Secret Investigation (Tactical Crime Division Book 2)

by Elizabeth Heiter

  What kind of game was he playing? Did he honestly think she was going to let him screw with her company, with her employees?

  She smiled too, but infused hers with enough warning that he should have taken a step back. It was a trick she’d learned long before rising to CEO, back in university when walking home from the library at night meant passing drunk guys who thought it was acceptable to follow. It never failed to drop the smirks off people’s faces.

  But Davis stepped closer, held out his hand. “I think we can work well together to do what needs to be done.”

  Nervy. She should have expected it from an FBI agent. And he should have expected her to immediately call his bluff. But as she looked past that cocky grin into his steady gaze, she saw something she hadn’t expected, something that looked like honesty.

  “Thank you, Ben.” She flicked her gaze to her young head of HR, who opened and closed his mouth like he was trying to figure out what to say. Then he nodded, stepped backward out of her office and shut the door behind him. Leaving her alone with Davis.

  “I’m letting you stay out of pure curiosity,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. “But you’ve got about two minutes to explain why I’d let you run this charade. Then, I’m tossing you out and my lawyer will be back down at your office, asking questions about the FBI’s ethics.”

  Instead of looking worried, Davis stepped closer, his gaze locked on hers in a way that made the hairs on the backs of her arms stand up and each breath come faster. Then, he was holding a folder up between them, almost in her face.

  She frowned and stepped back, taking the folder. One glance and she understood the cocky grin he’d given her. It was a close-up of a piece of body armor. It had been pierced by three bullet holes. And there, stamped on the edges in their trademark, was the Petrov Armor logo and a rating that should have stopped the kind of bullet that had made those holes.

  Her gaze returned to his, as dread rose from her gut and seemed to lodge in her throat.

  “We’ve tracked this to a recent batch of armor. I don’t believe you know anything about this or I wouldn’t be telling you. So, right now you have two choices—keep my cover and let me figure out how this defective armor got out, or blow it and bring the rest of my team down here to tear apart this place until we find the truth. We’re getting warrants right now.”

  Leila looked at the photo again. It could have been faked. Or the bullets could have been some new form of armor-piercing technology that their armor didn’t protect against. But deep down, she knew something was very wrong in her company.

  A recent batch probably meant it had happened on her watch. The way the company was set up, this wasn’t a sloppy error. It was intentional, someone trying to destroy what her father had spent so much of his life building.

  She lifted her gaze back to Davis’s, suddenly understanding that he—and the FBI—might be her best bet to find the person responsible. That letting a stranger try to tear apart her company could very well be the only way to save it. A secret investigation might find a single person responsible, might allow her a chance to save Petrov Armor. A public one—no matter the outcome—would destroy them.

  “I want you to keep me updated on everything you do here. If I agree to this, you let me be involved in the investigation.” She held out her own hand, the way he’d done before. “Agreed?”

  That smile returned, smaller and more serious this time, as he put his big hand in hers and shook. “Agreed.”

  With that single touch, Leila hoped she hadn’t just doomed her company.

  * * *

  ULTIMATELY, IT DIDN’T matter if Leila Petrov was unaware that defective products were being delivered to the military. As the CEO, she was responsible for what happened here.

  Ultimately, she was responsible for every piece of armor that had been sent overseas with the promise to save lives that had betrayed the soldiers who’d worn it. That made her responsible for every single death. Including Jessica’s.

  That truth would be easier to accept if Davis wasn’t more impressed with her with each passing minute. The woman was tough. So far, as she’d walked him around the office and introduced him to her employees, he could see that she was respected. Sometimes grudgingly, but most of them seemed to genuinely like her as a boss.

  Then again, most of them seemed to have truly liked her father. They kept touching her elbow or bowing their heads, sadness in their eyes as they spoke his name. Still, if Leila hadn’t known about the defective products, what were the chances her father hadn’t either? The more he saw of their process and security as he walked around, the lower those chances appeared. Because even though the recent shipment had been sent out after her father died, it had probably been made while he was alive.

