by Diane Kelly
Josh shrugged. “Can’t hurt to have her take a second look.”
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Lu for authorization to hire Kira, putting our boss on speaker.
Lu had two questions. “Will she work for seventy-five bucks an hour and can she keep her mouth shut?”
After texting Kira to see if she was okay with the rate, Josh responded to both questions in the affirmative.
“All right,” Lu said. “But give her information on a need-to-know basis only and cap her at twenty hours. If she can’t get in by then, y’all will have to find another way to get the information you need.”
I thanked Lu and ended the call.
Josh looked down at his phone, typing again with his thumbs. “I’ll see when Kira can start.” Ping. He read her message and paraphrased it to the group. “She can be at the gallery by ten tomorrow morning.”
Good. Things needed to keep moving … before someone else stopped breathing.
chapter twenty-three
Team Effort
Forcing the thought from my head, I said, “Someone in a white pickup followed me home from the bistro on Thursday evening.” My eyes went from Hana to Will. “Any luck figuring out who it was?”
“We ran the license plates,” Hana said, “but they belonged to a Kia Optima. They’d been stolen the week before.”
Damn.
“Hana and I tag-teamed the truck,” Will added. “Stayed on them for an hour before we lost them going through a sobriety checkpoint near the West End.”
Damn, again. Ironic, too. Detective Booth would love to bust Fabrizio, but officers from her own department had inadvertently gotten in the way of our investigation. It wasn’t the first time that different branches of law enforcement had stepped on each other’s toes.
I turned the can in my hand. “Agent Hohenwald phoned me not long after I got home that night. His tech support told him that someone else was logged into my apartment’s Wi-Fi besides me. He said they could be watching me through my computer’s Webcam.”
Nick raised a brow. “They see anything good?”
I wasn’t about to admit they could’ve seen me waxing my lip, cleaning my pores, and eating food off the floor, never mind the boob scratch and burp. “No,” I lied, “but I spent nearly an hour online window-shopping for stilettos.”
“Classic Tara tactic.” Nick emitted a combination groan and chuckle. “That’ll teach ’em.”
I told the group about the silver sedan that followed me to DBU Friday morning. “It never got close enough for me to identify it.”
“Josh and I were followed, too,” Nick said. “Wednesday evening. We stayed at the gallery late to keep an eye on the comings and goings at Cyber-Shield. The car that followed us was either black or dark blue, a Chrysler maybe. The driver followed us to our new place. The FBI put us in a gated complex, so the driver couldn’t follow us inside. But we’re pretty sure he circled back by to see that we had actually pulled into a garage. I was able to sneak out later that night and get to a second car we’d parked down the street. I coordinated with Will and we tag-teamed one of Cyber-Shield’s patrolmen, but nothing looked unusual.”
Will lifted his chin in affirmation. “The guy drove a repeated route between ten Cyber-Shield clients in the Lakewood area. He’d turn on his flashing light, circle their buildings, and shine a spotlight in their bushes and behind their Dumpsters. At a couple of places he got out of his car to make sure fences and doors were locked, but it was all typical security patrol stuff.”
“Same goes for me,” Eddie said. “I followed a patrol unit last night and he made the rounds of about fifteen clients in the Wilshire Heights and Lower Greenville neighborhoods. Mostly mom-and-pop places. A doughnut shop. A small veterinary clinic. A pottery store.”
Hana set her drink on the coffee table and leaned in. “My experience was different. The patrol guy I followed Friday night didn’t stay in one area. He was all over town, different places each night. He went inside at each client’s location, too.”
“How long was he inside each place?” I asked.
“Not long. A minute or two on the short end and maybe ten minutes on the long end.”
“Did he take anything inside or bring anything out with him?”
“Only a flashlight,” Hana said. “As far as I could tell, anyway. He wore a Cyber-Shield jacket. It’s possible he could have tucked something inside it.”
“Like an envelope of cash,” Will suggested.
“Since these clients aren’t connected by location,” Hana said, “maybe the thing they have in common is that they’re all paying Tino not to hurt them or damage their businesses. These could be the clients he’s shaking down.”
I pondered the possibility. “It would make sense that Tino would have only one of his patrolmen picking up the protection money. The fewer people who know what he’s up to, the less risky it is for him.”
Josh turned to Hana. “Which patrolman were you following?”
“The big white guy with the square head,” she said. “The one who drives car number six. I looked up the W-2s for Cyber-Shield, got the names from them, and took a look at the driver’s license photos until I identified the guy. His name’s Cole Kirchner.”
“Let’s put more eyes on Kirchner,” I said. “Eventually we’ll catch them shuttling the money around.”
“Or they’ll catch us,” Hana said. “It’s hard to be inconspicuous when you’re following someone late at night. Some of these areas are pretty quiet. There’s not a lot of traffic.”
What a party pooper. Still, she had a point. We couldn’t afford to blow our investigation by slipping up and letting one of Tino’s men realize the federal government was on to him.
I turned my focus back to Nick. “I saw a man from Cyber-Shield go into the gallery on Friday. What did he want?”
