Witness Security Breach

by Juno Rushdan

  It wasn’t like him to be cruel. Even if she had been cruel first.

  You’re my brother. Maybe you should think of me as a sister.

  A stab speared through his chest as he recalled her words. Her lies. It made him sick to his stomach.

  He punched the air and swore under his breath, his mind, his body, every inch of him humming with the memory of kissing her, stroking her hot wetness between her thighs. How good she’d felt, how receptive she’d been, turned on by him so quickly. How much he’d wanted to slip inside her and bury himself in her heart.

  Madness whirled around in his head, a firestorm of pent-up sexual frustration consuming him. He was disgusted with himself for how he’d spoken to her. Touched her. A part of him felt as if he’d violated their friendship. The other part felt like he hadn’t gone far enough.

  What was wrong with him?

  Aiden scrubbed his hand over his face. The musky scent of Charlie filled his nostrils, inflamed his blood. Stoked the madness swelling in his skull.

  He should’ve washed his stupid hands, but he’d been fired up and in such a rush to get out of the hotel room that it was a miracle he’d taken the time to get dressed.

  Desperate to shake himself free of this misery, he needed to focus on the trouble they were in, on finding a solution out of it. On anything except the always present chemistry between them. Chemistry that’d sparked the day they met.

  A fresh clutch of pain tightened in his chest.

  Stopping, he found himself standing in front of another hotel. He went inside and used the bathroom off the lobby, soaping up his hands twice and scrubbing them clean.

  He threw away the paper towels and rubbed the outline of the flash drive in his pocket. They had no clue exactly what was on it. Finding out might give him some idea what their next step should be.

  This situation wasn’t going to fix itself, and dwelling on Charlie wasn’t helping.

  He walked up to the concierge desk as if he was a guest staying there. “Hi. Where’s the business center?”

  The clerk directed him to a comfy lounge with living room furniture, computers and printers. The lounge flowed into a twenty-four-hour coffee shop. Since it was communal space, the Wi-Fi was free, and he wasn’t even asked for a room number to access the internet.

  After he bought coffee and a premade packaged sandwich from the coffee bar, he settled in at one of the computers for a long haul. It’d take time to carefully sift through the drive. If they had any hope of winning this, they needed to know who they were going up against.

  He had to concentrate on their current problem. Clearing their names, which also meant finding Edgar, alive.

  Then he’d take the job as an instructor. Go to Camp Beauregard. Rehab. The only way to get over Charlie... Killinger. That was how he’d think of her from now on.

  And she’d have to find a new emergency contact.

  * * *

  SITTING IN THE passenger’s seat of the Crown Vic, Devlin sipped his hot coffee, grateful for the shades shielding his eyes from the early-morning light.

  “That should do it,” Detective Carol Jenkins said, switching off the recorder on the dash. “Thanks for answering all of my follow-up questions.”

  “No problem. I just want to help in any way I can. It’s awful what those marshals did.”

  “Yeah.” Detective Jenkins nodded. “It makes everyone in law enforcement look bad.”

  “The one thing I can’t stand is a dirty cop. Or marshal, for that matter.” He took another hit of much-needed caffeine, trying not to choke on his lies. At 7:00 a.m., his brain was still fuzzy, but deception came naturally to him. No effort or thought required. “Thank you for the lift to the airport and for understanding about me needing to catch an earlier flight.”

  “Of course. Who hasn’t had a family emergency? I’m sorry to hear about your brother-in-law’s heart attack.”

  When Jeff had called Devlin, hysterical, his brother-in-law had sounded as if he was going to have an actual coronary. Those marshals had some audacity to waltz into their place filled with cops and beat Jeff for information. At least they only broke his finger. They could’ve broken his arm.

  The good news was his plan was working.

  His worst-case scenario was Yazzie and Killinger being arrested. The flash drive seized. Stuff went missing from evidence rooms more often than civilians would imagine. Hell, if he could sneak out weapons and bricks of cocaine, he would’ve found a way to smuggle out a tiny thumb drive.

