I heard snickers from behind me. Might have something to do with my colleagues hearing me utter a few lively comments through the course of an investigation.
“How was school?”
He just dropped his bag and threw off his coat in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes as big as saucers. “What’s going on, Mom? Can I help?” he asked, taking in the mess on the table. His eyes found the monitor of the crime scenes, and I quickly positioned my body to block his vision.
“Hey, no fair.”
“Very fair, mister. I lost track of time. I wanted to move this operation to another location by the time you got home. By the way, why aren’t you at practice?”
“I want to help!” he yelled out as he walked around Gretchen and peered at her computer screen.
I think he was avoiding my question.
“Luke. Practice?”
He started fidgeting with his fingers. “I, uh…”
I walked over and put my hand on his shoulder. “Everything okay with…you know?”
He ran his cute little fingers through his thick mane of chestnut hair. He definitely had his dad’s hair. He seemed stressed.
“Did those eighth grade boys bully you again?”
“Well, not really. They’re just razzing me, that’s all. I’m a big kid. I can get over it.”
“But you skipped practice.”
“I told coach I wasn’t feeling good,” he said in a softer voice. “I didn’t want to be in the locker room with them. They’re brutal, Mom. And relentless. I’m not sure how I’m going to get past this. They just look at me like I’m a soccer ball they can kick around.”
“Respect,” Brad said.
I turned my head toward Brad with a hard scowl painted on my face. I wasn’t in the mood to get parenting advice from a guy who occasionally acted like a college kid.
He held up his palms. “What? The only way they’ll back off Luke and not look at him like he’s easy prey is by making sure they respect him.”
Could he just be quiet? I could feel heat trailing up my neck.
“I like it, Brad,” Luke said, nodding. “But how do you think I should get that respect?”
“These brats all play basketball, right?”
“Hell yes.”
“Mouth!” I tapped him on the shoulder.
“Sorry, heck yeah. One kid flunked two grades. He’s over six feet tall and can dunk it. He’s supposedly ranked in the top one hundred nationally for kids his age, or I guess in his grade. The two other guys are also really good players. There’s no way I could beat any of them one-on-one. Nice try, though.”
Luke gave Brad a tight-lipped smile. It was kind of cool to see Luke bonding with a male adult figure, although Brad only played that role on a part-time basis, it appeared.
“Why don’t you go up and work on your homework and Ezzy can fix you a snack. Meanwhile, we need to move this operation. Brad, could we move it to your place?”
“That’s a great idea! I’m in,” Gretchen said, gathering up papers and folders from the table.
“I don’t want you guys to leave,” Luke said. “It’s cool having everyone around working on some extra-confidential investigation. I’ll even stay out of the kitchen so you can do your work.”
Gretchen quickly countered with, “I say we go to Brad’s. We’ll all work more efficiently there.”
“Luke.” Brad got out of his chair and walked around to where we were standing. He leaned over so he was at Luke’s eye level. “What if you and I take these guys on in a game?”
Luke’s eyebrows twitched as he twisted his head. “Uh, that’s a really nice offer, but, no offense, you’re kind of old. That main bully, Lonnie, is built like Lebron. He’d dunk on you and break your arm while he’s doing it. Thanks, but I don’t want to get embarrassed. It will only hurt my rep worse.”
“I’ve heard your mom talk about your skills. I think we can do it. In fact, I know we can do it. What do you say?”
Luke wrinkled his nose as he shifted his eyes to me. I just shrugged my shoulders, amazed that Brad would care enough to offer.
“Just me and you?” Luke pointed at Brad, who then held up a fist. Luke bumped fists with Brad and released an enormous smile.
“They’ll never know what hit them. You set it up, and I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, man. Wow, this could be incredible,” Luke said, running through the living room and up the stairs.
Brad lifted up and gave me a warm smile. But it wasn’t the dimples that had my heart pumping faster. “Thanks, Brad. That was really cool.”
