by G. K. Parks
“Yeah, I wasn’t making that up,” I retorted, even though there was no reason to be flippant. He cocked his head and looked at me.
“No, I guess you weren’t.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I interviewed Mr. Gregson and Mr. Claxton this morning. Interpol is trying to pull the rug out from under my feet, so I thought they might have something more substantial.” He flipped open the interview notes and pushed them across the desk. “Claxton’s ready to get out of here. He might be willing to turn, but I don’t think he has what we need.”
“Well, Tommy was the idiot of the group.” I flipped through the pages, not seeing anything damning. “What about Robert?”
“Can I persuade you to have a chat with him?” I nodded, and he tossed a pile of paperwork across the desk with a pen. “Standard consulting contract. You know the drill, just sign the bottom, and we’ll get to work.”
I signed, breathing deep and enjoying my now official role in the investigation. “Quick question, how does this impact my ability to aid Interpol?”
“How the hell should I know? There’s nothing in this about exclusivity. With any luck, whatever paperwork you sign with them will have the same easygoing feel and you can share information across the board.” His eyes held a knowing look, and I was again thrust into the role of go-between. Why couldn’t federal agencies and local precincts just get along? “Do you want company for the interview?”
“No, just make sure he’s secured to the table,” I replied, considering the information I held and the questions that still had to be answered. “Anything off limits?”
“Use whatever leverage you have but don’t rough him up. He might be the only collar we get on this crime ring.”
“You got it, boss,” I teased, strutting back into the squad room.
* * *
“Good afternoon, Robert,” I greeted smugly, sauntering into the room as if this was my domain. “How has your stay in lockup been? I see they’ve been running you back and forth from central booking. That must be tedious.”
He glared. “I told Tommy you couldn’t be trusted.”
“Well, Tommy’s an idiot, but I’m sure you already knew that.” He didn’t say anything, and I pulled out the chair across from him, flipping it around and sitting backward. Smiling like a Cheshire cat, I silently stared at him.
“What the hell do you want, Riley?”
“Wow, Tommy’s clearly not the only idiot.” But I didn’t bother to make a real introduction, just in case. “This is going one of two ways. Either you’ll go down on a dozen counts of GTA and a double homicide, or you can tell me who’s actually pulling the strings.”
“I never killed anyone, and you can’t make that stick to me.”
“Wanna bet?” I gave him the smile again, leaning forward against the backrest. He inhaled slowly, meeting my eyes and shaking his head. “Reggie’s scared you shitless, hasn’t he?” I waited a beat. “He’s in custody, and if he gets released, it won’t be within the continental U.S.” Still, Gregson didn’t speak, but something flickered behind his eyes. Hope. “Hell, his lackeys are dwindling too. Hoyt and Mallick are both in custody.” Since Ryan kept my cover intact, there was no reason to divulge the truth unless it would prove useful.
“Mallick?” he asked, feigning confusion, but relief read in bold letters across his face.
“You know exactly who I’m talking about. I’d go so far as to say you also know a whole hell of a lot more about Barlow’s business than you’ve let on. How long have the two of you been working together?” I raised an eyebrow. “A couple years at least, I’d say.”
“I don’t know anything about Barlow. He was looking for some cars and found me based on reputation.”
“I’d hate to burst your bubble, but if he found you because of your reputation, the police would have busted your pathetic excuse of a chop shop a long time ago.” My friendly tone just went hard as nails. “Don’t bullshit me.” He leaned as far back in his seat as he could, given that he was chained to the bar in the middle of the table. “Let me ask you something.” I tilted my neck from side to side, stretching, taking all the time I wanted. “Why do you think I was sent to infiltrate your team?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“Take a wild guess.”
He shrugged. “We got sloppy and took too many cars too rapidly.”