“To sign us up for a security package,” Nick said. “He said he’d waive the initial setup fee since there’s already a camera in place. I told him my partner and I would need to talk it over. He recommended a software package, but I told him we don’t handle a lot of sensitive data, so I thought we’d be safe enough with over-the-counter antivirus software. He also said that if someone broke into the gallery, the art pieces would be irreplaceable. I mentioned that we had insurance to cover any losses, but he pointed out that the worst part about being robbed isn’t necessarily the financial effect but the hassle of dealing with all the details.” Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a Cyber-Shield brochure. “He suggested we get one of these pull-down storefront security gates.”
I looked the brochure over. The gates came in a number of styles. Some were essentially open-weave metal screens, like the security gates used on stores inside shopping malls. Others were solid, like garage doors. Some models were designed to be mounted on the interior side of the windows, while others were designed to be mounted outside. The brochure noted that the gates were designed to prevent smash-and-grab-type thefts and acts of vandalism. Some were even hurricane resistant. Not that hurricanes were a problem in Dallas where the closest beach was a five-hour drive away. North Texas did see its share of tornadoes, though. Heck, one had hit Fort Worth recently and overturned a police cruiser. I’d worked a case once with the female cop and K-9 who’d been inside the car. Luckily, neither of them had been injured.
“If we’re trying to look legitimate,” Nick said, “it would make sense to get one of these gates for the gallery.” He pointed at one of the exterior-mounted models. “That’s one of the least expensive types. I think we should do it.”
While Lu had to approve the hiring of outside consultants, as the team leader I’d been given a budget for equipment and other expenses. I had the authority to approve the gate.
“Good call,” I told Nick. “Go ahead and make arrangements.” I stood to go, looking around the room. “Next Sunday same time, same place.”
With any luck, someone on the team would have some hard evidence against Fabrizio by then
. Maybe one of my coworkers would snap a photo of one of the patrolmen walking out of a client’s business with a bag of cash. Or maybe Josh could identify a phony catering client or finally hack into Cyber-Shield’s bookkeeping system and prove that the numbers didn’t add up. Then again, maybe Fabrizio would realize he was under surveillance and shove us all into the pizza oven together, a mass cremation of sorts.
My skin felt hot just thinking about it …
chapter twenty-four
Making Changes
After the other members of our team had left Hana’s condo, Nick and I took a moment to sit down on Hana’s front stoop and have a private conversation. We’d had no time together since Tuesday night, and nearly a week without him was taking its toll on me. Add in that I was losing my best friend and my emotions were on the edge.
Nick, of course, picked up on it. The guy could read me like a book—a dog-eared book he could recite word by word, including the copyright page and table of contents.
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “What’s wrong, Red?”
“You know my mom and I threw Alicia’s bridal shower yesterday, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah?”
“Well.” I looked down, a little embarrassed to be getting so sentimental. “It’s just that … It feels like…” Oh, quit being a baby and just be honest about your feelings. This is Nick you’re talking to. He doesn’t judge you. “I’m losing my best friend.”
Nick stared at me a moment, and I was surprised to see a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “Stupid me,” he said softly. “I thought I was your best friend.”
Great. Now I’d hurt his feelings.
As I stared into his whiskey-colored eyes, wondering what I could say to make things better, I realized that Nick was right. He and I shared a deep, romantic love, but we’d become best friends, too. He might not enjoy romantic comedies or shopping for clothes, and he flat-out refused to accompany me to the salon for a facial, but he’d become my go-to person anytime I suffered an emotional crisis, the person who convinced me of my worth when I got down on myself, the person who listened to me bitch when I’d had a bad day and needed to vent. He was the person I’d want by my side if I could only have one person there. And, obviously, he was the person who knew me better than I knew myself.
“You know what?” I said. “You are. You’re my best friend.”
“You know what?” he said, taking my hand. “I don’t think you’re upset about losing a friend. I think you and your friends are moving into a new phase of life and it scares you.”
Damn if he hadn’t hit the nail on the head. It all bubbled to the surface then.
“Everyone’s settling down,” I said. “Alicia’s getting married next month, and Christina and Ajay are engaged. Next thing you know everyone will be having babies, and driving minivans, and joining the PTA.”
Nick chuckled. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I know.” I sighed. “It’s just that I have a hard time visualizing us in those roles. Think about it, Nick. If we were married with children, we couldn’t be working a case like this. Not both of us, anyway. Someone would need to be home at night to tuck the kids into bed and read them a story.” It was one thing for me to leave my cats in the care of my roommate, but children would be an entirely different matter. I wanted to be a top-notch special agent, but I’d want to be a good mother someday, too. I couldn’t pawn my kids off on my mother for weeks at a time while I went undercover to catch a mobster. But I wasn’t sure I could see myself entirely sacrificing my career, either. I’d worked hard to get where I was, and my job had become a part of me, a critical piece of my identity.
Nick draped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me closer. I rested my head on his shoulder.
“You worry too much,” he said. “We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
“You are not,” I said. “Remember when you thought sushi was going to be gross and then you tried it and liked it?”