Nick walked in our direction. “But now you’ll have to deliver, my friend.” He popped Brad on the back. “I’m heading off to the jail. Gretchen, call me when you have more info on Leo.”
My phone buzzed. I took it out of my pocket and glanced at the beacon.
“Jerry is on the move. That means I am too.” I grabbed my purse and coat and headed for the back door. “Everyone, keep in contact. I’ve got a feeling this is going be a fluid situation.”
I left the house with two men on my mind for two very different reasons: Jerry and Brad.
14
I peered into the dark, starless sky and, for an instant, saw a sliver of a bright moon through a break in the clouds. On the other side of the closed, black iron gate, a halo of soft light illuminated the man’s rigid jaw as he turned his head.
There was nothing for him to see. For the moment, the two-lane country road was vacant. I’d positioned my latest car from the FBI garage—a gray Honda Civic—just around the bend on the downslope of a hill that descended into a tree canopy, which resembled a black hole. If the man with a Jay Leno jaw really squinted, or wore night vision goggles, he could probably make out the nose of my car, but he couldn’t see inside. I was invisible.
That boded well for my safety, considering he carried some type of holstered sidearm and had a virtual twin standing about fifty feet deeper into the vast estate. Jerry had just pulled through about ten minutes earlier. From what I picked up through the listening device, “he” was expecting Jerry. Jaw Man hadn’t said an actual name, and Jerry responded with, “I’m looking forward to meeting him.” Again, no name.
After Jaw Man checked Jerry’s ID, my SSA received the green light to proceed down the long, winding driveway. I watched him stick his hand out the window and wave to the second man, then I followed his trail of headlights until they blinked off about a quarter mile later. Now I could only see a few white lights sparkling through the thicket of trees—what I assumed was the main house. Wrought-iron fencing was visible as far as my eyes could see in both directions. I knew this place was large, and whoever owned it was swimming in money.
I’d fed the address to Gretchen through a group text to her, Brad, and Nick. A quick glance at my phone: nothing back from the little woman who was one of our best intelligence analysts, which meant she knew how to hunt down any type of information, and quickly.
I blew warm air into my hands, then rubbed the back of my neck. I couldn’t take my eyes off the man with the rigid jaw. He appeared well built and trained, and I didn’t want a surprise knock on my window, or possibly something much worse—a gunshot blast into the side of my head.
Adjusting the earbud, I caught a few faint noises—the clinging of glasses, the low, garbled rumble of baritone voices. But it all seemed quite non-confrontational, almost pleasant. I even thought I heard Jerry’s belly laugh, the kind I imagined defying gravity that way it bounced upward. It was obvious he’d removed his coat once he was inside. Unfortunately, when Jerry had first arrived and still had his coat on, my ear was filled with a high-pitched feedback, like a microphone on stage. Technology: the most imperfect science at the least opportune moments.
Given how Patrick had told Jerry he’d “set up something soon” when I watched their interaction outside Finnegan’s Tavern, I had to believe Jerry’s visit was organized by his old Southie running buddy. I just didn’t know who else was inside the home.
I released a tired breath, and a yawn escaped my lips. I reached into a plastic bag in the passenger seat and scooped out a handful of Skittles. Cramming about a half dozen little candies into my mouth, I instantly tasted an abundance of tangy flavors. I used a bottled water for my chaser. I knew I wasn’t exactly the poster child for healthy living, but it was the quickest snack option I had when I stopped to fill my little roadrunner with gas—they’d forgotten to do so at the FBI car farm.
My phone buzzed—a text from Gretchen.
Place is owned by Sean Maguire; it’s called GOW estate
I typed in a slow response.
Never heard of him; what’s GOW?
I waited a second, then saw three dots, which meant she was typing back to me.
That’s the name of his estate
Okay, I’d gotten that much. But still…
What is a GOW?
I could feel my brow furrow.
Gretchen: Hold on, Nick’s texting me.