  But luck was on his side. The best-case scenario was in play. The marshals were virtually bringing the drive to him. He owned that city.

  Now that he knew they were there, he’d find them.

  Smoke them out if necessary while Devlin’s friend here in San Diego would tie up the loose end of the wife at Mission Medical.

  “Detective, if you’ve got any other questions, I’m happy to answer them over the phone or even Skype.”

  She nodded, pulling up to the terminal. “What time does your plane land?”

  “I’ll be home by lunchtime. I’ll take my sister out for a bite to eat, give her a break from the hospital.” He’d have lunch all right, but not with his sister. His first stop would be Avido’s, to ensure Big Bill made the initial payment.

  “I wish I had a brother as thoughtful as you.”

  He shrugged. “I do what I can.”

  “I hope your brother-in-law gets out of ICU and recovers.”

  “Thanks. We’re all fighters in my family.” The strong survived. “I’ve got a good feeling that he’s going to pull through.”

  * * *

  IT WAS LATE morning by the time Aiden finished reviewing the evidence Edgar had hidden. After asking the concierge where he could buy a USB nearby, he dashed down a block and bought one. This city was great. Everything at his fingertips.

  There was enough information on the drive to fill an encyclopedia. He copied about a chapter’s worth to the new memory stick and printed some choice documents on Walsh and his hostile business partner, Romero, that, when put in the right hands, would send them to prison for a very long time.

  On his way back to the hotel, Aiden swung by a restaurant. Grabbed breakfast sandwiches, beignets and coffee with chicory, black for Killinger and au lait for him.

  He put his key card in the slot. The little green lights flashed, the lock released, and he opened their room door.

  Charlie was dressed and on her feet, moving toward him before the door shut behind him. “Where have you been? Are you all right? I’ve been worried sick about you. I checked the business center and the front desk to see if you got your own room.”

  Good thing he’d used a computer at a different hotel. Otherwise he would’ve got sidetracked. He set the documents on the bed and handed her a coffee and a bag with her sandwich and half the order of beignets.

  “What is this?” she asked, sounding bewildered.

  “Breakfast and leverage,” he said coolly, nodding to the pages.

  She stared at him wide-eyed. “Where did you sleep?”

  “Didn’t. You?”

  She shook her head, her eyes looking haunted.

  He bit into a beignet. Warm and deep-fried and sweet, it hit the spot. He held up the pastry. “You should try one. You’ll like it, Killinger.”

  She flinched at his use of her last name and grew overtly edgy.

  If she wanted to play the he-was-her-brother game, he’d do her one better and play the they-were-only-partners game.

  “We’re going to get Albatross back,” he said, trying to prevent things from getting unbearably awkward.

  They were forced to be together, but he’d get his own room or, to conserve their limited cash, at least switch to double beds. The more professional he kept their interaction, the easier it’d make things.

  No compromisi
ng positions. No embarrassing confessions. No kissing. No touching.

  Stick to business and the monumental task at hand.

  “How?” she asked.

  “Blackmail.”

  For the rest of the morning, they walked on eggshells around each other and avoided eye contact as he showed her the printouts and they hashed out a quasi plan.

  They had to buy Edgar time and they had the power to do it. That was the easy part.

  The rest would be tricky. There were too many variables beyond their control to know if it’d work. They had everything to lose, but it was their best chance. The key to success was proper redirection. Fortunately, Killinger was an expert at it and he was a quick learner.

  He picked up the phone and dialed a number he’d written down last night.

  The phone rang and was answered. “You’ve reached the FBI field office of New Orleans.”

  He listened to the automated menu and hit the number for the prompt that he wanted. As luck would have it, someone answered on a Saturday. “This is Agent Simmons. How can I help you?”

