“To go?” Nina faced Becca when the waitress departed. “Aren’t we going to talk about Fagan?”
“Sorry. Can’t,” Becca said, her expression unreadable. “Someone tried to hack the NFL again today. I need to get back.”
“Tried?” Quinn asked.
“They used the same vulnerability Ty had exploited, but as I mentioned, DHS finished the work Ty started and the NFL is safe for now.”
“That’s good, then,” Nina exclaimed.
Becca didn’t respond at first, and Quinn had to wonder what she wasn’t telling them. He didn’t think Nina could handle any more bad news, but if there was more, they had to hear it if they were to clear Nina’s name.
“What aren’t you telling us?” Quinn asked.
Becca took her time, slowly resting her hands on the table. Then she looked at Nina. “DHS warned that thanks to Ty’s hack, they uncovered additional issues in the database, and a good hacker could find his way around them. They’re working overtime to fix the problem.”
“So you’re saying the person who took Ty’s computer might be able to find these vulnerabilities, too,” Quinn clarified.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Becca said without looking at him, focusing on her hands instead. “Hackers are often very talented. Many of them are better than the legit programmers who coded the site in the first place. They have to be to circumvent security protocols.”
Quinn didn’t like the fact that the database was still vulnerable, but it seemed there was still something else on Becca’s mind. “I’m guessing since DHS fixed the first problem, it means their deal with Ty is off,” he asked.
She looked up, meeting his gaze squarely. “I’m sorry, Quinn, but I don’t know what’s going on with that.”
“If they used Ty’s work to help fix it, they’ll honor the deal, right?” Nina asked.
“We’ll do whatever we can to make sure it happens,” Becca offered. “Once this is all over, that is.”
“Were you able to track the signal of today’s hack?” Nina asked.
Becca faced Nina. “We traced it back to the Diamond Hotel in the Old Town area.”
“Hotel.” Nina’s voice rose in excitement. “Maybe that’s where Fagan is holed up, and why we didn’t find him at the coffee shop or his apartment.” She swung her gaze to Quinn. “We should get down there.”
Becca shot up a restraining hand. “Sulyard already has a team tearing the place apart. Unfortunately, he still believes you’re the one he’s searching for. So, if you show up there . . .”
“I’ll be arrested, and . . .” Nina’s voice fell off, and Quinn could see the desperation settling into her eyes. She was probably thinking about Ulrich’s comment on how a law enforcement officer might be treated in prison.
“Don’t lose hope, Nina,” Becca said. “I’m headed down to the hotel now to meet up with Connor. We can be your eyes and ears and report back to you.”
“Thank you,” Nina said, but Quinn could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
Becca’s phone rang. She grabbed it from the holder on her belt. “Speaking of Connor.” She answered her phone, then listened for a few moments. “He wants to talk to us on speaker.” She pressed a few buttons and set the phone on the table. “Go ahead, Connor.”
“Becca asked me to do some digging into Fagan’s activities,” he said without a greeting. “She wondered if we’d picked him up for anything else since his prison release.”
“And did you?” Quinn asked.
“Not for anything official, but he’s on our radar. His parents disappeared a few days ago. Neighbors reported it. They said the couple just up and vanished. There’s been no sign of them. The detectives who caught the case say things aren’t adding up. They suspect Fagan killed them, but they can’t prove it yet.”
Nina’s face paled. “Why do they suspect him?”
“One neighbor says he’s got a paranoid disorder with a capital P and has always had a weird relationship with his parents.”
Nina shot a look at Becca. “That’s odd. We didn’t find anything like that when we prosecuted him.”
“Neighbors claim the parents were in denial,” Connor continued. “They never took Fagan in for treatment, so there aren’t any records.”
Nina took a deep breath, consciously focusing on her breathing. Quinn thought she was approaching the end of her rope, a place he’d only seen once. When he’d bailed on her. He didn’t want her to go there again.
He had to do something to help. “Can we get a copy of the detective’s file? Maybe it’ll jog something in Nina’s mind to help locate him faster.”
“Sure,” Connor said. “I’ll give a copy to Becca when she gets down here.”
Becca promised to be there soon and ended the call. “I’m so glad Kait arranged for Connor to work with us. I doubt another detective would be as willing to share.”
Quinn detected a note of something other than gratitude in Becca’s voice, but he wasn’t about to question it when he needed to keep his full focus on helping Nina.
The waitress dropped off Becca’s salad and ended their conversation. “You can pay at the register.”
“I got this.” Nina took the check. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks.” Becca stood, then reached for her salad and shook her head. “Look at me. I’m so distracted I almost forgot.” She handed the folder she’d been clutching to Nina. “Fagan’s prison file. I haven’t had a chance to review it, but after hearing Connor talk about him, it should make for interesting reading.” Becca squeezed Nina’s shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll keep you updated on developments at the hotel.”
Nina said goodbye as she pushed her plate away and opened the file. Quinn knew she’d share the pertinent details, so he continued eating. Her lips moved as she read, and she ran her finger down the page, looking studious. And just plain adorable.