  It had become immediately obvious that Petrov Armor took its security seriously. No way were these systems ignored until the news report yesterday. They were too ingrained, too second nature as he watched employees without hesitation card in and out of not just the building, but also any sensitive areas. He’d noticed the security cameras around the outside of the building, but they were inside, too. Whoever was behind the defective products knew how to get around all of it. Either that or the company’s own security would be what ultimately brought them down.

  Making a mental note to ask to see some of the camera footage from when the defective armor had been made, Davis pasted on a smile as he was introduced to yet another employee.

  “Davis, this is Theresa Quinn, head of research and development at Petrov Armor. Theresa, this is my new assistant, Davis Rogers.”

  Leila’s voice hadn’t wavered through any of the introductions and none of her employees seemed to have picked up on anything strange, but he could feel her discomfort. She didn’t like lying to them. He hoped she wouldn’t break down and tell anyone who he really was.

  He’d have to stick close to her. He already needed to pretend to work with her if he wanted to keep his access to Petrov Armor. But a CEO with a conscience was both good and bad. Good because if he was right and she really wasn’t involved, then Melinda was right, too. Leila would want the truth, even if she didn’t want it to get out. Bad because lying obviously didn’t come easily for her.

  “What happened with those FBI agents?” Theresa demanded, with the tone of someone who’d been around a long time and held a position of power. It was also a tone that held a bit of irreverence, as though she was Leila’s equal instead of her employee.

  Davis looked Theresa over more closely. Wearing jeans and a blouse with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows and reddish-brown hair knotted up in a messy bun, Theresa’s attire made her seem younger than the crinkles around her eyes suggested. Davis pegged her at close to fifty. He wondered if the aura of confidence and authority she radiated was just age and position, or if she had more sway at Petrov Armor than the average head of R and D.

  Leila visibly stiffened at Theresa’s question, and Davis made a mental note that the two women didn’t like each other.

  “Like I said earlier, everything is fine,” Leila answered.

  Theresa’s eyes narrowed. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. It wasn’t our armor.”

  “Do we know whose it was?” There was still suspicion in Theresa’s voice, but it was overridden by curiosity. “Because that’s going to take out some of the competition.”

  Davis tensed at her callous comment, but he kept his body language calm and eager, like he imagined a new assistant would act.

  “The FBI isn’t going to share that kind of thing,” Leila replied. She turned toward Davis. “Let me introduce you to our head of sales.” Then she called across the open concept main office area. “Eric!”

  The man who turned toward them looked about his and Leila’s age. With blond hair gelled into perfect place and dark blue eyes almost the exact shade as his suit, he looked like a head
of sales. But as he walked toward them, his gaze landing briefly on Davis before focusing entirely on Leila, all Davis could see was a man with a crush.

  Probably betraying her company wasn’t the way to win the woman over. Unless Leila hadn’t returned his affection and Eric wanted revenge.

  As Eric reached their side, his attention still entirely focused on Leila as if no one else was there, Davis stuck his hand in the man’s path. “Davis Rogers, Leila’s new assistant.”

  Eric’s eyes narrowed slightly with his assessing gaze, but he offered a slightly less than genuine smile and held out his hand. “Eric Ross. Head of sales.” His hand closed a little too tightly around Davis’s as he added, “I’m glad Leila finally got an assistant. She works too much. You make sure she takes it easy.”

  Before Davis could reply—or even figure out how to reply to that—Eric had dropped his hand and turned his attention back to Leila. His voice lowered slightly as he added, “Your dad was just like a father to me, too, Leila. You know you can talk to me.” He put his hand on Leila’s upper arm, comforting but a little too familiar. “No one is going to think less of you if you take time off to grieve.”

  Leila shrugged free with a stiff nod and a slight flush. She cleared her throat, ducking her head momentarily. Her voice wavered just slightly as she answered, “I know he was, Eric. Thank you.”

