Winter's Secret

by Mary Stone

  He chuckled. “We get some of them around here too. All right, well. Let’s go see if we can find SAC Judd and get this thing moving.”

  Bree pushed to her feet. “We can ask her about getting Eric’s wife and kids into a safe house too.” As best as she could tell, Eric Dalton’s family was unaware of his dealings with the Russian mob. How they’d react when the bureau showed up to cart them off to a safe house was anyone’s guess, but Bree didn’t especially care.

  “Absolutely.” It was his turn to smile sarcastically. “If she’s not there, then we can just go sit in front of her office like a couple creeps.”

  Bree laughed, but even as she followed Drew out of the breakroom, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something was very wrong.

  11

  As Winter glanced over to Bree, the other woman nodded and raised one arm to rap her knuckles against the beige door labeled room “315.”

  Though Bree was fresh off her flight from Baltimore, she looked as awake and alert as if she’d spent the entire morning lounging in the sun while completing Sudoku puzzles. Winter was convinced that it was impossible to stress out Bree Stafford.

  They had departed the field office at quarter past noon, but for the four and a half hours Winter spent at her desk before then, she hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Noah. Their carpool that morning felt normal enough. Noah actually seemed like he was in the best mood he had been in since Eric’s arrival.

  Still, neither of them had brought up the impassioned kiss from the night before.

  Before Winter’s mind wandered down a well-traveled road of what-ifs and doubts, the heavy door swung inward to reveal a tall man with a neatly kempt beard and a head full of dark hair.

  His gray eyes shifted from Winter to Bree and then back before he stepped aside to permit them entry. He was dressed like he was about to go to dinner at a five-star restaurant, not like he was about to spend a day tucked away in the room of a mid-grade hotel.

  Did he sleep in a white dress shirt and black slacks?

  Wow. I guess Noah wasn’t kidding. The guy maintains his appearance no matter what.

  “Agents.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “What can I do for you? Is everything all right?”

  Winter glanced at Bree, and they both shrugged.

  Eric looked between the two of them, his expression a combination of anger and concern. “Wait, what does that mean?”

  “You haven’t told your wife and kids about any of this, have you?” Bree’s query was cool and professional, a far cry from her usual cheery demeanor. There was a reason she had done so well at the FBI.

  His expression gave them their answer, even before he opened his mouth. “No.” He lifted his chin. “I haven’t. I wanted to keep them out of it.”

  Winter pushed down the reflexive urge to call him an idiot. “You were hoping to keep your debt to the Russian mafia a secret from your wife and kids?” she asked instead, the incredulity in her tone saying the words for her. “The half-million you borrowed from the damn mob. You legitimately thought you’d be able to keep that a secret? While you…what? While you took out a second mortgage so you could pay them back? Tell me, Mr. Dalton. How does that work exactly?”

  Eric collapsed into a nearby chair. The desk at which he sat was empty aside from a local phone book. But even though Eric’s legs had given out, the physical weakness seemed to have fueled his anger.

  “I didn’t tell them so I could protect them!” The words were like bullets coming from his mouth.

  “Mr. Dalton.” Bree braced both hands on the mahogany surface of the unadorned desk and pinned him to the chair with her intense stare. “We know you aren’t telling us everything. What I want you to know is that, one way or another, we’re going to find out. And one way or another, they’re going to find out too.”

  His panicked gaze flicked back and forth between Winter and Bree. “What do you mean? I told you everything!”

  Bree scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “No, you haven’t. You said that your agreement with the Russians was that you’d use your life insurance policy as collateral while you paid them back. So, if you missed a payment, they’d come kill you and take the money after the insurance company paid it out, right?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed once…twice. “Yes. That’s right.”

  “That’s bullshit, Mr. Dalton.” Bree’s glare was as icy as her tone.

  Anger flickered back to life in his gray eyes as he shoved to his feet. “What?”

  Winter bit back a smile as she watched her fellow agent get ready to take this bastard down. In a blur of movement, Bree was in his face, and although she was much shorter than the man, she seemed to tower over him.