I thought we had a group text going. Why was Nick not following protocol? Something he didn’t want me to see? I counted to ten, and then to ten again, but no new texts.
I puffed out a breath, then noticed Jaw Man bringing a phone to his ear. A few seconds later, he jogged down the driveway and spoke to his guard buddy. Another flash of moonlight gave me a silhouette perspective of the two men. I grabbed the steering wheel and leaned forward. I couldn’t be certain, but it appeared that the second man had a strap over his shoulder, with his arm wrapped around what looked like an automatic rifle.
My mouth felt parched, and I reached toward the cup holder to pick up the water. I took another swig without moving my gaze away from the men. They shuffled their feet in the same basic place. They could have been talking about the chilly May temperatures or the latest surge by the Celtics. Or the next terrorist attack.
Holding up the phone, it was still dark. No text messages. “Where are you, Gretchen?” I said out loud.
More questions pounded my frontal lobe, and I needed some answers. I didn’t have the patience to sit idly by. If I didn’t have Nick or someone around to bounce theories off of, then I needed some type of entertainment. Like the other night when a drunk Gretchen danced in the street with Brad.
I still wasn’t sure what to think of that scene. Gretchen appeared desperate. Then again, Brad didn’t exactly brush her aside and go chase after a girl his own age. What was he, twenty-six, twenty-seven? He was at least twelve years my junior. Why I’d bothered to compare our ages, I have no idea. He was a cute guy who looked like a frat boy, and acted like one too. Wait…if he was even twenty-seven, that meant he was twelve years older than Erin.
Don’t go there.
“Stop it, Alex!” I hissed at myself.
The phone buzzed, and it was another Gretchen text.
I can’t do this anymore. Too many people texting. I can’t work.
“Okay,” I said.
I typed in: let’s jump on a call.
Two seconds later, my phone started playing the Star Wars theme song. “Luke’s work,” I said to myself as I tapped the line.
“Hola, Gretchen.”
“Sorry, Alex. I can type pretty quickly with my thumbs, but I’m not a stenographer. Plus I actually need time to work, not just type.”
“I get it. By the way, are you still—”
I was interrupted by a quick dial tone, then silence. I think she’d put me on hold.
A moment later, I could hear Nick in the background.
“You there, Nick?” Gretchen said.
“Hell yes, I’m here. I’m in the middle of changing a tire. Well, I was, up until a Boston cop told me to move my car. Can you imagine that? He’s asking me to move my car when he can see I’ve got a flat tire.”
“Hey, partner, sorry about the bad luck. You must not be Irish,” I snickered.
“Nope. One hundred-percent fucking Polish.”
“You must be talented as well, since you’ve been texting Gretchen.”
“I can’t help it. The older I get, the worse I get at staying on task. My mind keeps drifting from one thing to the next. It seems like I’m never able to complete one thing.”
“Can you talk and use a tire iron at the same time?”
“I do know how to chew gum and do anything at the same time, so I guess I’m equipped.”
A second later I heard the clang of a tire iron on pavement.
Gretchen chimed in. “Our very own grease monkey.” Then she whinnied, which just made me laugh.
“Hey, don’t you need to get Brad on the line?” I asked.
I heard what sounded like a clink of glasses. “Let me put this call on speaker phone. He just sat down.”
“Are you guys still at my house?”
“What? No. We had to make a quick cameo at the office. Now we’re at Brad’s place.”
“Hey, guys,” Brad said, followed by an audible slurp.
“Toasting something special?” Nick asked with a grunt, then he said, “Damn lug nut.”
Brad laughed. “I just fixed us hot chocolate. My grandmother’s recipe.”
“It’s the best. Ever,” Gretchen said, sounding like a dreamy, college coed.
Movement on the other side of the gate. Jaw Man was jogging back to his original post by the gate with a phone to his ear. I paused, waiting for something imminent, but no other cars drove up.
“Gretchen, what else can—”
“Hold on. I was first in line,” Nick said with another groan.
