“But I don’t completely know what it means to me.”
“I know, babe. It’s time to start figuring it out.” He cut a piece of pizza with his fork and ate it. “I have plans for tomorrow, so I won’t see you. I expect the letter Tuesday when I stop by your place. Tomorrow I’ll text you with your task for the day.”
Chapter Eight
Brian’s skin crawled, but the nightmares were a thousand times worse. It began with a few robberies—after all, where was The Eye going to get the funding it needed to take down all these crooked politicians? Voters were too stupid to stop electing politicians that had been bought and paid for by big money. Things needed to change, and the democratic process wasn’t getting it done. But then it progressed from smash-and-grab to armed holdups.
And every time he successfully completed a mission, Joe rewarded him with that wondrous, high-grade crack. It made a difference. He was making a difference. Finally his military training was coming in handy, and he was fighting for the ideals that had led him to serve his country in the first place. His legacy wouldn’t be a bad one.
In the past month or so, he’d progressed from camping out in a series of abandoned houses—he’d accidentally burned one down trying to get a fire going on a cold night—to sharing a room with Maher Erikson. Maher had been with The Eye for about six months longer than Brian, and he acted as a mentor of sorts. The duo spent most of their time high, and when they came down, Joe frequently had a job for them to do. Maher had taught Brian how to break into places, what kinds of things to steal, and where to cash in their haul.
The room they shared was in the basement of a church. It turned out that Joe was a preacher. Religion had never meant much to Brian, and it didn’t now, but he liked listening to Joe’s sermons. They were all about brotherhood and sticking together, about making sure every man had what he needed to be happy. For Brian, that was a clean, heated room with a high window that could be cracked on really hot nights and a steady supply of drugs. As a bonus, it came with three meals and an endless supply of wine. It might have been meant for the church, but Joe never said anything about how much disappeared. Brian figured he was funding his habits just fine with the almost nightly break-ins.
At the last holdup, the clerk hadn’t cooperated. He’d reached under the counter, probably for the silent alarm or a gun. Fear of failure made Brian’s trigger finger twitchy, and he’d shot the teen dead center in the chest. Sick to his stomach, Brian could only stare at the dark, spreading stain. Maher, Brian’s accomplice, had his wits about him. He’d grabbed the money and Brian. They’d narrowly escaped.
Because he was such a great buddy—and probably because he hadn’t wanted to take the chance that Joe would withhold those precious rocks—Maher had spun the story to make Brian look like a dedicated disciple of The Eye who would do whatever it took to accomplish his mission. Brian wasn’t sure how much of the story Joe bought, but there was no denying reports of a dead teen on the news. He’d been some district attorney’s step-kid.
Maher happened to hear the report first. At the next meeting, he lauded Brian as a True Believer. And now Joe wanted Brian to prove this wasn’t a coincidence, and he wanted Maher to make sure Brian was a good little soldier.
“There’s a judge who always sides with big business and special interests.” Joe looked deep into Brian’s eyes. “He put my son away for life on a trumped-up charge. A rich kid did the crime, and they pinned it on my boy.”
Brian nodded and hoped that Joe couldn’t tell he was scared shitless. This was just like going into battle. Some high-ranking blowhard gave a rousing speech about why they had to do what they were about to do, but Brian was the one putting his life on the line. He’d hated it then, and he hated it now.
“You’re going to kill that judge.”
Brian shook his head. “You got it wrong—I didn’t mean to kill that kid. It was a mistake. I thought he wasn’t going to give up the money.”
A coldly firm frost settled over Joe’s features. Brian knew he was fucked. Forget not having a roof over his head or a steady supply of drugs. He hadn’t realized just how deeply he was involved in this organization.
“You’re in too deep.” Joe stepped closer, his eyes bright with preacher fever. “you belong to us now. You’re going to kill that judge, or you will wish you were dead.”
