by Rena Koontz
What did that mean? Her timing was bad?
“That implies that I lied to you, honey, and I never have.” Every answer to her questions had been truthful. She only needed to connect the dots to draw the complete picture.
“I’m one of the good guys.” Those words played and replayed in her mind.
Who were the good guys? They were the men who wore the white hats. They were the cavalry. The cops. The FBI.
Despite the cost to her personal safety, she needed to contact Agent Crews. Jake had something to do with the FBI. And he was in trouble.
~ ~ ~
Jake faded in and out of consciousness. Sweat and blood soaked his shirt, causing the soggy garment to cling to him. It pained him to turn his head to see his arm immobile along his side.
A hunk of flesh hung from his shoulder, bringing bile to his throat. He turned away to focus on his leg. The clothes line that had constrained Mackenna was wrapped around his upper thigh so tight it throbbed. Beneath his hip spread a pool of blood. He clenched his teeth, hoping to redirect the pain and clear his head. He lay on his back on a concrete floor. The warehouse. Mackenna.
Despite the sword that pierced his brain he raised his head to search the room. No sign of her. Only the mound of a dead man a few feet from him, the guy’s eyes wide open and staring at him. Where was Mackenna? Did she get away? Bits and pieces of the night resurfaced. She, half-naked, and Vinny leering at her. Was she tied to a bed somewhere? Had Vinny . . .?
From behind him, a man’s voice. “Hey, boss. Looks like he’s awake.”
With his ear on the cement, Jake heard the footsteps reverberate as they neared. He strained to raise his head when four chair legs came into view along with the brown alligator penny loafers Vinny often wore. He straddled the seat backward and leaned toward Jake with an uncapped bottle of water in his hand. The bottle tilted and water dribbled onto Jake’s cheek, some of it rolling toward his ear and a stream flowing to his mouth. He swallowed as much as he could.
“You disappoint me, my brother. I had great plans for us. Together we could’ve taken over my old man’s operation and lived the high life.”
Jake eyed him. His survival counted on maintaining his undercover persona. “I don’t understand what this is all about, Vinny. We can still work as a team. I’m still your friend.”
“You’re a fucking Fed.”
Jake’s heart leapt to his throat. The number one rule of undercover work was never, ever admit the truth. He’d abide by that tenet to his death.
He closed his eyes and dropped his head to the floor. “You’re fucking crazy.”
Vinny snickered. “You think so? You underestimate my old man and his connections. Jake Manfred. Arrested and charged in the public corruption case that went before Judge Truman. True identity Jake Manettia. Real job: infiltrate that City Hall operation and take it down. For the Feds. Your boys should’ve done better research. Judge Truman and my old man go way back. He owes his seat on the bench to the Cabacolli family.”
Jake strived to control his facial expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Vinny laughed again. “No? How do you think I knew where you were when you called? How do you think we had your address? I’ve had an eye on you ever since you turned my dinner invitation down for you and Miss McElroy. Most everyone in this city would kill for an invite like that yet you turned your nose up at me. If a door to the Cabacolli family opened, any small-time thief would rush through it looking for the opportunity to get in my good graces or my old man’s. But not you. I got to wondering why. I couldn’t figure it out, though. You were a puzzle. And then Judge Truman called.”
Going on the defensive to argue wouldn’t help. Jake shook his head. “You got it all wrong, Vinny.” Jake closed his eyes and prayed that Mackenna had found help or his colleagues were on their way to his rescue. There was no getting out of this one any other way. But had she figured it out? Did she know about him? Did she care enough to help him or was she long gone?
“Where’s Mackenna?”
Vinny shrugged. “I have to hand it to that little bitch. I have all my team searching for her, and nothing. Make it easy on yourself, Jake. Tell me where she went with all that money.”
Inwardly, his heart soared. She’d gotten away. She was safe. It didn’t matter about him and whether or not she summoned help to save him. Mackenna was safe. He could die in peace knowing that.
“I don’t have a clue, Vinny. I told you she’s nothing to me.”
Vinny turned the bottle upside down and dumped the water over Jake’s face. “You lying sack of shit. I saw the way you looked at her. And she had eyes for you. Be glad she got away, Jake. She’s the only reason I’m keeping you alive. I’m gonna bring her back here and fuck the hell out of her while you watch. And then you’re both going for a swim.”
He rose and kicked the chair to the side. Stomping away he barked his orders. “Don’t let him move so much as a pinkie finger. If he does, fire a bullet into his other leg. And somebody find that girl.”
Relief flooded over Jake. Mackenna had evaded Vinny’s men. They likely numbered close to fifty based on what Vinny had told him about Old Man Cabacolli’s ranks. Damn, Mackenna was smart. But was she smart enough?
~ ~ ~
An all-night convenience mart stood out like a beacon at the end of the street Mackenna limped down. Her feet ached from countless stones she’d stepped on and the muscles in her legs screamed in agony. But she couldn’t stop, not until she found a phone and called the FBI.
She paused a block away from the store to study it as a smile creased her face. Jake would be so proud of her right now. Only one customer, a man leaning casually against the counter in conversation with the female clerk. Was he one of Vincent’s men? She’d no way of knowing. Mackenna waited, wondering how she’d explain her lack of clothing or shoes and her general appearance once she entered the store. She had no choice but to go in there, not knowing where the next opportunity might be and unwilling to prolong Jake’s rescue. She might already be too late.
