by Sarah Andre
“Days of Olde, Joseph Adyton speaking.”
“This is Hannah Moore of Moore and Morrow Restoration returning your call,” Hannah said, her quivering voice ending like a question.
“Oh yes. Thank you for calling me back,” the man said, his voice a cheerful contrast. “I had a question about the billing and completion date we’d agreed on.”
Silence blanketed the office as everyone gazed at each other in confusion.
“Hello?” Adyton said.
“Yes,” Hannah blurted out. “That would be handled by Walter. Let me see if he’s in.” She placed the call on hold and turned to Margo. “Should I ask him if he’s seen Gretch this morning?”
“If this was a kidnap,” Margo answered gently, “he’d list his demands. Not discuss how much he owes you.”
Anna gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. Walter turned wordlessly into his office and shut the door to take the call.
Something inside Sean threatened to burst. Maybe it was epic self-hatred. “We have to do something.” No way could he stand around with his thumb up his ass another second. He’d seen enough TV shows. He pointed to Hannah. “Email us all a picture we can show people on the streets—”
Margo held up a hand, a faint smile on her face. “That’s not efficient. You all go about your daily business, and we’ll start a search.”
“How?” Sean ignored Hannah’s frown at his belligerent tone.
“We’ll get a search warrant for her cell phone records and track the stalker-date. We’ll figure out which corporate and transportation security cameras she passes on her way to work and pull those. If anyone did approach her, we’ll study her body language. And, if someone actually abducted her in broad daylight, hopefully we’ll have a clear digital image of the perp to work with.”
Sean controlled the adrenalin overdrive with a deep breath. “So you’re officially opening a case?”
Margo began texting. “We’ll assume control on the basis that it may coincide with our blood artifact investigation.” She looked up with a grim smile. “Unfortunately, it means you’re working alongside your brother until we find her.”
Sean shrugged and headed back to his cubicle. He’d gladly live in the same room with Jace if it meant finding Gretch unharmed.
“Blood artifact?” Dane murmured as Sean walked past.
He paused to answer patiently. “Relics smuggled into the U.S. The profit is used to recruit lone wolves and buy weapons.”
Sean turned into his private sanctuary. He rearranged his neat rows of supplies into neater rows beside the damaged Etruscan mosaic. The routine and orderliness were dual tranquilizers. There was nothing more he could do to find Gretch. Obsessing or hanging around his colleagues would only exacerbate the pressure building within. As it was, the spiked endorphins would make the intricate cleaning a huge challenge. Maybe Vivaldi’s Concerto for Strings and Bass would help.
Shrieks erupted down the hall. Sean popped off his stool and squinted at the crowd still clustered in the reception area. Jace had arrived, cocky, handsome, and grinning. Standing by his side was Gretch, stupefyingly gorgeous. Safe.
Sean forced out a harsh exhale, relief rendering his legs weak. His shoulders remained stiff, aching from the stress and recent sleepless nights. Gretch glanced around at the outbursts with a confused half-smile, then swiveled, locking eyes with him.
He hated that she meant so much to him. Hated how helpless he was over this attraction. He meant nothing to her. With everything in his power, he’d make sure she never knew how this hour had taken years off his life.
He managed a curt nod and reclaimed his stool, reaching for the cotton-tipped swab. She was here. She was unharmed. His brother, the hero, had saved the day again. No need to rush over there and gawk like the rest of them. He had a shitload of work to do.
16
“You’re okay!”
“We were so worried!”
“What happened?”
Were her colleagues squealing at someone else…? Gretch glanced over her shoulder. Nope. What the hell? And why had Sean given her that angry look?
“Look who I found,” Jace announced, like he’d rescued Gretch from a well. She blinked over at him. They’d met at the door to Moore and Morrow a second ago.
She smiled thinly. “Was I lost?”
Hannah hugged her hard. “Thank God,” she whispered. Defensiveness straightened Gretch’s spine. She’d be the first to admit she dazzled as the center of attention—when she had control over what that meant.