________
Dustin’s house was in an older neighborhood full of mature trees and immaculate landscaping. Though many of the homes still belonged to retirees, a good number had turned over, and the sounds of children once again echoed from the brick and siding. Jordan rang the bell and waited patiently for someone to answer. He was early, and that meant his timing could be off. In that case, Jordan would politely wait for Layla and Dustin to compose themselves before answering the door.
This evening, Layla answered the door. She was a slight woman, small and petite, but her attitude and personality made up for the lack. Pleasure lit her face as she stepped back to let him in. “Hey, Jordan. Did you have dinner? Dustin said you liked omelets, so I made you one.”
Intending to hit a drive-thru with Dustin, he’d skipped dinner. “I’d be a fool to turn down a free meal.”
“Then you’re in for a treat. I may not cook as well as Amy, but I’m no slouch in the kitchen.”
Dustin came down the stairs in time to hear Layla’s boasting. He caught her around the waist and kissed her neck. “You’re good in every room, Angel.”
Though her cheeks reddened, Layla’s smile only grew.
Jordan had only eaten Amy’s cooking a couple of times. It was her baking that tempted his palate more. They followed Layla through the hall to the kitchen. “You told her about Amy?”
Dustin shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell, right? I only mentioned that you liked her, and that you were trying to figure out if she was harboring an undiscovered little.” In the kitchen, Dustin motioned for him to sit. Layla had already set the table, and a plate with a third of a humongous omelet and a pile of hash browns waited for each of them.
“Looks and smells great. Thanks for doing this, Layla.”
Layla sat down and dug in. “I don’t know any littles, so I can’t help you with Amy. Have you tried asking her?”
Being direct in this case might be deceptively easy, and the easy path wasn’t always the right one. “She’s just started trying to figure out where she belongs on the D/s spectrum. I don’t want to confuse her by throwing something she’s never heard of at her.”
“You might be surprised.” Layla slurped her orange juice. “Amy’s smarter than you think.”
“She’s highly intelligent. But she needs to do this at her pace, not mine. I’ve taken her under my wing, and I’m training her. As part of the process, I’m having her think about, research, and explore different aspects of the lifestyle so she can reconcile them with her wants and needs. We’ve only been at it for a week.”
Dustin and Layla both stared. Finally Dustin shook his head. “Sometimes you’re too analytical.”
Jordan looked from Dustin to Layla and back again. “Seems to me patience paid off for you.”
Dustin conceded the point.
After dinner, Jordan and Dustin headed to the office. Dare had called with some breaking news, which was why they were on the night shift. They found him in his lab sitting before seven monitors. He sat in a rolling chair, coasting up and down the long curved desk, fingers flying over keyboards as he controlled the flow of information. Liam Adair had first come on the FBI’s radar when he’d hacked into their database at age fifteen. Ten years later, he was one of their most brilliant minds. The CIA occasionally tried to poach him, but Dare’s mother lived in Livonia, and she refused to leave the area for any reason. Therefore Dare wouldn’t move either. He liked his job, and sometimes he hacked into the CIA for fun.
He glanced up when the door opened, scowling. “I have a virus.”
Jordan paused in the doorway. “Is it contagious?”
“Not that kind.” Dare waved them closer. “I have something you might find interesting.” He pulled up several windows on one of the monitors, each emails to or from a perp arrested for robbery and suspected of having ties to The Eye.
Jordan skimmed the text before going back for a closer read. “Looks like someone planned the robbery in exchange for a place to crash and some crack.” Nothing specific was said, but code words and allusions were used to refer to drugs.
“As an added bonus, I traced the IP to an address.” He punched some keys. “Which I just texted to both of you.”
“Layla hates when I go to work in these kinds of clothes.”
