“Is your personal investment in this case going to be a hindrance or a help?” Pembrook asked, voice and gaze steady.
Davis’s spine stiffened even more. She was talking about his army background. She had to be. But if she thought he was going to fidget, she underestimated the hell he’d gone through training to be a ranger for the army. “A help. I’m familiar with how the army works. And I’m familiar with the product. I’ve worn Petrov Armor vests.”
Petrov Armor had supplied the body armor Jessica and her team had been wearing during the ambush. That armor—supposedly the newest and best technology—had failed spectacularly, resulting in the deaths of all but three of the soldiers and one of the locals. In his mind it wasn’t the insurgents who had killed Jessica and her team. It was Petrov Armor.
He didn’t mention the rest. He’d more than just worn the vests. He’d had a chance to be an early tester of their body armor, back when he was an elite ranger and Petrov Armor was better known for the pistols they made than their armor. He’d given the thumbs-up, raving about the vest’s bullet-stopping power and comfort in his report. He’d given the army an enthusiastic endorsement to start using Petrov Armor’s products more broadly. And they had.
“I’m not talking about the armor,” Pembrook replied, her gaze still laser-locked on his, even as agent-at-large Kane Bradshaw slipped into the meeting late and leaned against the doorway. “I’m talking about Jessica Carpenter.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The gazes on him seemed to intensify, but Davis didn’t shift his from Pembrook’s. “Thank you. And no, it won’t affect my judgment in the case.”
Pembrook nodded, but he wasn’t sure if she believed him as she looked back at the rest of the group and continued her briefing. “Petrov Armor won a big contract with the military five years ago. The armor this team was wearing is their latest and greatest. It’s not worn widely yet, but their earlier version armor is commonly used. The military is doing a full round of testing across all their branches. They’ve never had a problem with Petrov Armor before, and they don’t intend to have another.
“Meanwhile, they’ve asked us to investigate at home. We got lucky with the news coverage. We’re still not sure how it was leaked, but not all of it got out. Or if it did, the news station only played a small part. And somehow they don’t have the name of the body armor supplier. Not yet,” she said emphatically. “Rowan, we don’t have to worry about PD this time. I’m putting you on the media. Hendrick can lend computer support if you need it.”
Rowan Cooper nodded, looking a little paler than usual, but sitting straighter.
Since the TCD team traveled all over the country and abroad, they regularly had to work with police departments. Sometimes their assistance was requested and cooperation was easy. Other times the local PD didn’t want federal help at all, and it became Rowan’s job to smooth everything over. Davis had never envied her that job. But he envied her dealing with the media even less.
“What’s our initial read on the situation?” JC asked. “Did Petrov Armor just start sending inferior products or are we talking about some kind of sabotage?”
“At this point, we don’t know. The army hasn’t had a chance to begin evaluating the vests yet. They’re still dealing with death notifications and shipping home remains.”
The clamp that had seemed to lock around Davis’s chest the moment he’d heard the news ratcheted tighter. Jessica had lost her husband a few years earlier. Davis had met him once, when he and Jessica happened to rotate back home at the same time. He’d never met her kids in person, but he’d gotten to talk with them once over a ridiculously clear video chat from seven thousand miles away. They’d been funny and cute, jostling for the best position in front of the camera and all trying to talk at once. They were orphans now.
Davis took a deep breath and tried to focus as Pembrook continued. “Petrov Armor has recently gone through some big changes. About a year ago, founder and CEO Neal Petrov retired. He passed the torch to his daughter, Leila Petrov, formerly in charge of the company’s client services division. One of the biggest changes she’s made has been to shut down the weapons side of their business and focus entirely on the armor. But you can bet Neal Petrov was the one to convince the board of directors to agree to that decision. He had controlling stock share and a lot of influence. He stayed involved in the business until three weeks ago, when he got caught up in a mugging gone bad and was killed.”
“You think the new CEO is cutting corners with dad out of the picture?” Kane asked, not moving from where he’d planted himself near the doorway.
That strategic position was probably in case he wanted to make a quick getaway. The agent-at-large had known the director for a long time, but he was one of the few members of the team Davis couldn’t quite get a read on. He seemed to flit in and out of the office at random, more often away on some secret assignment than working with the team.
“Maybe,” Pembrook replied. She looked at JC. “I want you to bring her in. Take Smitty with you.”
Laura Smith nodded, tucking a stray blond hair behind her ear as Davis opened his mouth to argue.
Before he could, Melinda jumped in, sounding every bit the profiler as she suggested, “Make it a spectacle. Do it in front of her people. We don’t have enough for a formal arrest at this point, but Leila Petrov is only thirty, pretty young for a CEO. Technically, she’s been in charge for a year, but we have to assume her father has been holding her hand until recently. Almost certainly he convinced the board of directors to let her take the helm when he retired. If we shake her up from the start, get her off balance and scared, she’s more likely to cooperate before contacting a lawyer. And she’s more likely to slip up.”
Pembrook nodded and glanced at her watch. “Do it in an hour. That should give her employees plenty of time to get settled in before you march her out of there.”
