“The soldiers who were killed in an ambush,” Leila replied. “Reporters say they were wearing armor. I’m guessing, since I’m here, that the army thinks they were wearing Petrov Armor?”
He could see the hope in her eyes, the wish that he’d correct her, say it was all a mistake or she’d just been brought in for her expertise. He actually felt bad for a nanosecond, then he remembered hearing the news about Jessica—over the television as her family had since the video had leaked before notifications could be made. “They don’t think it. They’ve confirmed it.”
She sighed heavily, then nodded. Her gaze stayed serious, no trace of panic, just sadness lurking beneath determination. “I want to see the plates.”
“Excuse me?” Was she joking? “They’re evidence in an open investigation.”
His words should have made her blanch, but instead the hardness in her gaze just intensified. “They’re not ours.”
He couldn’t stop the snort of disbelief that escaped. This was her spin?
She rushed on before he could figure out how to respond to that ridiculousness. “We have a lot of checks and balances in place. My dad joined the military when he was eighteen. He stayed in four years and watched three fellow soldiers die in a training accident. It stuck with him, made him want to do something to prevent it. He decided to dedicate himself to making better gear and weapons. The army paid for his tuition, helped him get the knowledge and skills to start Petrov Armor. It mattered to him—and it matters to me—that what we make saves lives. From the beginning, most of our gun and armor sales were to the military.”
The words out of her mouth were passionate, but Davis had been an FBI agent in white collar crime for four years before getting recruited to TCD. He’d learned quickly that one of the most valued qualities in CEOs of crooked companies was being a good liar. He’d also learned that when things got dicey, those same CEOs would throw others under the bus as fast as they could. So, he leaned back and waited for it.
Leila leaned forward, closing the gap between them again.
He hid his surprise at her boldness, trying not to breathe her subtle citrusy perfume.
“Nothing leaves our facility without being inspected. Furthermore, we don’t make changes without testing them with every kind of weapon we promise to protect against. There’s no way our products were breached by the kind of weapons the news reported were being used. So, either the bullets the insurgents were using changed or those soldiers weren’t wearing Petrov Armor.”
Since she was sticking with her story and he had no idea how long she’d hang around, Davis decided to help her out. “What about the person in charge of inspections? Or the people in charge of testing? Isn’t there a possibility that corners were cut without you realizing it?”
If she had any brains, she’d agree with him, give herself a little distance in case the whole thing blew up in her face—which he was pretty sure it was going to do.
Instead, the fury in her gaze deepened. “You really think I’m going to sell out one of my employees? No. That’s not possible. Anyone in a key role like that has been at Petrov Armor a long time. We don’t concentrate power without unannounced checks by other members of the team. It was my father’s rule long before he took the company public and the board of directors and I stand by that to this day.”
Davis felt himself frown and tried to smooth out his features. She was either a better liar than she seemed or she actually believed what she was saying.
The problem was, he believed the army. Jessica had been wearing Petrov Armor when she died. Which meant someone else was lying.
He had a bad feeling it might have been Leila Petrov’s father, longtime CEO of Petrov Armor and as of three weeks ago, dead. If Davis was right, then he’d already missed his chance to throw the bastard in jail. If he was right, there’d be no way left to truly avenge his friend’s death.
* * *
MELINDA LARSEN HAD seen some of the best liars in the country during her twelve years with the FBI. Before that, while doing her graduate thesis in psychology, she’d talked to incarcerated serial killers. They’d woven the most convincing tales she’d ever heard about their innocence with almost no body language tells that contradicted what they were saying. They’d also scared the hell out of her, with so much evil lurking beneath calm or even neighborly exteriors.
It had all been practice for her role at TCD, where she didn’t have the luxury of months-or years-long investigations, but had to make assessments almost on the spot. It was a near impossible task, but Melinda had discovered she thrived on the challenge.
It was also the best distraction she’d found in the past decade to keep her from thinking about the losses in her own life. Because no matter how much she’d thrown herself into her cases before TCD, there was always one unsolved case at the forefront of her mind. But here, that case was starting to fade into the background. She was starting to finally accept that she might never know the truth about the most important case she’d never been able to officially investigate. At TCD, she was finally starting to move on with her life.
Leila Petrov hadn’t presented much of a challenge. But Melinda still gave her standard disclaimer as she stared at Davis and Pembrook. Because no matter how good she was—and she knew she was one of the best—she wasn’t immune from mistakes. “One interview isn’t enough time to form a complete assessment.”
Jill Pembrook gave a slight smile as she nodded, half amusement and half encouragement. It was a look Melinda had come to expect in the year she’d worked for Pembrook. Davis just crossed his arms over his chest, looking pissed off in what Melinda thought of as his civvies—well-worn jeans and a dark T-shirt that emphasized the strength in his arms and chest. But she knew Davis’s anger wasn’t directed at her. It was for the high-priced lawyer who’d shown up in the middle of his interview with Leila Petrov and pulled her out of there.
“I think she’s telling the truth. She doesn’t know anything about it.”