  Davis glanced between them, wondering at their history, as Theresa interjected with less emotion, “We all miss your father. He was a great CEO and a great guy.” Then she walked away, leaving Davis to wonder if her comment had been meant as sympathy or a subtle dig at Leila’s leadership.

  Based on the way Eric scowled after Theresa, he thought it was a dig. Davis studied him a little closer. His history with Leila and her family obviously went back a long time. If Neal Petrov was like a father to Eric, maybe the man had let him in on his secrets. Or had him help make a little more money off the books.

  Before Davis could ponder that, a man came hurrying across the office, making a beeline for Leila. Probably midfifties, with dark brown hair and light blue eyes, he looked like a younger, more handsome version of the man Davis had studied in pictures just that morning. It had to be Neal Petrov’s younger brother, Joel.

  As soon as he reached them, the man gripped Leila by her upper arms, staring intently at her face. “Are you okay? I heard the FBI pulled you in for questioning about this military disaster.”

  Leila’s gaze darted to Davis, then back to the man who had to be her uncle. She didn’t quite look him in the eyes as she replied, “I’m fine. It was a mistake. Don’t worry.”

  “Don’t worry? You know I always worry. With your dad gone...” He sighed, gave Leila a sad smile, then let go of her arms. “I’m sorry,” he said more softly. “We should have talked in private. But I wish you’d called me right away. Eric said—”

  “Everything is okay,” Leila said, cutting him off. “Uncle, this is my new assistant, Davis Rogers. Davis, this is Joel Petrov, our COO.”

  Joel’s attention shifted to him, and the intensity of the man’s scrutiny was like a father inspecting his teenage daughter’s first date. Fleetingly Davis wondered why Neal Petrov hadn’t convinced the board of directors to make his brother CEO instead of his daughter.

  Then Joel’s hand closed around his. “Davis. Nice to meet you. I’m sure you’ll like it here.” Just as quickly, Joel let go, dismissing him as effectively as if he’d left the room.

  “I’m glad it was all a mistake,” he told Leila. “But if anything else comes up, let me help you handle it. You’ve got enough to deal with right now.” He squeezed her hand, then headed off into a private office on the edges of the open space and closed the door.

  “Let’s finish our tour,” Leila told him, all business as she strode past her uncle’s office and toward the testing area.

  Davis hurried after her, his mind spinning. Neal Petrov’s brother was COO of the company and yet, when Neal had stepped back, he’d talked the board into putting his twenty-nine-year-old daughter in charge instead. And even after leaving his CEO role, from what his employees had said, Neal Petrov was still in the office all the time. As founder and biggest shareholder, he still profited. Maybe stepping back protected him from liability if things went sideways. Maybe he hadn’t pushed to have his young daughter in charge because of nepotism, but because he thought she was too inexperienced to realize what was happening under her nose.

  He frowned, remembering the sadness in her eyes when Eric had talked about her father. If Davis’s suspicion was true, her father hadn’t really cared about her. Because by using her inexperience and trust against her, he was also putting her in the position to be the first one law enforcement came after if it all unraveled. He was making her his scapegoat.

  Davis was a long way from proving any of it, but if he was right, he wished more than ever that Neal Petrov was still here, so he could truly make the man pay.

  “Let me show you the area where we do testing,” Leila said, her tone strong and confident, as if showing him their process would prove there was no way for someone to have sabotaged the armor. “We used to have a separate section of the building for gun testing, but that closed last year and we’re in the process of converting it into another R and D area for our armor.” She used her security card to key through a new doorway, holding it open for him.

  As he followed, his phone dinged and Davis glanced at it. A message from Hendrick lit up on his screen.

  This case is much bigger than we thought. Turns out Petrov Armor’s name has come up in Bureau cases before—a LOT of them over more than a decade. But nothing panned out.

  Frowning, Davis texted back a quick question: Military cases? Defects?

  The response came back fast and made Davis swear under his breath.