“Hmm. Until this moment, I didn’t peg you for a narcissist.” His face showed confusion, so I continued. “We have bigger fish to fry. This isn’t about some cars getting chopped. Hell, if it was, do you think I would have been granted clearance to steal that classic Mustang? Or do you think the state would waste two hundred thousand on a brand new Ferrari just so you could chop it if we wanted to put an end to a dozen GTAs?” He swallowed. “That’s right. They wouldn’t. Give me something, and your problems will go away. Shit, if you give me something, your problems won’t be able to get to you.”
“Reginald Barlow selected the vehicles to be stolen. He paid cash up front. The overseas accounts he promised to establish for you and Claxton are out of a Swiss bank. The actual account information is inside a briefcase in a locker at the bus depot.”
“I need an address and locker number.” He rambled it off, and I glanced behind me, hearing a faint acknowledging tap from whoever was monitoring the interview from the observation room. Turning back to face Gregson, he fidgeted uneasily. “You know what else I want.”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb, Robert.” It occurred to me he didn’t request an attorney, and I briefly considered the possible reasons why. “We can protect you if you give us names.”
“Bullshit. Have you seen what this guy can do?” He shut his mouth so fast his teeth clacked together.
“Who?” I asked innocently, although my body language and facial expression clearly conveyed I knew exactly to whom he was referring. It was imperative Gregson believed I knew more than I was letting on. If he thought I already had the identity or whereabouts of the contract killer, maybe he’d be more apt to let the cat out of the bag.
“You have the account numbers. Make me a fucking deal.”
“It’s not enough. I need more. Something concrete that absolutely guarantees you aren’t a killer and you didn’t coordinate the thefts for him.”
“I want assurances and my phone call.”
“You better not be wasting my time.” I stood and went to the door. “We’ll get you that phone call, and the next detective that comes in here will continue where I left off. Don’t screw with them or I’ll personally make sure your deal is off the table.”
I shut the door and let out a breath. How much did Gregson know? Maybe it wasn’t what I hoped it’d be, or it could be everything. At least we had possible leads on tracing a few foreign accounts, assuming that information was accurate.
Twenty-six
I stood in the elevator, riding up to the top floor to meet with Chase Devereaux. Mark Jablonsky was leaning against the wall, next to the buttons and out of sight for when the doors opened. The police were sorting through the information I obtained from Robert Gregson, and before anything solid was brought in, Farrell showed up to brief me on Interpol and the OIO’s joint venture. At the moment, I had a tiny earpiece and radio hooked up in order to stay in constant communication with the team outside.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mark asked. He was wearing a vest under his suit jacket and had his holster unclipped.
“Sure. No problem.”
He didn’t look convinced. “You remember the codeword. If there is even the slightest bit of trouble, say it, and I’ll break the goddamn door down if I have to.”
“Hell, if things go south that quickly, we won’t need a codeword, I’ll just tell you to bust in.” I snorted. “It’s one guy. I’ll be fine.”
The elevator doors opened, and I strode toward the door, knocking loudly. After a few moments, the light pattern under the door darkened, and Chase cautiously opened the door. I a
lmost forgot how paranoid he was.
“Are you alone?” he asked, glancing at the elevator doors that were still open, probably because Mark was holding the door open button.
“Are you?” I retorted, brushing past him and into the suite. “Where’s Virgil?” I spun on my heel. “And what the hell happened to Hoyt?” I made my way through the suite, glancing into the two bedrooms and bathroom. “This negotiation started out with Barlow, but he gets himself pinched and takes down my entire team. Then I renegotiate with Ryan because he’s supposedly in charge, except he up and leaves, and now you’ve lost another one. Is there something I should know?”
“Alexandra.” His eyes narrowed. “Alex,” he hissed, “the reason no one is here is because I thought we could use some privacy.” He poured a drink, attempting to derail my inquisition. “I’m not a monster. I’d hate to make you kiss and tell.” He was amused by some sick thought. “Can I get you something hard?”
