by Tee O'Fallon
He was about to turn onto the ramp for I-90 when the cell phone in his front shirt pocket vibrated. Cox. He pulled out the phone and slid his finger right to answer the call. “We’re about fifteen out.”
“I’m sending you a text,” Cox said, and Nick’s phone vibrated again. “The lab finished enhancing that photo. It’s not totally clear, but it’s the best they can do. Let me know if you recognize her.”
Her?
Just before the highway onramp, he cranked the wheel hard right and parked on the side of the road. Behind him, the other SUVs did the same. He cued up the radio frequency to the private channel used for the op. “Stand by,” he said into the mic.
He opened the text message and pulled up the photo. Using his thumb and forefinger, he enlarged the image. What the—?
His mind took off in a hundred different directions as he processed the implications of the face staring back at him.
“What?” Andi shifted in the seat to face him. “What’s wrong?”
He handed her the phone.
Her mouth fell open. “It’s Meera!”
He took the phone back, pressing it to his ear. “It’s Meera Devine.”
“Who the hell is that?” Cox asked.
“Hang tight for a minute.” Setting the phone on the dashboard, he flipped up the cover of his mobile computer. A minute later he had Meera’s home address, DOB, knew she had no criminal history and that she drove a maroon Lexus.
He recited the information to Cox. “See what else you can find on her. We’ll hit the house on the way over. Maybe she’ll talk. Either way, we’re bringing her in.”
“Got it,” Cox replied. “I’ll let Bennett know.”
He grabbed the radio mic and clicked the transmit button. “Change of plans.”
Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of Meera Devine’s two-story wood-shingle house. A maroon Lexus sat in the driveway.
“Stay here,” he said to Andi.
“I want to go with you.” Her eyes burned with anger. “If Meera really did take that photo, then I have a right to confront her. She’s been in and out of my restaurant for a year, pretending to be my friend.”
“Not a chance.” When she opened her mouth to object, he held up his hand. “I don’t want you anywhere near this woman. If I had my way, you wouldn’t even be here. And there is no if about Meera taking that photo. That photo was found on a gang member’s phone. There’s no plausible explanation for that. Somehow, she’s involved.”
Myer had said he never dealt directly with Brian Argyle and that he’d always dealt with a woman over the phone—a woman with a heavy Scottish accent. Meera didn’t have a Scottish accent, but he’d still bet his ass that woman was Meera Devine.
The rage in Andi’s eyes dimmed, replaced by acceptance.
“Matt and Kade will stay here with you while Eric and I go inside. Do whatever they tell you.”
After she gave a reluctant nod, he met the other men on the sidewalk. “Keep an eye on her,” he said to Matt and Kade, then looked at Eric. “Let’s do this.”
At the front door, he pressed a small white button and heard the doorbell peal from inside the house. A dog barked—presumably Meera’s Bouvier. They waited a full minute, then he knocked on the front door. Again, the dog barked, louder this time.
Nick tipped his head to Eric, indicating he should check out the back of the house. His friend hadn’t gotten three steps when they heard a woman’s voice on the other side of the door.
“Scottie, no bark!”
The dog quieted, and a few seconds later the door opened. Nick immediately recognized Meera and the Bouvier he’d seen many times in the dog run at the DPC. The good-natured dog stood at her side, wagging its cropped stub of a tail.
She gave them a pleasant smile. “What can I do for—” Her eyes widened, and her gaze lowered then raised, taking in his uniform. “Nick? You’re a policeman?”
“I’m with the state police.” He nodded to Eric. “This is Special Agent Miller with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.”
“I don’t understand.” Confusion showed in her eyes, and she shook her head as if to clear it. “I thought you were a bartender.”
“May we come in?” he asked. “I’ll explain why we’re here.”
“Of course.” She stepped aside for them to enter.
When the door shut behind them, they followed her into the living room. Along the way, Nick scanned the hallway and kitchen, taking in the many photos of a rugged coastline that hung on the walls. He didn’t know where the photos had been taken, but something told him they’d been snapped in another country. Scotland.
Scottie—and no, the symbolism of the dog’s name wasn’t lost on him—trotted in front of them, his long gray coat swaying with the air currents created by his movement.
Despite Meera’s seeming compliance, Nick never took his eyes off the woman. Body language could provide information about what a person was thinking and feeling. He particularly watched her hands, having learned long ago not to be distracted by a person’s words.
She sat on the edge of the sofa and indicated two wingback armchairs for him and Eric. Nick sat across from her, while Eric stood off to the side, so he could watch her and, at the same time, see into the kitchen and hallway. Scottie lay down at her feet.
Meera clasped her hands on her lap, then raised her brows. “What can I do for you?”
No sense fucking around. There wasn’t time.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and cued up the photo with Meera’s reflection. He held it up for her to see. “Would you agree that the person in this photo is you?”
She leaned forward and peered at the screen. Her brows lowered. “Yes. But how did you get it?”
“It was found on a gang member’s phone. The same gang member who tried to kidnap Andi Hardt at gunpoint. This was the photo he used to identify her as the person to be kidnapped, and that’s your reflection. You took that photo, didn’t you?”