At Melinda’s proclamation, Davis seemed to deflate. “I agree,” he said. “And let’s be honest, Petrov Armor isn’t small, but it’s not exactly a huge company. Unless it was pure sloppiness—which I doubt, given their history supplying the military—there’s something unusual going on here.”
“Cutting corners,” Melinda suggested. “Maybe these checks she thinks are in place aren’t being followed. Or she’s too distracted grieving her father to notice they messed up a big shipment. Or we could be talking about sabotage.”
Davis looked intrigued. “Cutting corners could suggest her father knew about it and was just trying to make more money from substandard, cheaper materials, and maybe less vigorous testing, too. Sloppiness would suggest one or more of her employees are taking advantage of her grief to be lazy. Or maybe they’re all grieving and distracted, too. But sabotage? Are you thinking someone inside the company or out?”
“Given what I’ve read about their process, sabotage from someone who doesn’t work there seems unlikely. So, I’d say inside. If that’s the case, it could be someone with a grudge against the military.”
“That’s unlikely too, considering what Leila said about the people in charge of anything important being there for years,” Davis cut in. “If this had been happening a long time, what are the chances the military wouldn’t have already found out?”
“I agree,” Melinda said. “So, if it’s sabotage, it’s probably someone who wanted to discredit Neal Petrov himself. But honestly, I think the most likely motive is the most obvious.”
“Greed.” Davis nodded. “They produced inferior products to save money, get a bigger profit. Well, it sure backfired. But if that’s the case, we’re back to Neal Petrov. As CEO and biggest shareholder, he’d be in the most likely position to profit. With him dead...”
“JC has been on the phone with the army while you were interviewing Ms. Petrov,” Pembrook said. “He’s
confirmed that the shipment of armor the soldiers who were killed were wearing went out after Neal Petrov was killed. It’s possible he set it up before he died, but I think there could be an accomplice.”
“It makes sense,” Melinda agreed. “If there are really as many checks and balances as Leila Petrov claimed, it might be hard for one person to pull this off, even if he was the CEO. Two, on the other hand...”
Davis nodded, anticipation back on his face that told Melinda how badly he wanted to put someone behind bars for his friend’s death. The case was probably too personal for him. It could lead to mistakes. But it could also be exactly the dogged determination they needed.
“Melinda and I have been talking about sending someone inside,” Pembrook said, staring at Davis.
“Undercover?” He sounded frustrated as he said, “Well, Leila Petrov knows me, JC and Smitty, so we’re all out. Who were you thinking about sending in?”
“I think you should do it,” Melinda said, before Pembrook could respond. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about who might go undercover before Davis had come into the room.
Before the interview, Davis would have been the last person she’d have suggested. But the more she’d watched him and Leila, seen the sparks practically flying between them from both anger and attraction, the more the idea had grown.
Davis stared at her like she’d gotten into the head of one too many criminals and finally cracked. “What would I do undercover that—”
“This.” Melinda cut him off, holding up her cell phone. She’d found an advertisement for a job as an office assistant to Leila Petrov. “We lucked out.”
“How?” Davis demanded, glancing from her to Pembrook as if their boss would set her straight—or suggest Melinda get her own head checked. “Leila Petrov is never going to go along with this.”
“I think she will,” Melinda contradicted as Pembrook just watched them, her mind probably running through a million scenarios at the speed of a computer.
“And why’s that?” Davis demanded, even though he had to be dying to be the one to go in.
“Attraction,” Melinda said simply.
As she spoke, Kane Bradshaw walked past the open doorway. He didn’t pause, just lifted an eyebrow at her, looking amused.
Forcing herself to ignore him, Melinda told Davis, “There was an immediate physical attraction between you two.”
When Davis frowned, she added quickly, “It’s my job to catch these things. I’m not saying you were unprofessional. But you can play on that attraction to gain her trust.”
“She’s in charge of the company,” Davis argued. “There’s no way she’s going to go along with this.”
“I think she will.”
“Because she thinks I’m cute? Come on. This isn’t high school, Melinda.”
She couldn’t help a wry smile in return. The six-foot tall, broad-shouldered African-American agent was cute. That would probably influence Leila Petrov, whether she wanted it to or not. But it wouldn’t get Davis into the company; it would merely stop the door from being slammed in his face before he could make his case to her. “No, but we both agree she’s probably innocent. I think she wants to find the truth. You can help her get it.”
That quieted him down, but only for a minute, before he frowned and shook his head again. “Believe me, I want to be the one to find whoever’s responsible. But this seems like a crazy risk. It’s not worth it.”
“How sure are you about this?” Pembrook asked Melinda.
Her heart beat harder at the possibility she was suggesting the wrong course of action and it could blow up an important investigation. But as she mentally reviewed Davis’s interview with Leila, her gut insisted this would work. “Davis needs to convince her the only way to save the company her father founded is to get ahead of this. Which means she needs to think they’re on the same side. If that happens, I’m very sure.”