  No. Supplying guns to known criminals.

  Chapter Four

  Kane Bradshaw hated being stuck inside an FBI office, digging through old case files. He especially hated doing it with Dr. Melinda Larsen.

  He snuck a glance at her, head bent over her laptop, wearing her default serious expression. She looked more like an academic than an FBI agent, with her small frame and that dark hair she always wore loose around her shoulders. Her Asian heritage had given her skin warm undertones and along with how perfectly unlined her face was despite her job, she looked a decade younger than the early forties he knew her to be. But one glance into those deep brown eyes and he could see every year, every tough case.

  She was one of the Bureau’s foremost experts on body language and a damn good profiler. He’d worked with her peripherally over the years, but had hoped to avoid being teamed up with her at TCD.

  He’d seen her around the office, quick to offer her opinions on cases and silently studying anyone else who spoke. Profiling them, he was sure. She’d done it to him, too. If her reputation was deserved, she’d seen way too far into his mind, into his soul. He had no intention of letting her see any more.

  He’d prefer to keep his secrets.

  If anyone else had asked him to work with Melinda, he would have refused. But he owed Jill Pembrook more than he could ever repay her. So, if she wanted him to partner with the too-serious profiler to look into Petrov Armor’s connection to criminals, he’d keep his mouth shut and do it.

  “I’ve got another one,” Melinda said, angling her laptop so he could see the most recent case she’d pulled up.

  They’d been at it since yesterday, when Hendrick had found Petrov Armor listed in a number of Bureau cases. Their computer expert had flagged all the files, but Pembrook had assigned him and Melinda to go through each one, since Petrov Armor had never been officially charged.

  So far, most of the mentions were offhand and too small to be useful. Like a single Petrov Armor pistol found at the scene of a mass killing. Although the man had been a convicted felon before that incident, he hadn’t bought the g
un himself. A friend without a criminal history had purchased it and lent it to him, so Petrov Armor hadn’t done anything wrong.

  He and Melinda had read and eliminated more than a dozen cases like that. Small numbers of guns, purchases traced back to someone with no criminal record, even if they ultimately handed it off to a criminal. But no indication that Petrov Armor had facilitated an illegal sale.

  But every so often, a case would pop up with more guns—boxes of them rather than a single piece. They’d be sitting in the attic of a known gang member’s house. Or on the scene of a large, coordinated armed robbery. Although the guns were Petrov Armor’s, the serial numbers had been filed off, so investigators hadn’t been able to trace any back to a sale. It was why Petrov Armor had been investigated, but never charged.

  It was legal for them to sell guns to civilians; they just couldn’t sell to convicted felons. Since that was a crime the ATF investigated, most of the cases Hendrick had tagged for them were joint FBI-ATF files. Which meant there could be more.

  “What have you got?” Kane asked, leaning closer.

  Like she did every time he got too close to her, Melinda twitched slightly, then stilled. She probably didn’t want to work with him, either. Although the director never talked about it, the role Kane had played in the death of Pembrook’s daughter was common knowledge.

  Kane gritted his teeth and tried not to let Melinda’s reaction bother him. It was part of the reason he liked to work alone. But Pembrook had insisted she wanted both Melinda’s ability to read people’s intentions—even from a case file—and Kane’s extensive experience in the field, undercover with criminals, on this case review. So far, he had to admit, they made a good team. When she wasn’t flinching at his nearness, anyway.

  “Convicted murderer, released on early parole. About a month after he got out, he strapped on some Petrov Armor body armor, took out a Petrov Armor pistol and killed five people in his old workplace, including the guy who turned him in. He bought the armor directly from Petrov Armor, which isn’t illegal. But the gun is a different matter. ATF could never figure out where he got the pistol, but his friend, who was also a convicted felon, told FBI agents that buying the gun was even easier than buying the armor. Then he shut up and wouldn’t give us anything else. But it sure seems like he could have gotten them at the same time, one on the books and one off.”