Jordan took his eyes from the road to glance over at his buddy. For this surveillance assignment, they had to dress to blend in with the people who were generally found in that area. T-shirt casual was Jordan’s normal uniform. Unless he had a court appearance scheduled or an important date, he stuck to jeans. Brandy Lockmeyer, his chief and friend, never bothered him about not adhering to the dress code. People in the McNamara Building that housed the DOJ and FBI headquarters were used to his look. “Why?”
“Because she knows I’m doing something that could be dangerous.”
“You’re a Federal agent. Every day has the potential for danger. That’s why you like your job.” They were all adrenaline junkies.
Dustin chugged the rest of his coffee. “Yeah, but I’m not going to tell her that. She’d probably start showing up to try to save my ass. I’d rather she pictured me doing mountains of paperwork and sifting through boxes of evidence for clues.”
After what she’d done to help break their last case, Jordan didn’t doubt it. “Keith keeps extra clothes in the trunk. You could always change after you leave. But then you’re being extra deceptive, and maybe you don’t want to open that can of worms. Layla is a strong woman. She knew what she was getting into with you.”
They arrived at their destination, a multi-level apartment building where a nearby corporation kept an apartment for when they temporarily shifted employees around to different states. Just now it was vacant. The neighborhood, a mixture of homes and apartments occupied by young professionals and businesses, housed three active churches in five blocks. Dare had traced emails sent by one of the robbers they believed connected with The Eye to an IP address across the street from the apartment building.
Jordan grabbed a backpack from the trunk, and Dustin took the travel bag full of surveillance technology. The pair didn’t speak as they went into the building. Dustin took the elevator, and Jordan climbed the stairs. Both visually swept for bugs or anything suspicious. They met up again at the apartment.
“Tigers are up by three.” Dustin fell into their sports-based code talk as he opened the door. “Last I checked.” That meant he’d encountered several people in the elevator, but none had looked out of place.
“I was hoping for a no-hitter.” Jordan hadn’t seen a soul. Apparently no one used the stairs for fitness. They went inside, keeping up the sports chatter—most of it meaningless—as they swept the place. Once they were satisfied that everything was as it should be, they set up their equipment. They didn’t have a warrant, so they could only keep watch. Any listening devices would require judicial approval.
“I think someone inside is involved,” Dustin said, voicing something they’d both thought but neither wanted to say in mixed company. The investigation in Chicago had been flawless, yet their brethren hadn’t been able to close the case. At best, the whole thing had a suspicious stench.
“Hopefully we’ll find a lead today.” Leads tended to be the result of careful research and vigilant observation. Jordan’s instincts screamed that this stakeout would be fruitful. They just didn’t supply a timetable.
Dustin grunted at his premature prediction. “Great. Now we won’t find anything.”
“Maybe not tonight,” Jordan conceded, “But eventually.”
The evening was eventful, but only for the people on the street. Folks got home from work and chatted on the sidewalks. Couples and friends went for coffee, drinks, or dinner. The economy was good in this Motor City suburb. Activity dropped off around nine-thirty, and the place was dead by eleven. When the next shift replaced them at midnight, they had nothing to report.
Six days later, nothing significant or out-of-the-ordinary had happened, and Jordan was growing impatient. He flipped through the notes from the other agents sharing this detail.
“If you scowl any harder, your face will freeze like that and Amy may decide you’re not that handsome after all.”
Jordan pointed his scowl at Dustin. “Amy isn’t shallow. She doesn’t care what I look like.” She did, however, respond very well to smiles and softly spoken praise. She liked cuddling and physical displays of affection. In the past two weeks, she’d blossomed as she got in touch with her submissive side and started to accept that aspect of herself.
“She told Darcy she thought you were hot.”
Darcy had likely told Layla, who had relayed that information to Dustin. “Does Layla tell you everything her girlfriends tell her?”
“Pretty much, but especially when it’s juicy gossip concerning you or Amy. Have you decided when you’re going to make your move?” Though Dustin wasn’t looking at him, he knew he was paying careful attention to both the conversation and his job.