“When you didn’t show up for work…” Hannah began just as Walter’s door shot open. He stood in his threshold, gaping at Gretch like she was a two-headed alien. This was getting old.
“I’m an hour and a half late.” Gretch emphasized each word, eyeing her associates one by one. “I had an emergency.”
“But you’re never late.” Walter said at the same time as Hannah blurted, “Why wouldn’t you call?”
Her damn phone! “The…uh…battery died.” By the expressions on their faces, everyone knew she was lying. Gretch homed in on Hannah, the only person who should’ve known why the cell phone was still on mute. “Will someone please tell me what’s happened?”
“You were kidnapped.”
Gretch spun around. Sean leaned in the threshold, arms crossed, observing her coolly, like he hadn’t just made the most outrageous claim ever. He pointed to Margo. “She’s pulling your texts so we can track down your stalker.” He jerked his head at his brother. “And presumably he’s collecting security tapes of any location you may have walked by. You can imagine our surprise, you wandering in here when you’re the focus of an FBI investigation.”
Her gaze darted back to Hannah, whose worried expression backed up Sean’s words.
“Well.” Any remaining words escaped her. Her privacy was now the office gossip. And yet they’d cared enough to be this overprotective…
“Where’ve you been?” her bestie asked softly.
“I, uh, got a call at home to help someone.” She certainly didn’t need to air the details in front of everyone. They had enough fodder for one day…or three years. She skittered a look from Jace to Margo to Hannah. “I’d be happy to discuss this in private.”
Hannah motioned to her office, and Gretch took special care to breeze by Sean as if he didn’t exist. Once inside, they all claimed a seat, except Walter, who stood near the closed door, arms folded.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out. “It never occurred to me there’d be this kind of reaction.”
“Why didn’t you just call?” Hannah said. “We’ve been worried sick.”
Gretch nodded to the phone on the desk. “Does anyone know how to retrieve messages around here?” A moment of silence acknowledged her point.
“Where were you?” Margo asked gently.
Gretch tugged the hem of her skirt. “I volunteer at an abuse hotline on Sundays. I don’t know how long I’ve counseled this one woman to take the first step to leave.” She knotted her fingers together, her frustration and worry for Eve as fresh as when the call came this morning. “Each time we’ve coordinated a plan, she refuses to leave at the last minute. I’ve given her all my numbers—told her to call anytime, and I’ll come get her.” Four concerned faces watched her carefully. “This morning she called my house just as I was walking out the door. I went straight to her place. I didn’t want to give her enough time for second thoughts. But I was so focused on her, I didn’t think about calling work or the fact that you guys might be worried. I mean, Anna’s late all the time.” She winced. She never ratted on anybody.
Jace leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Is the woman safe?” His tone was so gentle that the high drama of the morning was finally too much to bear.
Gretch blinked back tears. Tears! “We got her,” she whispered. “And her two girls. I took them to a shelter where I also volunteer, and came straight here.”
“And no one followed you?” Margo asked. “The men fro
m the Days of Olde shop? Your stalker boyfriend—”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said quickly. “And no. I saw no one suspicious.”
“What about the woman’s husband?”
Gretch shrugged and shook her head. “He wasn’t home when I got her out of there. I don’t know his name or what he looks like. But she’s told me before that he works long hours.”
Walter scowled. “You’re risking your life and don’t know the woman’s last name?”
“We give them the option of remaining anonymous, and she was risking her life.”
“You take public transportation,” Jace said. “How exactly did you get her out?”
Gretch paused and gauged his expression. Did he think she was lying? “I took an Uber.” After a slight hesitation, he nodded. He could totally nail a poker-face contest—must be a Quinn thing. Which was not a compliment.
“The point is: I’m fine, and I’m sorry.”
Hannah threw her a dubious look, but thankfully didn’t press further. Instead she turned to Walter. “What happened with Adyton?”