“What?” She straightened, looking alternately from him to Eric. “Someone tried to kidnap Andi? Is she okay? Was she hurt?”
“Cut the shit, Meera.” He paused to watch her as his words sank in, and he knew Eric was doing the same.
“What do you mean? I—”
“It’s over,” he said in a hard tone. He wasn’t buying into her feigned-innocence act. “Unless you start talking and tell us who hired you, you’re looking at up to twenty years for your part in a kidnapping conspiracy involving firearms.”
Her eyes began darting back and forth. Her knuckles whitened as she clasped her hands tightly and rocked in place on the edge of the sofa.
Classic signs of someone stalling for time to make shit up.
Quivering lips pressed together. Her nostrils flared, and she began blinking rapidly.
“Tell us what you know,” he demanded. “And don’t even think of lying. You’re already neck-deep in hot water as it is.”
Without looking at him, she began shaking her head. “I can’t tell you.”
“You can. The only way to help yourself is to start talking.”
“I can’t!” she cried.
“Who hired you?” Based upon her body language, he was close to breaking her. “Who ordered you to take a photo of Andi and Joe Myer and send it to the gangs? Was it Brian Argyle?”
She pressed her hands over her eyes, and her body began to tremble. Tears trickled from between her fingers. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “He’ll kill me. Mr. Argyle will kill me.”
Pay dirt.
Scottie got to his feet and rested his head in Meera’s lap, looking up at her from dark eyes partially obscured by long shocks of gray hair.
Now that she’d given up Argyle’s name, he lowered his voice, not wanting to frighten her more. “You were Argyle’s contact with Joe Myer to launder gun money. You’re Mary, aren’t you?”
With her hands still covering her face, she nodded.
“You were the one Myer spoke
to over the phone.” Interestingly, he still hadn’t detected even a nuance of a Scottish accent, which could explain why Myer wouldn’t have recognized her voice even if they’d run into each other at the DPC.
She took a deep breath and let her hands fall to her lap. Scottie licked them until she rested one hand on his head. “Yes,” she said on a shaky breath. “I don’t know what happened. I’d been working for him for years and everything was fine. Then he told me to call Mr. Myer regarding some money transfers. I swear to you, I don’t know anything about guns, and I had no idea what that photo would be used for. I would never, ever do anything to hurt Andi. You have to believe me.”
He leaned forward, cataloging everything he’d just heard and observed. She seemed to be telling the truth, but something was pinging his bullshit meter. He couldn’t put his finger on what.
“Are you going to arrest me?” More tears trickled down her face.
“That will be up to the federal prosecutor to decide.” If it were up to him, he’d throw the book at her for putting Andi’s life in jeopardy. But chances were that, if she was completely truthful, she’d most likely get a reduced sentence. By some stroke of fucked-up justice, she might even get away with probation. He doubted it, though.
He tugged a small digital recorder from his other breast pocket. “Tell me everything from the moment you started working for Argyle.” He turned on the recorder and set it on the coffee table.
“You have to protect me.” Her eyes went wide. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I talked to you. He’s a vicious man who’ll murder anyone who gets in his way or disagrees with him.”
Not wanting to mislead her, he told her the truth as he knew it. “What I can assure you of is that with your testimony we can slam Argyle with enough federal weapons and money laundering charges to keep him in prison for a very long time.”
She closed her eyes and began shaking her head. “Oh, Scottie.” She stroked the top of her dog’s head. “What will happen to you if I go to jail?”
The dog lifted its head and stared at her as if waiting for the answer. Nick wasn’t about to say so, but if Meera didn’t have any family, he’d find the dog a good home.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Meera began her story.
When Nick and Eric walked into Conference Room B, Andi was standing by the window with her back to him. She’d been waiting there while they’d re-interviewed Meera with AUSA Bennett and Special Agent Cox.
“I brought you a sandwich and something to drink.” He set the plate and a bottle of water on the table next to her purse, noting the anxious look on her face as she walked toward them.
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” She picked up the bottled water, twisting off the cap. “Did you get anything new from Meera?”
He’d already given Andi the CliffsNotes version during the ride from Meera’s house to the federal building, but now they had details. “Her story’s consistent with what Joe told us. Argyle directed the whole thing. Meera provided Joe with account numbers in different countries, to which he wired proceeds from the sale of weapons. She still claims she doesn’t know anything about guns.”
He glanced at his watch. Eleven thirty. Myer was due to turn himself in at noon, so they’d have to get downstairs shortly. Things were happening too fast, and he didn’t like it.
“What’s up?” The crease between Eric’s blond brows told him his friend had picked up on Nick’s concerns.
The timetable he’d set for today was quickly going down the crapper. “In the rush to get Meera in for more questioning before Myer turns himself in, we didn’t get the chance to ask her for Argyle’s records. She’s gotta have contact info for the guy, wire transfers, bank account information. We need to secure her house or office and get a search warrant.”
“I can work on that after we get Myer inside,” Eric offered. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”
“Thanks.” He stared at the clock, watching the second hand tick its way around the dial. Those hairs on the back of his neck—the ones that prickled when something was off—were stabbing sharply into his brain. “I can’t shake the feeling that we’re getting played.”