“Well, I’m not wrong about this. Everything will be okay.”
When Nick leaned in and put his lips to mine, I knew it would … so long as I had him.
“Tell you what,” he said when we came up for air. “When this case is over, we’ll spend a whole night watching movies of your choosing. We can even watch something with that guy you’re so crazy about. What’s his name? Charming Taters?”
“Channing Tatum.”
Nick snorted. “Like that’s any better.”
* * *
I was scheduled to work the four P.M. to ten P.M. dinner shift at the bistro on Monday, which would leave my early hours free to check in on my other pending cases. That morning, I got up bright and early and went to my class at DBU. I noted no tail this morning, no one in the hallway peeking into the classroom, no one following me across campus to the parking lot. But just in case I had a tail I wasn’t aware of, I performed a series of evasive maneuvers on my drive back into the city. For a mile or two, I drove much slower than the posted limit, which would force any tail to either pass me or slow down and reveal himself. I made a last-minute lane change to take a random exit, and circled back on the overpasses to continue on my way. Nope, no one was following me.
With that same abundance of caution, I parked in a downtown garage across the street from Neiman Marcus, and went into the store, exiting on the opposite side. I hopped onto a city bus that was waiting at the stop, rode it for a couple of blocks, then got off and made my way to the IRS building, cutting through the lobbies of several other buildings on my way.
I grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen and made my way back down the hall to my digs. Most of the offices I passed were dark and empty, the special agents who normally occupied them out working the Fabrizio case. What a harsh taskmaster I was, huh?
I plopped down in my rolling chair, took a huge slug of coffee, and noticed the light flashing on my desk phone, indicating someone had left me a voice-mail message. I picked up the receiver and dialed into the system.
A paralegal from the Triple 7 Adventures domain registry had called. I phoned her back right away.
“Got some information for me?” I asked when she came on the line.
“I do,” she said. “The credit card number.”
She rattled off sixteen digits.
“And the name on the card?” I asked.
“Same as the name on the registry,” she said. “Tripp Sevin.”
Ugh. The made-up name told me the credit card was one of those prepaid types that would work regardless of the name given. I thanked the woman for her time, figured out which bank issued the card, and coerced Ross into accompanying me back to court for another order. Judge Trumbull was in the middle of a hearing, but took a quick break to sign the order for me.
Back at my office, I scanned the order and e-mailed it to the bank’s legal department. I hoped it wouldn’t take long for them to figure out where the card had been sold. With that information, I might be able to figure out who’d purchased it. Meanwhile, it couldn’t hurt to check in with the prepaid phone company and see if they’d made any progress. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, right?
An attorney in the company’s legal department said, “Oh, hello, Miss Holloway. I was just about to call you.”
Yeah, right. “What have you found out?” Squeak-squeak.
“The phone service was activated in December. It was deactivated last month.”
“How were the service fees paid?” I asked.
She hesitated a moment as she looked at the information. “Via credit card.” She rattled off the number, which was the same one the paralegal at the domain registry had given me only an hour or two earlier.
“What name were you given for the card?”
“Tripp Sevin,” she said.
“Do you know where the phone was purchased?” Maybe I could swing by the store and review their security footage.
“Just a sec.” There was a sound of papers ruffling. “Looks like the phone was part of a shipment sent to a Kmart store located in Tulsa, Oklahoma.”
Tulsa was a five-hour drive from Dallas. It would be impossible for me to go to the store in person, but I could at least give them a call.
After wrapping things up with the attorney, I phoned the Kmart store and was transferred to the manager. “Any chance you can determine when the particular phone was purchased so we can pin down the security footage?”
“No can do,” he said. “I’ve been asked the same thing by law enforcement before. Our system can show me when that type of phone was purchased in the store, but there’s no way for me to determine the phone number that was assigned to a given phone.”
Short of watching the security footage taken at the time of each and every phone purchase, I was out of luck. Chances were that even if I saw the suspect on the screen, I wouldn’t be able to identify him, and it was unreasonable to expect the manager to provide me with dozens of video clips.
Frustrated, I thanked the man for his help and hung up again. My only open lead at this point was the prepaid credit card, and I knew the odds of it leading me to the culprit were about the same as my odds of hitting a triple seven on a slot machine. Slim to none. At least gamblers got free drinks. All I was getting for the efforts I was putting into this case was a headache.
I went down the hall to give Lu an update.
When I rapped on her door, she glanced up from her desk. “Uh-oh. Did somebody die?”
“No,” I said. “Why?”
“You’re dressed all in black, like you’ve been to a funeral.”
“It’s the bistro,” I said. “Black is their standard color for the servers.” I told her I’d run into walls on Triple 7 Adventure’s domain/Web site and prepaid phone.
“Rats. I hoped one of those leads would pan out.” She stood from her desk and retrieved her purse from a drawer. “I’ll go back out to Whispering Pines. Bad news is best delivered in person.”
As if. Did Lu think I couldn’t see through her? She just wanted to see Jeb again. But I didn’t call her on it. She’d let a few things slide where I was concerned. More than a few, really.