“The only reason I showed up was to tell you that this deal is over.” He smirked, undaunted by my words. “Your house is burning down around you, and I’ve found a better offer from a more reputable broker.” The plan was to get details on the meet, the location, anything substantial that would trace to a buyer list or the Camel. The only way to do this was to renegotiate because asking too many questions would only fuel his paranoia. I went to the door, planning to open it, but he placed a firm palm against it. “If we do this, I want fifty and precise details, so I know this isn’t some scam. Prove you aren’t a cop, or I’m walking.”
He snaked an arm around my waist, and I bit back my wince as he made contact with my back. He guided me to the couch and practically forced me to sit. “Take a seat. This meeting concludes when I say it does.”
It was obvious he believed he was in charge, and with no one around to disprove that fact, I guess he was. Briefly, I wondered if he knew what happened two nights ago with Mallick in that horrible house. Maybe he knew I was working with Ryan, but it was still too soon to tell. Although, if he knew the truth, he was an excellent actor.
I slid forward, away from his grip, and sat on the edge of the couch. “Fine, but if you touch me again, I’ll break your fucking hand. And that aspect is nonnegotiable.”
He smirked. “So you aren’t a whore after all.” His voice lowered. “At least one that gets paid.” He sat across from me. “What did you see in Hoyt?” His tone was suspicious, and he carefully scrutinized my reaction, watching for any hint that I knew Ryan was a cop.
“He was charming and hung like a horse,” I growled. It wasn’t an answer, but there was no right answer to this question. “Obviously, he turned into an asshole.” I returned the paranoid look. “Why would he let you take over for Barlow? You look like an accountant. Hell, even that steroid freak, Virgil, would be a more likely choice.”
His eyes turned into slits, and he fumed over my insolence, the muscles in his jaw jumping due to the anger. Silently, I reminded myself of the codeword. And my hand moved to the armrest, so it’d be closer to my concealed handgun which was nestled in my shoulder holster. The stare off continued.
“Parker, you have incoming.” I heard Farrell in my ear. “It’s the concierge with a delivery.” I blinked, having forgotten how irksome it was to have an extra voice in my head besides my own.
“Why should I trust you?” Devereaux asked, scanning the space immediately surrounding me as if he were assessing possible threats. “Hell, this is a civilized meeting, and you’re packing.”
“Civilized?” I scoffed. “After your demands, you have the audacity to call this civilized?” I opened my jacket, allowing my nine millimeter to be in plain view. “Do guns make you squeamish?”
“Not at all.” He shifted, and the .32 on his hip became visible. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’d like to show me,” his eyes flickered, “or anything else you’d like to see?”
“I’d love to know more about you, the money transfer, and exactly how I can trust you when the rest of your team has proven unreliable.” Before he could respond, the concierge knocked, and I threw a confused, nervous glance at the door. “I thought we were alone. Surprises are not acceptable.”
“I’m not expecting company.” He fidgeted uncomfortably and moved with caution from the sofa to the door, avoiding standing directly in front of it as he opened it, his hand near the weapon.
“Well, who the hell is it?” I asked loudly.
Devereaux accepted the small mug-sized box and shut the door, frowning. Ignoring me, he dropped the item into the melted ice bucket before opening it. Wow, even I wasn’t that paranoid. Although, that might be a handy trick to keep in mind. His upper lip developed a slight sheen of sweat, and as I continued watching, a red laser sight bounced off the liquor and glasses.
Reacting without thinking, I called out to him, “Chase, get down.” Leaping from the couch and slamming him to the floor mere seconds before the window blew. Immediately, he rolled me off of him, and both of our guns were out and aimed. Sliding to a cover position against the bedroom door, I noticed him taking up a similar position near the bathroom. “Who the hell is shooting at you from across the street?” I relayed, mostly for Farrell and Mark’s benefit.
“We’re en route to intercept. Stay down. Signal if you need support,” Farrell spoke in my ear.
Devereaux shot daggers in my direction and crawled across the floor to get a better glimpse, stopping at another cover position against the sofa. Following suit, I edged along the ground to a place just below the window.