“We got it squared away.” His usually patient tone was absent. “We’ll have to pull Sean off whatever project he’s working on, though, and put him on this immediately.”
Hannah nodded. “I’ll go tell him. What’s the projected completion time?”
“He’d like it in three weeks.”
“That’s impossible!”
“He was perfectly willing to give the Quran to another firm who said it was possible.”
Margo and Jace traded grave looks. He bent over his phone. A few seconds later, he swore. “Adyton pulled the eBay Quran.”
Under the conference table, Gretch gripped her knees. She’d placed a bid yesterday afternoon and requested the provenance. Had her interference ruined something? Had they somehow traced the dummy email account back to her? “Maybe,” she stammered, “he wants to have the piece restored before he auctions it off.”
Hannah nodded. “No doubt the damaged pictures were hurting the bids, but the fact is we can’t do a good job in three weeks. In the long run, this will hurt our reputation.”
“And I can’t let you hand the project back. It’ll shut down an easy lead.” Margo turned to Jace. “Have we found any warehouses in his name?”
He shook his head. “We’ve searched for companies, real estate, and assets.”
“Then start researching Adyton’s bank for any SARs.”
“I’ll take Sean on the Adyton appointment—”
“Nope.” Margo’s voice was firm. “You’re on research today.”
A muscle spasmed along Jace’s jaw. He nodded tightly and rose.
Gretch stood too. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said quickly, “I have a mountain of work.”
No one spared her a glance. “What’s a SAR?” Walter asked, paranoia lacing his voice.
“Banks are required to file suspicious activity reports on customers,” Margo explained. “Any transactions that raise a red flag.”
Jace held the door for Gretch. She flicked him a smile as she passed and hurried down the hall.
“Wait up.” He was right on her heels. “Give me the deets on this stalker, and I’ll—”
Damn it. “There is no stalker. This is not a thing! I went on one date, and he’s pestering me to go out again, that’s all.” She rounded her desk.
Rather than be affronted by her response, Jace’s warm blue eyes twinkled. “Guess you have quite an effect on a guy, huh?”
Finally—someone who egged on the flirt in her. “You have no idea.” The husky confidence in her voice spread through her. She lowered her lashes. “I tend to rock their worlds.”
His lazy smile spread, slow and delicious. Clearly he knew its effect on women. “I’m looking forward to Sunday, Gretchen Allen.”
“Uh huh,” she breathed. She clasped her hands like a librarian. “Good luck with the SARs thing.”
“Piece of cake.”
The main door closed and the office resumed its tomblike silence. Gretch groaned and kneaded the throbbing headache in her temples. If she hadn’t walked in on something out of a CSI episode, she’d have pleaded sick and taken the day off. Now she had to wait six more hours before she could get back to the shelter and check on Eve.
“I’ll need any SARs and backup you’ve accumulated on your customer, Joseph Adyton.” Jace flashed his credentials and slapped the bench warrant on the obese banker’s desk.
“Dwayne Collins, at your service.” The man laboriously hoisted himself out of the chair. His handshake was limp, his palm clammy; both unforgivable first impressions. Jace had been drilled from childhood to clasp firmly, shake vigorously, and look the other person dead in the eye.
Collins had managed the eye contact all right, but more like how a man would size up a prime rib. Jace had nothing against gays, but he didn’t appreciate this man’s overt confidence in converting him.
“And I didn’t catch your name,” Collins said.
Jace stuffed the wallet in his breast coat. In his haste to flip it shut before lingering eyes could read the epically embarrassing Special Agent Associate title, he’d botched the vague intro. “Jason Quinn.”
“Quinn.” Collins tilted his head. “I met a Quinn yesterday.” He squinted. “Looks nothing like you—”
Not interested. “It’s a common name, sir. The reports?”
“Oh, I have reports, Agent Quinn. Reports on top of reports. I’m days away from busting some pretty big names in the town.”