“After the wedding.” Amy had too much on her mind right now. When he sat her down to talk to her about being a Daddy Dom, he wanted her undivided attention. “I told her that she has to take the day off Monday.”
“How do you think she’ll take it?”
People who were ignorant of this part of the lifestyle tended to be full of disturbing misconceptions. He had every confidence that Amy would listen with an open mind. “I think she’ll be fine with it. I’ve been having her mostly focus on herself and her journey, and I know she’s very curious about me. I’ve shared some things, but she knows there’s a big part I haven’t revealed.”
Dustin nodded, but he was frowning out the window. “I think that guy was on one of the surveillance tapes from the robbery in Wixom. He was another shopper in the store who left before Matt Gordon came in.”
They were thirty miles from the scene of the crime. It was too much of a coincidence. Of course, the man could simply look familiar because they’d been watching the neighborhood for six days. “I’ll pull up the videos.”
Dustin came over to the laptop after a few minutes. “He went inside the church. I think they run an unlicensed homeless shelter out of the basement.”
Jordan had looked out the window at the man. “He doesn’t seem homeless.” The man had an air of authority about him, like life had done the opposite of beating him down, but he wasn’t officially affiliated with the church. The building housing the church had formerly been a Mexican restaurant. Though it had large windows, curtains blocked the lower two-thirds of each window to give worshippers privacy while still letting in light. In addition to weekly services, it looked like they ran meetings or support groups for addicts, many of whom seemed to crash in the basement on a regular basis. “Maybe he owns the building?”
“We ran a records check.” Dustin dug out another secure laptop. “I’ll see if we have a picture of a person, but I’m pretty sure it’s a corporation.”
The church hadn’t raised any kinds of red flags. Though the ones that sprang up quickly tended to be shady, they were usually committing tax-related crimes that didn’t interest them. That’s what the IRS was for. Jordan kept an eye on the church as he scrolled through footage they’d already analyzed. It was protocol to rule out bystanders, and so those people had already undergone cursory scrutiny. He paused on the image of the man they’d just seen. “Here he is.” They traded places so he could keep an eye on the street while Dustin looked over the footage.
“We’re going to have to look through tapes at the other places as well.” Dustin sighed.
“Going back five days,” Jordan added. They were going to need to
request more footage from store owners. “Get Rossetti on it. He has a great eye. Ask Lockmeyer to get him some help because we may need warrants. Did you find the owner?”
“It’s a corporation with no red flags on it. They seem to own a series of churches, restaurants, and other kinds of real estate. I bet Dare can dig into it.” His eyes gleamed with excitement. After so many days of nothing, even something this small was an event. Dustin got on the phone. At the same time, he opened another video file to peruse.
The church was quiet. Jordan wished it wasn’t a church so he could go sniffing around the exterior or maybe even pop inside. He swept his gaze up and down the block, noting the things that were always there. Then he closed his eyes and hit the figurative reset button on his brain so he could take fresh look.
No robberies fitting the M.O. of The Eye crimes in either Detroit or Chicago had been reported in the last week. Did they know they were being watched? Jordan looked back through the other agents’ surveillance notes. “This guy came around yesterday at eleven in the morning and three days ago at around six in the evening.” Dustin and Jordan hadn’t been on surveillance at those times, so this was their first opportunity to see the man.
“I really want to know who he is.” Dustin tapped the keyboard. “I found him at the site of a robbery in Warren three days before it happened.”
“He’s leaving now. Let’s go for coffee. Maybe we’ll run into him.” Two fast food places and a coffee bar were down the street in the direction their mystery man had vanished. Even if he turned onto a side street, there were more restaurants.
Dustin logged off both laptops. “Sounds like a plan. Are we buddies or a couple?” In this neighborhood, either cover worked, but they needed to select one that would fly under their target’s radar and allow them to get close enough to find out anything relevant, or maybe pick up a phone the guy “accidentally” misplaced.
ReDefined Page 9