“Toss me a pillow,” I coaxed.
He was visibly shaken, not characteristic for a hired gun, but he complied. I held the pillow up, but no shots were taken at the new target. So I cautioned a glance out the window, but I didn’t see anything.
“The shooter must have been on the opposite roof. It’s the only vantage point, but he’s gone.” I didn’t know if I was speaking more to the team of agents or Devereaux, but neither responded. Edging back to the mini bar, I quickly stood, cautioning a peek at what appeared to be an engine piston inside the box that Devereaux dunked in the ice water before ducking below the wooden stand.
Using the wet bar as cover, I turned to face him. His breathing was rapid and labored, and he was leaning against the side of the sofa, trying to collect himself and unwilling to break from his cover position. “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing his face.
“Who’s shooting at us?” I screeched. “It’s one thing to steal cars and worry about being arrested, but it’s a whole other story when someone’s firing at me.”
“I have to get out of here.” His survival instincts kicked in, and he crawled into the bedroom, still too afraid to stand, and grabbed his already packed bag.
“Oh no, you don’t. Not until I know that this psychopath isn’t gunning for me too.” He raised his gun, and I aimed at him. “I just saved your life. Normally, I think that calls for a thank you.” He didn’t move, and neither did I. “Furthermore, that doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger. Obviously, you have enemies. Are you sure you can afford to make another one?”
“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” he growled. “I have to get out of here.” Still, I didn’t waver. “Fine, come with me. Let’s just go.” Nodding, I slowly lowered my weapon, and he put his back in its holster. “Move.”
“Where are we going?” I asked as he pushed the elevator call button, glancing nervously down the hallway. “And shouldn’t we take the stairs?” If Mark was still inside the elevator, things would go south quickly.
“Shut up,” he snarled. The doors opened on an empty elevator car, and he shoved me inside. An involuntary whimper escaped my lips, and after pressing the button for the garage, he turned. “Who the hell are you?”
“What?”
“No car thief reacts that calmly to a shooting.” He pushed me backward into the handrail, and the contact brought me to my knees as white-hot pain streaked through my body. A brief moment of amusement crossed his
eyes, believing he found my weakness and had the upper hand. “I’ll ask again. Who are you?”
“You have no idea the things I’ve seen or what I’m capable of, so don’t underestimate me.” A brief burst of static filled my ear because the reception in the elevator was crap. “The only question you need to ask is who was shooting at you, and how badly do you need my product to get you out of this city?” He looked torn, realizing I now held all the cards. “Hell, I’m thinking sixty-forty at this point.”
“Where’s the car?”
“How stupid do I look? If you knew where to get it, what would stop you from putting a bullet in my back?” I shook my head. “No. If you want to make this deal, I want details and information, particularly about that shooter. The only thing I’m concerned with is protecting my own ass.” He still looked conflicted. “Deal’s off the table once these doors open. Tick tock.”
“Fifty-fifty and you take me to the car now.”
“Fifty-fifty but you tell me everything I want to know before you see the merchandise.” The elevator halted, and I pulled myself unsteadily to my feet. The garage was empty, except for a man searching in his trunk for something. Spotting Mark was a relief, and it made me even more brazen. “Fine, have a good life or whatever’s left of it.” I stepped forward, and he grabbed my arm.
“Deal.”
“Great.” I looked at his hand, considering the previous threat I made. There was still a decent chance I’d follow through before the night was over. He released my arm and gestured that I should go ahead. “Planning to use me as a human shield?”
“I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind.” Stepping out of the elevator, I glanced around. Mark shut the trunk on the SUV, having buttoned an overcoat over his Kevlar, and went past us to the elevator. Just another hotel guest enjoying his stay. “We’ll take my car. It’s the Jeep over there.” He jerked his chin, and we walked side by side to the vehicle, unwilling to let the other gain any type of advantage.