  “Hello, I’m calling from the US Marshals office. I was wondering if Agent Bryan McCaffrey was in today,” Aiden said, inquiring about the special agent in charge of the office, according to the website.

  Most FBI field offices were open seven days a week and some of the larger ones worked around the clock. With a smaller office such as New Orleans, there was no telling if the boss would be in on a Saturday.

  “Yes, sir. He is. May I ask what this call is regarding?”

  “I had some questions following a hunch on a case I’m working and wanted to discuss something with him.” Aiden didn’t actually want to talk to McCaffrey; he’d called only to find out his schedule for the day. “On second thought, something just occurred to me. I think I should get some additional information first, get my ducks in a row before I bother him. How late is he going to be there today?”

  “Well, he works from seven to seven.”

  “Is he just committed or going through a divorce?” Aiden asked, recalling that when Draper had been hired to take over the San Diego office, he had been going through a divorce and had worked twelve-to sixteen-hour days, as well.

  “Both,” the agent said. “Can I get your name to pass along to him? I’ll give him a heads-up to expect a call later.”

  “Thank you.” Aiden hung up and nodded to Charlie. “He’ll be in. Let’s go.”

  They left the hotel and scouted the area for a significant tourist site that drew a lot of foot traffic and offered multiple lines of sight.

  Jackson Square was perfect. Fifteen-minute walk from the hotel. A wide-open space that could be watched from across the street at the outdoor Café du Monde.

  Aiden purchased a postcard featuring the square from a shop, along with four envelopes and a pen. On the back of the postcard he wrote:

  If you want the rest of the evidence, have the Assistant Special Agent in Charge who is building a case on Bill Walsh here, wearing a red hat and red shirt, standing next to the cluster of palm trees on the southwest corner of the Andrew Jackson statue. Noon. Sunday.

  Aiden circled the specific tree on the card, silently thanking Jeff Landau for the tip that Big Bill was under federal surveillance. He put the postcard and two sheets from the pages that he’d printed out in an envelope, giving a tidbit of incriminating evidence on Walsh and Romero. Not enough for an arrest and conviction, just a taste to whet the appetite for more.

  “They’ll check for prints and get results in less than twenty-four hours,” Charlie said.

  “That’s what I’m counting on. It’ll save time when we make contact.”

  Charlie rubbed her hand across the envelope, getting her prints on it, as well. He addressed it to Bryan McCaffrey and marked it Extremely Urgent.

  Then he put the flash drive with all the information in a padded envelope and made it out to the attorney general at the Department of Justice in Washington, DC. They couldn’t risk hanging on to the drive when it was worth millions and could put half a dozen criminals behind bars.

  The rest of the paperwork he divided between the last two envelopes. One labeled for Romero. The other for Walsh. Those two they’d deliver in person. The others had to be mailed.

  New Orleans was such a convenient city. A courier service that guaranteed same-day delivery was located off Canal Street and was only a ten-minute jaunt on foot.

  They sent the envelope to Special Agent McCaffrey with signature required for delivery. He’d get it no later than 4:00 p.m. that day. Twenty hours was plenty of time for McCaffrey to arrange things with his subordinate who was covering Walsh.

  Next was the package to the attorney general. They’d mail it from the post office, priority but not overnight, since they didn’t want it to arrive until Tuesday no later than close of business, when their hand would’ve been played.

  By then, they’d either have Edgar, be in police custody or be dead.

  No matter their outcome, Walsh, Romero and every other scumbag on that flash drive was going to prison.

  “What if McCaffrey doesn’t go for it?” she asked, her cool, seemingly detached composure slipping. “What if an agent doesn’t show tomorrow?”

  “Chill out, Killinger.” It would work. It had to. “Have a little faith.”

  What was the alternative? Expect the worst?

  Not his style. He suspected that not only the agent covering Walsh would show but that the square would be swarming with federal agents tomorrow.