Davis squeezed his hands together tighter under the table. He could feel the veins in his arms starting to throb from the pressure, but he couldn’t stop himself any more than he could prevent blurting angrily, “Director—”
That was all he got out before she spoke over him. “Davis, I think your military background will come in handy, too. I’m going to let you run lead on this.”
Shock kept him silent, but his hands loosened and the pain in his chest eased up. “Thank—”
“You’re dismissed, everyone. Let’s jump on this.” Pembrook turned toward him. “Follow me, Davis. Let’s have a chat.” Before he could reply, she was out the door.
Davis was slower getting to his feet. As he passed Kane in the doorway, the other agent offered him a raised eyebrow and a sardonic grin, but Davis didn’t care. Not about Kane’s opinion and not about whatever warnings Pembrook was about to level at him.
He was on the case. Whether it was new CEO Leila Petrov to blame or someone else, he wasn’t stopping until he brought that person down.
He glanced skyward as he stepped through the threshold of the director’s office, saying a silent goodbye to his old friend. Promising to avenge her death.
* * *
“THE SOLDIER YOU see died at the scene. Army captain Jessica Carpenter, who took the video, also died when she was shot through her bulletproof vest. The army is looking into the circumstances. Keep watching for updates on this story and more. Next up—”
Eric Ross turned off the TV and Leila Petrov had to force herself to swivel toward him. She tried to wipe the horror and disbelief she was feeling off her face, but Eric had known her since she was a lonely thirteen-year-old. He’d been her first kiss two years later. Three years after that, he’d broken her heart.
He read her now just as easily as he always had. “Maybe it’s not our armor.”
“Maybe it is.” Petrov Armor had supplied the military with millions of dollars’ worth of guns and armor in the past thirty years. Their acc
ounts had started out slow, with her father barely showing a profit in those early years. Now, the military not only kept them in business with their big armor purchases, but those sales also allowed her to employ almost two hundred people. It was her father’s legacy. But it was now her responsibility.
The numbers said there was a good chance those soldiers had been wearing some version of Petrov Armor. But logic said they couldn’t be. Petrov Armor was serious about its testing. Any tweak, no matter how minor, was checked against every bullet and blade in its testing facility. Every single piece of armor that left its building was inspected for quality. If the armor was damaged, it went in the trash. The company could afford the waste; it couldn’t afford to screw up.
Leila breathed in and out through her nose, praying she wasn’t going to throw up. Not that she had much in her system to throw up anyway. She’d barely been eating since her dad had stood up to that mugger instead of just handing over his wallet. In a single, stupid instant, she’d lost one of the only two close family members she had left. Tears welled up and she blinked them back, not wanting Eric to see.
Maybe once he’d been her first confidant, her closest friend, and her lover, but now he was her employee. The last thing she needed was for anyone to doubt her strength as a leader.
It had been an uphill battle for a year, getting her employees to take her seriously as CEO. She thought it was working until her dad died. Then she realized just how much resentment remained that she’d succeeded him. She’d come in every day since, not taking any time off to mourn, in part because she’d known her father would have wanted her to focus on work. And in part because work was the only thing that could take her mind off her crushing loss. But it was mostly to prove to the staff that she’d earned her position. She couldn’t afford to lose her cool now, not when so much was at stake.
Leila took a deep breath and tipped her chin back. She spotted the slight smile that disappeared as quickly as it slid onto Eric’s lips, and knew it was because he recognized her battle face. Ignoring it, she said, “We need to get ahead of this. Start making phone calls. Anyone you’ve made a sale to in the army in the past year. Find out if it’s ours, so we can figure out what happened. And we’d better see if we can track down the actual shipment. If there are any other problems, I want to find them first.”
“Leila—”
“I need you to start right now, Eric. We don’t have time to waste.”
“Maybe you should call your uncle.”
Joel Petrov, her dad’s younger brother and the company’s COO, hadn’t come in yet. If somehow he’d managed to miss the news reports, she wanted to keep him in the dark as long as possible. He’d handled so much for her family, keeping the business afloat all those years ago when her mom died and her dad had been so lost in his grief he’d forgotten everything, including her. Her uncle had picked up the slack there, too, making sure she was fed and made it to school on time. Making sure she still felt loved.
Right now, she could use a break. Hopefully they’d find out those devastating deaths weren’t due to their armor. She’d worked hard to transition the company from producing both weapons and armor to solely armor. She wanted Petrov Armor to be known as a life-saving company, not a life-ending one. This incident put that at risk.
Maybe the panic Leila was feeling over the whole situation would be a thing of the past before her uncle climbed out of whatever woman’s bed he’d found himself in last night and she’d be able to tell him calmly that she’d handled it.
“We’re looking for Leila Petrov.”
The unfamiliar voice was booming, echoing through Petrov Armor’s open-concept layout, breaching the closed door of her office. Even before that door burst open and a man and woman in suits followed, looking serious as they held up FBI badges, she knew.
Petrov Armor was in serious trouble.
She stepped forward, trying not to let them see all the emotions battling inside her—the fear, the guilt, the panic. Her voice was strong and steady as she replied, “I’m Leila Petrov.”