I could just see Nick’s face smeared with black grease. “Do you have a question or a comment?”
“Both.” I heard what sounded like a rubber tire bouncing off the pavement.
“Do share,” I said.
“I spoke with Lyons. He was remarkably cordial. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that the assistant US Attorney assigned to his case told him he was facing a jail sentence of forty years and the only way that could get reduced was if he agreed to share everything he knew about who he interacted with online and otherwise.”
“Good to hear the carrot worked. So, did he know Leo Pescatore, our bomber who accidentally blew himself up?”
“Yes, he knew him, but apparently only as an online acquaintance. They never spoke on the phone or in person. Then again, I’m not sure Lyons has interacted with anyone other than his meth distributors and the UPS man.”
“My research shows the same thing, Alex,” Gretchen said. “Nothing more than what I found earlier. Just a few blog posts where Leo asks a few questions. He seemed curious, even cordial, which actually stood out quite a bit.”
“Why?”
“Most of the others were ranting about one thing or another. Of course, the main theme was how federal agencies like the FBI were going to seize control of the government and put martial law in place.”
“Ha! I can’t even keep bullies from picking on my son at school. So your Leo info is interesting, but it still doesn’t resolve the bomb exploding in his car.”
“I’m not sure if I told you that his record is clean. Not even a speeding ticket,” Gretchen said.
“He could have just been experimenting,” Nick said with a heavy breath.
“But for what? Is there any way that the most innocent-looking guy in this whole thing could have been the mastermind?”
The group went silent.
“Everyone thinking?” I asked.
“It’s possible, but it seems like a stretch,” Brad said. “No history of violence. No bragging in these online forums, not even when the crowd is bomb-friendly, so to speak.”
“Okay. I’m partially convinced.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I was actually on my way to Finnegan’s Tavern,” Nick said as a tire iron banged off the pavement again. “Lyons said that Leo mentioned going to Finnegan’s occasionally. I thought I’d drop by, show his mug around, and see if anyone can remember him hanging out with anybody.”
“The same place whe
re Jerry met the Cullen brothers.”
“True. You think there’s a connection?”
“I think you need to get to Finnegan’s and let me know if anyone ever saw Leo talking to either of the Cullen brothers.”
Four surging grunts, then Nick said, “Fuck you!”
“Everything okay, Nick?” Gretchen asked timidly.
“Oh, sorry. It’s just this last lug nut. I think I stripped the screw and now I’m…screwed.”
We all laughed at that one.
A car door slammed shut, then Nick added, “I’ll just drive with three lug nuts. No time to waste.”
I could hear his engine turn over as I eyed Jaw Man pacing by the front gate. His head turned back toward the house every few seconds.
“Someone might be leaving the estate soon,” I said as much to myself as anyone on the line. “What else can you tell me about Sean…”
“Maguire,” Gretchen said.
“Right, the owner of the GOW estate, whatever that is. Must be some family name.”
“First of all, he’s a doctor. Actually, a heart surgeon. And a very rich one.”
“Is there any other kind?” I asked.
“Well, he’s a CEO on top of that. Runs this company called Hearts of Gold Surgical Group.”
Something sounded familiar. I tapped my chin. “Can you send me his picture, please?”
“I’ve got that one,” Brad said. “Give me five seconds.”
A distant flickering light caught my attention from deep in the estate. The flickering stopped, and I could see it was a pair of headlights getting larger by the second. I could feel my pulse tap a little quicker.
“You should have the photo now, Alex.”
I swished my thumb across the phone screen and up popped a photo of a man with gray hair, sporting a stately beard and a red sports car in the background. “Son of a bitch. I know this guy.”
“How?” Nick asked.
“Ezzy’s doctor. Well, he’s on all the brochures. It’s more accurate to say she goes to a doctor at his medical group.”
Lights flashed in my eyes as the car moving toward the gate went over a ridge.
“Guys, I’m going to have to drop in a second. Anything else?”
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 71