  “If you say ‘what’ to me one more time,” Bree’s tone was light and sharp, like a thin blade used for precise incisions, “I’m going to cuff you and throw you in a holding cell instead of a safe house. Obstruction of justice, Mr. Dalton. That’s what you’re doing right now.”

  Winter pushed away from the door she’d been leaning against and joined her partner. The sooner they got Eric to tell them the truth, the sooner she could focus her efforts on helping Aiden with the investigation into Justin’s kidnapping.

  “We have agents headed to pick up your wife and your kids,” Winter said. “They’ve probably already picked them up by now, actually.”

  Eric cursed and raked both hands through his hair, pulling at the roots, like those fragile roots could ground him. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

  A hasty effort at a prayer couldn’t save him now. Maybe Winter should have felt a pang of sympathy, but she was unable to drum up even a shred of empathy for this man.

  “The Russians wouldn’t just agree to set up a payment plan with you.” Bree’s tone sounded so matter of fact, she might as well have been providing them with the time. “They’re the Russian mafia, Mr. Dalton, not J.P. Morgan Chase. And your story about the life insurance policy is total, complete…”

  Winter had to suppress a smirk as Bree paused until Eric turned his anxious gaze to hers.

  “Bullshit,” she finished. “You could’ve run from them, which you did. You could’ve gone to the cops, which you also did. The Russians might be a lot of things, Mr. Dalton, but when it comes to their bottom line, they aren’t stupid. What did you actually agree to?”

  “Dammit.” With a weary shake of his head, he dropped down to sit at the edge of one of the two beds.

  Winter kept her gaze fixed on the man even as he glanced to the floor. “Spit it out. The sooner you tell us what in the hell is going on, the sooner we can make sure these assholes don’t hurt your family.”

  Bree had given her a full rundown of Drew Hansford’s assessment that morning, including the theory that Eric had agreed to work with the Russians to launder money in lieu of paying back the entire half-million dollars. They’d also toyed with the idea that they might use Eric Dalton as a mule. Having an airline pilot indebted to you would be handy.

  “How about this,” Bree announced. “I’ll tell you what I think you agreed to do, and you can tell me if I’m right. I think you told the Russians that you’d pay off your debt to them by helping them, by working with them.”

  With a groan, Eric raised a hand to cover his eyes. As he held the stance, Winter half-expected him to cover his ears and belt out “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

  “Your wife owns a yoga studio, right?” Bree paused, but she didn’t give him a chance to answer. “That’s a pretty low-risk business, and on paper, you’re both solid, upper-middle-class people. There’s no way anyone would think that you were laundering money for the Russian mafia through something as innocuous as a yoga studio, right? So, instead of actually paying them back the entire five-hundred grand, you told them you’d work off the debt. At least part of it, anyway.”

  Winter stepped in. “How many trips did you promise them in return, Captain Dalton? A little money laundering here, a
little drug or weapon smuggling on an airplane there.”

  Eric’s face was buried in both his hands now, and Winter wanted to yank his head back to force him to look at her partner.

  Bree shot Winter a knowing look and offered her a quick wink.

  Winter winked back. They had the bastard.

  Bree’s tone didn’t change. “There were too many ifs about them accepting your life insurance as collateral while you paid them back month by month. But I’ll hand it to you, that was a good story. There wasn’t really anything illegal about it, nothing that’d land you in jail, anyway. So, as long as we thought that’s what they were after, you didn’t have to worry about facing criminal charges, right?”

  Bree paused, letting the silence stretch until Eric lifted his head, his face deathly white in contrast to his darker beard. He didn’t look like the same person he had been five minutes ago. He looked…dejected. Worn down. Defeated.

  Lifting an index finger, Bree kept her stare on the man. “But here’s the thing. There was too much you could do to mess that up for them. Now, they haven’t been in Baltimore for that long, so they’re still looking for connections to help them with stuff like, oh, I don’t know. Stuff like money laundering, for example. Does that sound about right, Mr. Dalton?”