  “We still don’t know how to neutralize Devlin,” she said. “He flies in tonight. He’s going to find out that we’re in town. If he doesn’t already know.”

  Devlin was a wild card. A problem they didn’t have a fix for yet. “Maybe we use the element of surprise. Get to him before he can cause any more trouble.”

  “How?” Aiden asked. “Nab him at the airport?”

  They knew what flight he’d be on, seven o’clock from San Diego, and they knew what he looked like. Devlin wouldn’t expect the preemptive strike. “Yeah, maybe.”

  One step at a time. First, they needed to deliver the other two envelopes. Throw out the bait and set the traps.

  They walked to the casino in silence, resigned to their neutral corners, with the giant elephant wedged between them. She didn’t seem to want to discuss it any more than he did.

  Fine with him. We just need to get through this and come out the other side.

  Carrying crowbars and baseball bats into the casino was a no-go. Even if they had guns, getting them inside would’ve been tough.

  The Windfall was large and active and bristling with energy. Slot machines clinked off to one side. On the other, patrons gathered around card and craps tables and a roulette wheel. Shouted. Whooped. Cheered. Groaned. It was an overwhelming scene straight out of Vegas.

  “Suggestions, Killinger?” he asked.

  She stiffened and looked around. Her gaze was directed at anything other than him. “I don’t like the idea of an enclosed office surrounded by guards. There might be a better option. I’ll ask.”

  They subtly slipped their earpieces in and Killinger fluffed her hair to cover hers. Aiden planned to keep his distance.

  Killinger stopped a cocktail waitress who was carrying a tray of empty glasses. “Hey, I’m looking to catch Enzo Romero and Big Bill Walsh, discreetly,” she said, the comms device allowing Aiden to hear everything. “To pass along some information. I’d prefer not to get trapped in a difficult position in an office behind a locked door, with some dude’s hand shoved down my shirt, if you know what I mean.”

  The buxom waitress smiled. “Believe me, I get it. Enzo’s right over there.” She pointed to a man in a fancy suit in the poker room. “And Big Bill is at Avido’s this time of day. But ask to see him at the bar, otherwise they’ll send you to his office there.”


  “Thanks.” Killinger handed her a hundred bucks. “How do I get to Avido’s?”

  The waitress gave directions and pocketed the easy cash.

  “I count two bodyguards in Enzo’s vicinity,” Killinger said. “Give me his envelope. I’ll get it to him without drawing too much attention. They won’t see me as a threat.”

  He agreed and handed over the envelope. The contents would show Romero what type of damning information they had on him.

  Killinger sauntered into the poker room and Aiden stayed across the walkway where he could keep an eye on her. She strode right up to Enzo Romero and proffered the sealed white envelope. “You’re a very powerful man with a lot of influence and muscle, and I’m looking to make a deal. Help me get what I want and all the information I have is yours.”

  Enzo eyed her from head to toe, then opened the envelope and looked over the single page. His brows lifted. “What do you want?”

  “Not money.” She pulled on a smile smooth as cold butter. “I’ll call you tomorrow with details.”

  Enzo reached into his suit jacket pocket, whipped out a card and handed it to her. “My private number. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Thank you.” She took the card. “But it’s a little early in the day for me.” She turned and strutted out of the poker room.

  Enzo signaled to one of his guards, who took off after Killinger.

  In turn, Aiden was right behind him.

  Killinger went to the ladies’ room. The guard had the audacity to follow her inside. Aiden had no shame in joining the party.

  He shoved through the door fast. As expected, the bodyguard turned and half stepped back, a fluid quarter circle.

  Aiden threw a sharp left hook, catching him hard on the ear. The guy’s head snapped sideways as Aiden was already launching a right uppercut that hit him under the chin.

  The guard wobbled and swayed, staying on his feet. Killinger jumped up behind him and locked her elbow around his throat in a headlock.

  Aiden could’ve been a referee in a ring, counting down the knockout.