“By whom?” Andi asked.
“Good question.” Argyle for certain. Myer was still a question mark, and he was still suspicious of Meera Devine, too.
“Do you believe everything Meera told us?” Eric asked.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. Whether it was intentional or not, every defendant held something back until they’d been interviewed several times. With each successive interview, more information came out.
“You think she’s holding back,” Eric said rather than asked.
He nodded. “I’m sure of it. How much, I don’t know.”
“Where is she now?” Andi watched him from tired eyes. “And will you get Joe and her together and have them both explain the whole operation?”
“She’s in another conference room down the hall.” He tipped his head to the door. “A deputy U.S. marshal is with her. And no, we don’t plan to have her meet Joe. They’re both witnesses. We don’t want them to influence each other’s story, so we’ll keep them separated.”
She took a sip of water. “Has she been arrested?”
“Not yet.” Andi looked ready to drop, so he indicated they should all sit at the table.
She pulled out a chair and sat. “Why not?”
“It’s standard procedure in cases like this.” Knowing she wouldn’t want him to sit next to her, he chose a chair across the table from her. “Like Joe, she’s complicit but also a key witness against Argyle. She won’t be charged until we know the extent of her cooperation. Both of them could help us get to Argyle.”
“The only things we know about him,” Eric added as he sat next to Andi, “come from Meera. He’s about sixty years old, six feet tall, with gray hair and brown eyes.”
“Was your contact in Scotland able to dig anything up?” Nick asked.
Eric shook his head. “So far, no one by the name of Meera Devine has a criminal history in Scotland. They’ll try to find something on Brian Argyle and Argyle Enterprises.”
“Good.” He looked back at Andi. “Bennett wants Meera to record her next phone call with Argyle and find out when—or if—he plans to come to the U.S. If he does, Bennett will want her to wear a wire and get incriminating statements on the guy. We’ll use those statements to put together a rock-solid case.”
She’d been about to take another sip of water but set the bottle on the table. “That sounds like it could take a while.”
While he didn’t say it, the practical realities of complex investigations sucked, and no one was more disappointed than he was. As much as he wanted to be the one to put the silver bracelets on Argyle, he’d take equal pleasure in locking Meera up for her role—knowing or otherwise—in the kidnapping conspiracy.
“I’d better get downstairs on patrol with Tiger.” Eric pushed from the table and headed for the door. He patted the radio clipped to his belt. “We’ll keep you posted on the ground. The Feebs on top of the building will be on the same frequency.”
“Thanks.” When the door closed, he took in the dented water bottle clutched in Andi’s hand.
“Promise me something.” She released her grip on the water bottle, and the sharp crinkling sound reminded him of a gunshot.
Anything, he wanted to say. Because he’d do anything within his power that she asked of him.
“What?” he said instead, ridiculously hoping she’d walk into his arms and forgive him.
Her gaze locked with his. “As angry as I am at him for what he’s done—overall, and to me specifically—I don’t want to see Joe hurt. Promise me you’ll protect him.”
As the now-familiar spurt of jealousy hit him, he told her the words he knew she needed to hear. “With my life.”
Chapter Nineteen
Through the bank of glass doors, Andi watched Nick’s hard profile as he stood outside, observing everyone who enter
ed and exited the building. Nothing escaped his scrutiny, not even a woman pushing a stroller or an elderly man with a cane slowly making his way along the sidewalk.
Saxon stood dutifully at Nick’s side, his thick black coat ruffling in the strong winds that had picked up since they’d arrived. Sunlight glinted off the dog’s back, and she worried about him being outside in the heat for too long, particularly with the added weight of his canine body armor.
Andi had watched in horror as Nick strapped the specially fitted vest on Saxon. The first time she’d seen Saxon, he’d been wearing his body armor, but this was different. Now she understood the danger firsthand. Someone might try to shoot Joe before he got inside the building, and Nick wanted his dog protected as much as possible. As if Saxon wasn’t huge to begin with…now he looked positively enormous.
“What’s keeping him?” AUSA Bennett looked at his wristwatch, then at Cox and the two other FBI agents waiting with them.
“He’ll be here,” she reassured him. “If he said he’ll turn himself in, then he will.” And as soon as they were alone, she fully intended to light into him for everything he’d done.
“He’d better,” Special Agent Cox said. “He’s already ten minutes late.”
Nick held his cell phone to his ear, then put it back in one of the pockets on his uniform shirt. He turned and strode toward the glass door she was standing behind. He held the door open for Saxon, who was panting from the oppressive heat. A blast of hot air gushed into the building, washing over her legs.
Standing this close to him made her pulse jump, and it was all she could do not to walk into his arms and let him surround her with his strength. As if reading her thoughts, steel-gray eyes pinned her. His free hand flexed, and for a moment she thought he was about to reach for her, but he didn’t, leaving her both disappointed and relieved.
Stay strong. Even though she wasn’t.
If she let him touch her again, she seriously doubted the emotional walls she’d begun rebuilding around her heart wouldn’t crumble into a pile of emotional rubble, and when he left her—which he would—she’d only have to rebuild. That, she couldn’t take. Never again.
