large, black jaw dropped onto her lap. Her lips twitched and Viper glanced down into big brown eyes. She absently scratched behind his ears as she scrolled through the emails swiftly. Aside from the connections to Washington's elite, Dominic's inbox revealed nothing more of interest and she moved on. After glancing at her watch again, she minimized the email altogether and clicked into the drives. Petting the dog with one hand, she surfed through them, scanning for anything that might shed some light on Dominic's business dealings. She was rewarded about ten minutes later when she came across a heavily encrypted and password protected hidden drive.
“Bingo,” she breathed, reaching into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulling out a slim, portable external drive. She reached down and plugged it into the USB port on the tower and began the tricky process of working around the encryption and transferring a copy.
Tricky, but not impossible.
The dog settled down on his haunches next to her with a sigh, realizing that his ear-scratching was over, and proceeded to watch her as she typed on his master’s keyboard with her surgical-gloved hands. Viper had just bypassed the security and started the copy when her phone vibrated against her leg. She pulled it out and swiped the screen. Dominic was leaving the club.
Viper glanced at her watch and stood, leaving the external drive plugged into the computer, copying. She moved to the side of the room and began searching for a safe, the dog following her with a wagging tail.
“Does he have one?” she asked him softly. “You know where it is, don't you?”
The dog answered by wagging his tail even harder and gazing up at her adoringly. She smiled faintly before returning her attention to the walls and cabinets. On the other side of the room, behind an over-sized print of the Chrysler Building, she found it. It was a standard wall safe with a simple dial lock, and Viper had it open in short order. She surveyed the contents dispassionately. A few jewelry boxes, a couple thick stacks of cash, and an envelope.
Viper raised her eyebrow and reached for the envelope. She slid out two first-class tickets to Belize, departing early Sunday morning. Her lips tightened and she slid them back into the envelope, placing it back where she found it and closing the safe.
Turning, she went back to the desk and checked the copy of the hidden drive. It was almost finished and Viper glanced at her watch again. She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the tracking software on the BMW. The car was about five minutes away, heading for home. She glanced down at the dog, standing by her side.
“And who will take care of you when he l
eaves?” she murmured, reaching down and stroking his big black head.
The dog responded by throwing his front paws up and onto her shoulders, wagging his tail furiously, and trying to lick her face. Alina chuckled.
“I don't think Raven would care for that arrangement very much,” she informed him, lifting his paws off her shoulders and dropping him back onto the floor.
She glanced over to the monitor again and reached down to unplug the external drive. The copy was complete.
A few moments later, the black BMW pulled into the long driveway as a dark figure disappeared into the shadows of the trees behind the house, her mission accomplished.
Blake set a cold bottle of Miller Lite down in front of the younger man and slid into the chair across from him at the table. The bar wasn't overly crowded and the noise level was at a low roar.
“What's your name?” he asked easily.
“Tony,” the man answered, reaching for the beer. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Least I can do for you agreeing to answer a few questions,” Blake replied, glancing up as Stephanie joined them at the table. “I appreciate your cooperation. Some people are difficult and that makes me unpleasant to deal with.”
“What's the point in that?” Tony asked with a shrug. “You're a Fed. You're gonna get your own way regardless. No point in us wasting both our time.”
“Fair enough,” Blake murmured, amused.
“So what do you wanna know about the racers around here for?” Tony asked after a long drink of beer. “Doesn't the FBI have more important things to worry about?”
“We're looking into the accident that killed Dutch Baker,” Stephanie answered. “Did you know him?”
“Dutch?” Tony repeated, surprised. “Sure. Everyone knew Dutch. He was good people. Why are you asking about his accident?”
“Because it wasn't an accident,” Blake told him.
Tony looked from one to the other, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
“What do you mean, it wasn't an accident?” he repeated. “I was there. I saw it. Dude had a blow-out and lost control when a deer ran in front of him.”