Pembrook turned her steely gaze on Davis, who stood at attention like he was undergoing military inspection. Finally she gave a curt, final nod. “You’re going in.”
Chapter Three
“There’s been a mistake. The FBI is investigating, and they’ll track down who’s really responsible soon enough. In the meantime, we need to focus on getting our next shipments ready.”
Those were the words Leila had used to rally her employees when she’d finally returned to the office. They’d all nodded and smiled back at her. Tight, worried smiles that led to whispers as soon as she went into her office.
Hopefully, there’d still be next shipments to deliver. Eighty percent of their business was with the military. The rest was domestic law enforcement and private companies, usually civilian security firms. They’d already absorbed a significant revenue loss by closing the weapon side of the business. Now that armor was their only product, the military’s business and their reputation were crucial. But it would all dry up if the tragedy overseas came back to them.
Leila shut the door to her office because she was tired of pretending not to hear the whispers. Then she let out the heavy sigh she’d been holding in since first thing that morning, when FBI agents had taken her to their oddly nondescript office to be questioned.
When Eric had sent the company lawyer to haul her out of there, she’d been half relieved and half annoyed. Relieved because as hard as she tried not to let it get to her, that stark office and that muscle-bound federal agent with the too-intense stare had started to raise her anxiety. Annoyed because the more she thought about it, the more certain she was there’d been a mistake. No way had their armor failed.
She’d bet her reputation on it. Sinking into the plush chair behind her desk, she opened her laptop, ready to get to work. Because it was more than her reputation that would be destroyed if she didn’t figure out what had really happened—and fast.
The question was, how? With the FBI unwilling to let her see the armor the soldiers had been wearing, how could she prove it wasn’t theirs?
She should have started working on that question as soon as the lawyer had gotten her out of the FBI office, but she’d been too unnerved to come directly back to work. So, she’d gone to her father’s gravesite first, spent a long while talking to him the way she used to. Only this time, the conversation was one-sided.
It was the first time she’d been there since she’d had to dump a shovelful of dirt over his coffin, watch it slowly disappear from view. She hadn’t been ready to see his name on that sleek granite headstone. But after too long sitting there battling her grief, she’d started to feel his presence. Started to feel his love. It had helped her focus on what she needed to do.
The knock on her office door startled her, and Leila called out a distracted “Come in” as she pulled up the latest military invoices. She’d already charged Eric—the company’s head of sales—with reaching out to his contacts, but maybe she should be doing the same. Between the people she knew and her father’s connections, maybe someone would be able to get her more details about the armor the soldiers had been wearing.
“Leila, I know today has been a little crazy, but I’ve got some good news.”
Leila glanced up at their head of HR. Ben Jameson was young and new, but anxious to prove himself. So far, he’d been efficient and always full of energy. “I could use some good news.”
“I found you an assistant.”
“Oh.”
He frowned at her lack of excitement, but with everything else going on, the last thing she wanted to deal with was a new employee who needed training. Glancing back at her laptop screen, she debated how she could put him off for a while. Just until she could deal with the disaster with the FBI.
“We got his résumé a few hours ago,” Ben continued quickly. “Normally, I’d do more of a formal process, but he was available for an immediate interview and he’s exactly what we’ve been looking for. I called his references right
away and figured we should scoop him up before someone else does. He said he could start today, so I thought, why not let him get the lay of the land?”
When she didn’t reply, he added, “I mean, I thought if the FBI stuff has blown over...”
Finally she looked up and nodded, hoping her CEO face hadn’t slipped. “Great. I could use the help.”
Ben’s face lit up. “Perfect! Let me introduce you.” He turned back toward the door and called, “Davis!”
No way. Two men named Davis in one day?
Leila got to her feet, anxiety already tensing the back of her neck before Davis Rogers entered her office.
This morning, he’d looked more like the brawny owner of a night club in jeans, and a T-shirt that clung to a muscled chest and arms. He’d even had a layer of scruff on his chin. Definitely not what she’d expected for an FBI agent.
Now, he was clean-shaven in dark dress pants and a blazer. He should have looked less appealing in clothes that hid his physique. Instead, it made her focus more on his face. On hypnotizing dark brown eyes made even more intense beneath heavy brows. On unlined brown skin she wanted to run her hands over, feel for the last traces of this morning’s scruff. On generous lips she wanted to kiss.
The thought startled her. She wasn’t the type to lust over men she barely knew. Putting it down to too many emotions near the surface—stress, grief and anxiety mixing together and messing with her head—Leila straightened her blazer, trying to focus. “What do you think you’re—”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Davis spoke over her. “I’m so excited to join Petrov Armor. I can provide any assistance you need,” he added, only a hint of sarcasm there, probably so small Ben wouldn’t notice.
But Leila sure had. She felt her face scrunch up with disbelief as Ben looked back and forth between them. But before she could toss Davis out of her office, one side of those lush lips lifted in a slow grin. It was a smile half full of amusement and half full of confidence, like he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Secret Investigation (Tactical Crime Division Book 2) Page 3