“FBI,” the woman announced, and the steel in her voice put Leila’s to shame. “Agents Smith and Cantrell. We have some questions for you. We’d like you to come with us—”
Eric pushed his way up beside her, taking a step slightly forward. “You can’t possibly have warrants. What kind of scare-tactic BS—”
“Stop,” Leila hissed at him.
The other agent spoke over them both, his voice raised to carry to the employees behind him, their heads all peering over their cubicle walls. “We can talk here if you prefer.”
Leila grabbed her purse and shook her head. “I’ll come with you.”
“And I’ll contact our lawyer,” Eric said, his too-loud voice a stark contrast to her too-soft one.
She kept her head up, met the gazes of her employees with confident, “don’t worry” nods as she followed Agents Smith and Cantrell out of Petrov Armor.
She prayed that slow, humiliating walk wouldn’t be the beginning of the end of everything her father had worked for, of the legacy she’d promised herself she’d keep safe for him.
Chapter Two
Despite its location in a nondescript building on the outskirts of Old City, Tennessee, the Tactical Crime Division had an interview room that would be the envy of most FBI field offices. Maybe it was a result of working with a profiler who believed in setting the stage for each individual interview. That meant sometimes the room looked like a plush hotel lobby and other times it was as stark as a prison cell. It all depended what Melinda thought would work best to get the subject talking.
Today it leaned closer to prison cell, with uncomfortable, hard-backed chairs pulled up to a drab gray table. But what Davis was most cognizant of was the video camera up in the corner, ready to broadcast in real time to the rest of the team everything he was doing.
Don’t lose your cool, he reminded himself as the door opened. He could hear Smitty telling the CEO of Petrov Armor to go ahead in.
He’d read Leila Petrov’s bio. Even with her undergraduate degree in business with minors in communications and marketing followed by an MBA, thirty years old was awfully young to be the CEO of a billion-dollar company. Then again, nepotism had a way of opening doors that little else could.
He’d seen her picture, too. She was undeniably gorgeous, with shiny, dark hair and big brown eyes. But she looked more like a college student getting ready for her first job interview than a CEO. Still, he wasn’t about to underestimate her. He’d seen what that could do on too many missions overseas, when soldiers thought just because someone was a young female meant they couldn’t be strapped with a bomb.
But as she came through the door, he was unprepared for the little kick his heart gave, sending extra blood pumping to places it had no business going. Maybe it was her determined stride, the nothing-fazes-me tilt of her chin in a room that made hardened criminals buckle. He felt her reciprocal jolt of attraction as much as he saw it in the sudden sweep her gaze made over his body, the slight flush on her cheeks.
She recovered faster than he did, scowling at the setup. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it’s not going to work. I’m here voluntarily. I want to help, but I don’t appreciate being bullied.”
He debated rethinking the whole interview plan, but decided to trust Melinda. He’d never worked with a profiler before coming to TCD, but in the short time he’d been here, he’d become a believer. “If you think this is being bullied, you have no business working with the military. Take a seat.”
Instead of following the directive, she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. Her stance shifted, as if she was considering walking right out.
Silently Davis cursed, because the truth was, she could leave whenever she wanted. But he’d picked a course and he refused to back down now. So, he crossed his own arms, lifted his eyebrows and waited.
A brief, hard smile tilted her lips up, and then she pulled one of the chairs away from the table and perched on the edge of it. Rather than looking poised to run, with her perfect posture and well-tailored black suit, she managed to look like she was in charge.
Never underestimate someone who’d made CEO by thirty, no matter the circumstances, he told himself. Then he pulled his own chair around the table and positioned it across from her. Settling into the seat, he leaned forward, reducing the space between them to almost nothing.
If he couldn’t intimidate her with this room and his job title, maybe sheer size would work. She was tall for a woman—probably five foot ten without the low heels she wore—but he still had a few inches on her. And a lot of breadth with muscles he’d earned the hard way in the rangers.
Her eyes locked on his without hesitation. They were the shade of a perfect cup of coffee, with just a hint of cream added. This close to him, he could see how smooth and clear her skin was, with deeper undertones than he’d first realized. The flush on her cheeks was still there, but now it was darker, tinged from anger. And damn it all, she smelled like citrus, probably some expensive perfume to go with the designer clothes.
Clothes that hung just a little looser than they should suggested she’d been skipping meals. Despite her appeal, he didn’t miss the heavy application of makeup underneath her eyes that couldn’t quite hide the dark circles. He didn’t miss the redness in those eyes either, as if she’d been up late crying. Most likely still grieving the father she’d lost unexpectedly three weeks ago.
“I’m Special Agent Davis Rogers. I’m sure Agents Smith and Cantrell told you what this was about—assuming you didn’t watch the news this morning.” Davis knew Smitty and JC wouldn’t have given her much in the way of details. They wanted to keep her off balance by having different agents bring her in than the one questioning her. But so far, nothing seemed to faze her much.
He didn’t want to respect that, but it was a trait that was crucial in Special Operations. He couldn’t help admiring it in a civilian CEO facing a massive investigation of her company and possible jail time.
Secret Investigation (Tactical Crime Division Book 2) Page 2