“He was a model prisoner.” She flipped the page. “Which is odd, because he was denied parole.” She fell silent, but her lips kept moving. “Oh, wow. He tried to hang himself shortly after incarceration. That put him in counseling with the facility psychiatrist. He said Fagan was unstable. He hinted at psychosis—a delusional or paranoid disorder—and suggested detainment in a mental health facility until Fagan’s release date.”
Quinn finished chewing. “Just like Fagan’s neighbors mentioned. That means the guy is feeling persecuted and thinks everyone’s out to get him.”
“So when I arrested him, he took it as a personal attack and thought I’d purposefully targeted him. Like he’s doing to me. Now, he wants me to see how awful his life was behind bars by putting me there to get a first-hand taste of it.” She shuddered.
Quinn took her hand in his and met her gaze. “I don’t like this, sweetheart. This guy is unstable and dangerous. And he’s gunning for you.”
“Not literally gunning for me.”
“I don’t care if it’s literal or not. He’s dangerous. And before we get into a discussion about how qualified you are to handle something like this, just humor my insecurities and promise you will let me protect you.”
He waited for her to get mad at him, but she smiled. “I don’t think it’s necessary, but if it’ll make you feel better, you can protect away.”
“Honestly?”
She shrugged. “Why not? It’s who you are. What you do. I’m tired of fighting it.”
“Thank you,” he said.
If their theory was right, this guy could have a plan to send her to jail. But even the best-laid plans sometimes went wrong.
And considering this guy was mentally ill, Quinn could easily see things going very, very wrong.
QUINN GOT NINA settled in the SUV, and she immediately pulled out her phone. Quinn couldn’t imagine who she was calling, so he asked
.
“The prison psychiatrist,” she answered as she opened the folder. “Maybe he can tell us more about Fagan.”
Quinn cranked the engine. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure they have a mental health professional on staff 24/7, so the psychiatrist could be working. If he’s not in, I’ll leave a message.”
As Quinn backed out of the space, she dialed.
“This is Special Agent Nina Brandt,” she said pleasantly. “Is Dr. Driscoll in, by any chance?”
Quinn didn’t know how she could be so sweet after everything that had happened tonight, but he knew her grandmother had drilled proper manners into Nina. He could now see how valuable those lessons had been.
“What do you mean?” she asked the person on the other end of the line. “I don’t understand. How did it happen?” She listened intently.
“I see.” She paused. “No. I really needed to talk with him. Thank you.” She hung up and stared down at the folder.
“What’s going on?”
“The psychiatrist died this week.”
Quinn whipped his head around to stare at her. “Murdered?”
“No, they said it was a heart attack.”
“But you’re thinking Fagan had something to do with it.”
“It would be awfully coincidental that both Hamid and the psychiatrist died from a heart issue. I need to tell Becca, so she can give a heads up to the detectives investigating the death of Fagan’s parents.”
She dialed Becca, and after a quick conversation, Nina hung up and stared out the window for the rest of their trip. Quinn didn’t try to engage her in conversation. He figured she needed some time to process the information they’d just learned. Especially the fact that Fagan seemed to have already killed many times.
As Quinn pulled into the houseboat’s parking lot, he noted the interior lights were out, leaving the home dark and foreboding.
His hackles rose as he shifted into park. “No lights on. It’s not like Ty to go to bed this early. And even if he did, it would be odd for him to turn out the lights. He’s usually oblivious to things like that.”
Nina swung her gaze to Quinn. “You think Fagan’s here?”
He shrugged. “I’d like you to wait in the car while I check the place out. Just to be sure.”
“I doubt that Fagan has a clue where we’re staying, but go ahead.” She didn’t sound happy with his decision.
“Be back in a few,” he said. “Keep the doors locked, your gun handy, and your head on a swivel.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “If only they’d taught me even one of those things at Quantico.”
He rolled his eyes and drew his weapon before slipping outside and melding into the darkness. He crept onto the boat, half expecting Fagan to pounce from the shadows, though in reality he doubted the guy was brave enough to face them. He seemed more like a coward who liked to slink through the shadows.
Gun drawn, Quinn entered the house and worked his way around inside, ending with the bedroom assigned to Ty. The bed was made and empty. Maybe he was sleeping on the couch, and Quinn missed seeing him. He backed his way out of the room and turned on lights for a better view. The couch was empty. As were the chairs. He slid open the patio door and flipped on the exterior light. No one sat in the deck chair.
The place was empty, and Quinn’s gut cramped down tight. He waved for Nina to join him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked the minute she reached him.
“Ty’s not here.”
“Not here?” She glanced around the deck, her eyes filling with concern. “Check your phone. Maybe he texted you and you missed it.”
Quinn dug out his phone. “No messages. What about yours?”
She located her cell in her purse. “Nothing.”
Quinn dialed Ty’s number. “It goes to voicemail.” Quinn left a sternly worded message. “He prefers texts. I’ll try that, too.” He thumbed in a message as images of Ty in trouble raced through his brain. He waited for the responding text and started pacing. He clamped his fingers around the cool metal of his phone, willing it to ring.
“Don’t be so quick to jump to terrible conclusions, Quinn,” Nina said soothingly, though her expression belied her words. “He might just be visiting a friend.”