Of course you are. “I’m here for Adyton at the moment, sir. Do you have evidence of money laundering?”
Collins pursed his lips. “Of course,” he said in a resigned, sulky tone. “Took you guys long enough. If you institute laws forcing us to spy on our customers, the least you can do is read the red-flag reports.”
“That’s the Treasury Department, sir.” Jace paused and regrouped. Something about the African-American man rubbed him wrong. Maybe it was the prissy self-importance—like he had the criminal world’s financial tricks all figured out, if only someone would listen to him.
“I’ll have my assistant send in the boxes. You may as well get comfortable.” Collins perused him hungrily and nodded to the round table in the corner. “This’ll take a while.”
Still not interested. Jace clenched his jaw to keep the words in.
“Coffee?”
“No, thank you. What do you have on Adyton?”
“Appears he’s using the typical white-collar techniques. Placement, layering, use of smurfs…”
Jace headed for a seat before the banker could read the confusion flashing across his face. He was a fucking SEAL. He knew covert reconnaissance, combat operations through massive cave complexes, extradition of U.S. hostages. What the fuck was a smurf?
The blah, blah, blah spewing from Collins’ mouth was clearly important, but to have to admit ignorance in the face of the fat man’s superiority complex… Shit. Maybe fake it and see how much comes out in the files.
The desk phone rang as Jake put his briefcase on the table.
“Put him through,” Collins said. “And bring in the Adyton files.”
Jake pulled out his laptop.
“Sure, I remember you—you’re kind of hard to forget,” Collins said loudly. “How did you find me?”
Jace rolled his eyes.
“Oh, I’m so flattered you remembered. Yes, that’s right, I’m her housemate… What do you mean she hasn’t texted back? Are you sure you have the right number?”
Jace abruptly headed out. The pretty assistant had ogled him while showing him into the office. Bet she’d explain these money-laundering terms in a way that would make Jace sound like he knew his shit tomorrow, reporting the results back to the task force.
The banker’s booming voice still carried out here. “Hell yes, come on over this evening. Of course I’ll keep it a surprise.”
17
Sean adjusted the SUV’s passenger vent so the
air conditioning flowed directly on him. Sweat covered his brow, and his heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears. Why the fuck had he agreed to this field-espionage crap? These microbursts of courage, this need to be a hero—it was going to get him killed. “I’m not going to wear a wire.”
Margo laughed. “You watch too much TV.” She glanced over at the next red light, her sky-blue eyes sparkling, then rummaged in the deep console between the seats. Out came an ordinary-looking pen. “Here. It’s why we asked you to wear your lab coat. Just click it like this, and the mic turns on. Digital, voice activated, and records up to six hours.”
He appraised the device. Aw, hell, lighten up. “Thanks, Q. Where’s the Aston Martin?” Sean forced his lips to curve along with her laugh. He could act like a big sissy, or he could march into Adyton’s shop and get this the hell over with. They were four blocks away. “Seriously. Any words of wisdom?”
“We’re looking for any information on the size and scope of his operations, locations of warehouses, merchandise within, and anyone he works alongside.”
“Besides El Bashtan.”
“Turns out El Bashtan is a middleman and a small fish. All indications are that Adyton is either the head of a substantial ring, or high up in the hierarchy. We’ve pulled his phone and email records and are investigating those leads. Jace is taking the financial angle, but anything you can gather in your Bixby role will be of great help.”
He nodded. At two blocks away, she pulled over. “Walk the rest of the way, so they don’t spot the car.” She gave him her cell number and Bixby’s wallet minus the wad of cash, then tucked in an earbud and asked his name to test the pen. “I’ll be in the bakery next door,” she said. “If you feel like you’re in over your head, your safe word is tangerine.”
Sean clenched his jaw to keep the word from flying out. It took very little to visualize the next family dinner, and Jace’s entertaining story of how Sean compromised an international smuggling investigation caterwauling tangerine. He yanked the door handle. “I’ll do my best.”