  Eyes wide, he opened and closed his mouth as he glanced from Winter to Bree. Rather than press for an answer, Winter stood beside Bree in silence. Eric’s shock was plain to see, and gradually, nervousness edged its way into his expression.

  “Please don’t tell Kelly.” He raised his pleading face up to them, and as he shook his head, the sunlight caught the glassiness in his eyes.

  Winter and Bree exchanged knowing looks. Apparently, their theory had been right on the money.

  With a sigh, Bree gestured to the partially unpacked suitcase sprawled on top of the second bed. “All right, Mr. Dalton. Get your shit together. We’re leaving.”

  “For where?” He looked confused but still rose to comply with the order.

  “A safe house,” Winter answered.

  His entire body stiffened. “For how long?”

  Winter offered him an exaggerated shrug. “For however long it takes to neutralize the threat to you and your family. You made an agreement with the Russian mafia to launder illicit funds through your wife’s business and serve as a pet mule to smuggle whatever they told you to smuggle. I know you’re a pilot and not a lawyer, but what you did is illegal.”

  “Then why in the hell should I have even come to you people for help?” Indignation flickered in his gray eyes as he threw both arms in the air.

  Bree offered him a sweet smile. “Honestly, that’s the only smart thing you’ve done so far, Mr. Dalton. You could have come to us ‘people,’ or you could have wound up facedown in a gutter on the wrong side of the tracks, next to your family. You might wind up in a cell when this is all said and done, that’s up to the US Attorney. But, honestly, I doubt it. You’ll be charged, might do a little time, and then they’ll fine you. Mitigating circumstances and all that. So, in the end, that’s what it comes down to. Either you wind up dead in a gutter, or you get slapped on the wrist for being a first-class idiot.”

  This time, Winter couldn’t help her chortle. “Personally, I think you made the right choice.”

  12

  Eric Dalton scrubbed his hands over his face, hating how dry and unkempt his beard had become. How unkempt his life had become in such a short amount of time.

  Ever since Agents Stafford and Black had made their little visit to his hotel room, Eric’s mind had done nothing but spin. They’d pretty much handed Eric a viable explanation on a silver platter for the sheer amount of money he had borrowed from the Russians. Before the agents showed up at his hotel room, he’d felt like the story about his life insurance policy had worn thin.

  Like Agent Stafford had mentioned, the use of a life insurance payout as collateral didn’t make sense. There were too many holes in that story. Too many different ways he could have eluded the repayment of his debt.

  But the idea of being used as a mule made sense as well as the idea of offering the Russian mob an outlet by which they could launder money. Both options had crossed his mind, but only fleetingly. Especially the second.

  This was Eric’s mess, not Kelly’s, and he wouldn’t jeopardize her business—the same business he intended to save through his dealings with the Russians. Even if her day to day activities at the studio had been hampered by the loss of her leg, the business was still a source of pride and livelihood for Kelly. Eric wouldn’t offer to launder illicit funds through the establishment that gave his wife’s life purpose. He couldn’t.

  But the story made sense, and it kept the Feds away from the real agreement he’d made with the Russians. A number of their people were at risk of hefty prison sentences from a pending RICO case. The case hinged on the testimony of a key witness, and it was Eric’s job to point them in the direction of the man or woman who had flipped on them.

  This deal was all or nothing.

  More importantly, it was a one-time deal. Eric either satisfied the terms of the agreement, and his daughter’s life was spared, or he failed, and Natalie died. But as the days wore on, he wondered if the Russians would stop at just Natalie and Jon. Moreover, he wondered if they would stop at this one deal.

  If the week ended and they received the location of their witness, would they come back for more? Would they use the transaction as blackmail to keep Noah on their payroll?

  Eric couldn’t worry about that.

  He would rather see Noah forced to work with the Russians until the end of time than see Natalie’s broken body in a casket.

  A knock against the door snapped Eric out of the restless contemplation. From the recliner at the other end of the couch, a man sighed and pushed to his feet. Between his worn jeans and plaid shirt, Bobby Weyrick didn’t look like a federal agent. But then again, that was the entire point.