“He often does dumb things, but he knows we’d worry about him. Hopefully he’ll answer the text.”
“Maybe he’s more worried that you’ll be mad at him for leaving.” She held up her cell. “Let me try him.”
Quinn watched her type a sweetly worded message and hit send. He went back to pacing. A few minutes passed. No reply. His anxiety rose.
“What about calling your mom or his friends,” Nina suggested. “I’m sure Becca will have those numbers in her files from Ty’s interview.”
“I gave Mom a burner that’s safe to use, but I don’t want to make her panic yet. Would you mind going inside out of danger and calling the friends?” He shoved his phone into his pocket. “I’ll have a look around out here. Maybe he went for a walk.”
She squeezed his arm. “I don’t want you to think I’m not concerned about Ty, because I am, but it’s probably some teenage thing. He’ll be back before you know it.”
“If that’s the case, he would most likely have taken the pickup, but I saw it on the way in. I’ll still take that look around.” He took off down the gangway, then wandered up and down the shoreline. Checking docks. Boats. Calling out Ty’s name. An hour later, he’d covered every possible spot nearby and returned to the houseboat.
“Anything?” Nina peered at him, hope burning in her eyes.
“No. You?” he asked, though as she shook her head, her expression cemented his fears.
Something bad had happened to his little brother.
Chapter Thirty-One
WILEY SHOVED HIS hand into his hair and paced the small tunnel area he’d once thought soothing. Back and forth. Back and forth. His mind racing. How could the Feds have found the hotel? Now, of all times. He hadn’t counted on them tracking his failed transmission so quickly.
He stepped over Tyler’s bound feet and glared at him. The kid sat on the cold stone floor, his arms shackled to a thick post, duct tape over his mouth, and fear—blessed, wonderful fear—consumed his eyes. That was the only thing keeping Wiley going right now.
He’d finally gotten the kid down there to do the work, but the brat hadn’t accomplished much in the last three hours. Wiley had poked and prodded the kid. He’d made a halfhearted effort, but Wiley knew he was stalling. Then the FBI’s minions showed up and scoured the hotel for Brandt. He couldn’t risk using the Wi-Fi and had to shut the kid down.
Stinkin’ Feds. Time ticked down to the deadline, and they had him on hold.
At least it gave Wiley time to figure out how to motivate Tyler to work. He needed something Tyler loved and feared to lose. Wiley could threaten to kill Tyler’s brother, but come on. . . . Wiley wasn’t stupid. He’d never pit himself against a SEAL, and the kid would laugh in Wiley’s face if he suggested it. But what about Brandt? Tyler seemed to like her, and most guys felt good about saving a damsel in distress.
Yeah, sure, that was it. He’d threaten the kid with hurting Brandt. First, he needed to see if the Feds were still there. He could easily slip out front to take a look. It wasn’t as if they were searching for him.
He checked Tyler’s bindings. “I’m taking a little field trip, kid. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.” He laughed on the way to the door, then slid down the passageway.
In the alley, he merged with pedestrians. The unmarked cars that had double-parked out front were gone. Could they have taken off? Maybe his luck was finally improving. He strolled past the hotel, glancing casually in the window, feigning indifference when he wanted to gape at the
place and confirm the Feds had departed.
Satisfied they’d left, he stepped into the coffee shop and ordered a latte. He was sure everyone was staring at his scars. He leaned against the wall, his focus on his feet. He listened to the chatter and waited to hear one of the patrons say something about his face. The woman to his right talked about her dog’s back surgery. The next table over, a couple discussed the merits of garden composting. Boring.
The barista called the fake name he’d given. He grabbed the drink.
On his way to the door, he heard a man in a hotel kitchen uniform say, “You should’ve seen it, babe. The FBI was amazing.”
Maybe this guy could give Wiley additional information. He took a chair nearby to listen.
“It was exactly like you see on TV,” the guy said enthusiastically. “All these agents busting into the place. Demanding this and that. Joe just gave in and let them take over.” He paused to listen for a moment. “They were searching for a specific computer that used our wireless network. They checked all the staff phones and tablets. It was cool, but kinda scary at the same time.” He stopped talking. “Yeah, I mean, sure you could come down here, but they’re long gone. I heard them say that since we have free Wi-Fi in the coffee shop, it coulda been anyone. They asked Joe to monitor the Wi-Fi to watch for the same computer, but he finally stood up to them and said he didn’t have time.” He glanced as his watch. “Hey, look. I gotta get back to work. I’ll call you if anything else happens, but I doubt it.”
Wiley watched the guy leave and sipped his latte, enjoying the drink he’d often craved in prison. His phone chimed. Wiley read the text from Crash.
Buyer jittery. Provide access by 6 pm tomorrow or the deal is off.
Six? Was he nuts? He’d promised forty-eight hours!
Wylie was a fool. He’d trusted Crash because they’d formed a bond in prison, but he was like all the others. Out to get Wiley. Lying in wait. Hoping to best him. Like that kid. Sitting in the tunnel, not cooperating.
Wylie’s anger flared. Who did these people think they were? He was better than all of them. He wouldn’t let them keep him down. Not again.
Web of Shadows Page 29