  Agent Weyrick had been tasked with overseeing the safe house at night, and a different agent would relieve him in the morning. The digital clock below the television indicated that it was only eight in the evening. Bobby Weyrick had only been at the house for an hour and a half, so the visitor wasn’t here to take over his shift.

  When the man went straight for the door, Eric almost leapt up to protest. Wasn’t the whole point of a safe house to ensure that he was safe? How in the hell was opening up to a visitor safe?

  “Relax, man.” Bobby held up a hand. “It’s your…I mean, it’s Agent Dalton. You’re the one who wanted him to stop by, remember? Besides, I’m out of smokes, so it gives me a chance to run to the gas station.”

  As Eric straightened in his seat, all he could manage was a nod.

  “Good, let me get the damn door, then.”

  Despite the reassurance, Bobby still tucked his service weapon into the waistband of his jeans before he approached the dim foyer. Staring at the screen that cycled through the video camera views from around the house, Bobby flashed Eric a thumbs-up and pulled open the door.

  “Evening,” a familiar voice greeted.

  “Hey, man. You hold down the fort for a couple minutes, all right? I’m going to need nicotine if I’m spending the whole damn night here.”

  With a slight smirk on his lips, Noah stepped through the doorway and nodded. But when his eyes shifted over to Eric, any semblance of amusement vanished. “All right, Weyrick. See you in a few.”

  The other man clapped Noah on the shoulder before he disappeared out into the night. Noah eased the door closed and flicked the deadbolt into place, but even as he strode into the living room, he made no move to sit.

  His eyes were the same shade of forest green as Olivia’s, and he looked more like Liv’s father than he looked like Eric. Thanks to their Nordic ancestry, the Raeburn family all exceeded average height by more than a significant margin. Liv was just short of six-foot herself, and her mother wasn’t far behind.

  Like his grandfather, Noah had
the build of a linebacker, but the black suit he wore was tailored for his frame. As he stuffed both hands into the pockets of his slacks, the light from the corner lamp caught the face of a vintage watch. When Eric’s first thought was that the timepiece must have been a knockoff, he almost cringed at himself.

  “You want to sit?” Eric finally forced himself to ask.

  Noah shook his head. “Not really. I want to know why you wanted me to stop over here. You’re lucky Bobby needed to run to the store, or else I’d have already turned around and left.”

  “Where’d you get that watch? It looks…” he almost said expensive, “nice.” The question fell from his lips before he could stuff it away. Dammit.

  The corner of Noah’s mouth twitched in the start of a scowl. “It is nice. Why? You surprised? Damn thing’s probably worth as much as whatever car you’re driving around these days. Let’s see, it’s, how old is it? Made in the 1950s, I think. That’s what Granddad said when he gave it to me, anyway.”

  “Noah, I—”

  Noah ignored him and barreled on. “Part of a limited collection, I believe. Grandma Eileen got it for him with her Christmas bonus from work one year. I think she said it cost around a grand back then, and there were only a couple hundred of them made. Not sure how many are around now. They gave it to me when I got back from my second tour in the Middle East.”

  Eric’s eyes widened. “That has to be worth close to fifty-thousand now. Or more. Who made it?”

  As Noah rubbed his forehead, the gold light caught the silver and black band. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “If you even think of trying to steal the watches my granddad gave me so you can pay those Russian fucks, I will shoot you in the ass. I don’t give a shit how much it’s worth, Eric.”

  Shaking his head, Eric opened his mouth to refute the candid observation, but the words hadn’t so much as formed on his lips before Noah continued.

  “It was a symbol of Gram’s love for Granddad, and now it’s a symbol of their love for me. I know, I know. That’s hard for you to grasp. Just drop it, all right?” Pointedly, he looked at the watch in question. “No thanks to you, I have a very successful career, which means I’m a busy guy, and I’ve got places to be. So, unless my watch was the reason you wanted me to come over here, then you’d better get to talking.”