Dried blood smeared her torso and limbs. Should she run in screaming and ask the clerk to contact the FBI? Or stroll in nonchalantly as if being in public barefoot wearing only underwear was an everyday occurrence and ask in a calm voice to use the phone?
For whatever reason, she smoothed her hair back and straightened her bra. And then she waited.
No telling how long. The customer wasn’t a big man, unlike the men who surrounded Vincent. He didn’t have that tough guy look either. He flirted with the clerk in an easy manner, both of them laughing and the woman dropping her gaze to the counter more often than not. She must be blushing at his words. Mackenna hoped he was simply an ordinary man. She surveyed the intersecting streets. Not one vehicle passed. No one searched for her in this part of town.
Filling her lungs with the cool night air, Mackenna exhaled slowly and advanced on the front door. She had nothing to lose except Jake. And he was everything.
The bell over the door chimed when she walked in and customer and clerk turned in her direction, their mouths gaping open as she approached. The man straightened immediately and moved toward her. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
Mackenna raised her hand to stop him and looked toward the clerk. “Is there a phone I can use?” With her face distorted by her swollen mouth and cheek, her words slurred as if she was drunk.
The clerk shook her head and the man reached in his pocket. “I have my cell phone. Do you want me to call you an ambulance? Were you in an accident?”
“I need to speak to the FBI.”
A nervous laugh escaped him. “The FBI? Who calls them?”
Meanwhile, the clerk reached under the counter. Her bicep muscles tightened and released.
Mackenna smiled, trying to come across as
non-threatening despite her appearance. “Did you just press a silent alarm? That’s okay. The police will be better than nothing.” She returned her gaze to the man who seemed approachable. “Even when the police show up, please call the FBI. Ask for Agent Crews. Tell him Jake’s in trouble.”
The wail of sirens sounded outside and in the distance, flashing red and blue lights sped toward the convenience mart. Mackenna watched their approach through the plate-glass windows. The trio stood in silence, waiting. No one moved.
Uniformed officers jumped from their cruisers leaving the doors ajar, guns aimed at the occupants inside the store. “Everyone down on the floor, now!”
Mackenna dropped to the floor. The clerk disappeared behind the counter and the man spread out on his belly, never taking his eyes off her.
“Please,” she whispered as the cops stormed the store, “I’m not crazy. Call the FBI. Jake needs help.”
Bedlam erupted. The clerk jumped to her feet, pointed at Mackenna, and screamed that Mackenna was the armed and dangerous bank robber broadcast on TV.
Really? Armed? Wearing only underwear, she could hardly be concealing a weapon.
The male customer eased into a sitting position once one of the police officers searched him and sat studying her, his cell phone still gripped in his hand.
Two strong hands grasped Mackenna by the back of her arms and two men lifted her slowly so that she sat on her haunches, each cautioning the other that she might be hurt. They talked as if she wasn’t right there between them.
“Geez, where’s all the blood coming from?”
“Where are her clothes?”
“Damn, it is her.”
“Ma’am, can you speak? What’s your name? How’d you get here?”
More police filled the store, guns drawn, searching every aisle and running through every door. The clerk continued to stare at her. The customer on the floor held his phone up. Was he recording this?
One officer began to question the clerk while another one directed the customer to stand and produce identification, all while two other patrolmen kept their weapons at shoulder level and panned the store.
“My name is Mackenna McElroy. I want to speak to Agent Demond Crews of the FBI.”
“Can you stand?” one of the officers asked as they helped her to her feet, and she repeated her request.
“Ma’am, can you walk? Let’s get you into the patrol car. There’s a blanket we can cover you with.”
Even if she wasn’t willing to move, the men forced her forward and she stepped outside the store. Someone yanked open the rear door and she slid into the back seat. When the trunk of the vehicle slammed shut, she jumped and then a female officer leaned inside and tucked the blanket around her.
“Please call the FBI,” Mackenna said. “Ask for Agent Crews and tell him Jake needs help.”
The woman stared at Mackenna, her face so close Mackenna could smell coffee on her breath. “Who’s Jake? Your partner?”
Sheer exhaustion overwhelmed her and Mackenna’s head lolled onto the headrest. Oh, sweet Jesus, why didn’t they listen to her? There wasn’t time to waste. He could already be dead. “No, no.” Her head rolled back and forth. “He’s not my partner. He’s one of them.”
“One of who, ma’am?”
“The FBI. I think he’s FBI. And they’re going to kill him.”
Chapter 30
Demond spit the stale coffee back into his cup and massaged his stiff neck. His stomach was already in knots and the coffee threatened to sour it to nausea. He was too old for all-nighters.
The office buzzed with activity despite it being one in the morning. That’s the way it was in the Bureau. A man was unaccounted for and every agent on the white-collar squad as well as the organized crime squad rolled out of bed to come in and assist. They’d all worked with Jake. He was a brother in trouble.
A team stayed in place at Cabacolli’s Casaria but the restaurant emptied out hours ago and there’d been no activity there. And no sign of Jake.
It took much too long, in Demond’s opinion, to rouse the support staff and transport them to the office to track Jake’s location via the GPS watch. They finally narrowed it down to a residential address in a ritzy part of town and the local police had the house surrounded, waiting on agents to arrive before they stormed the front door. They reported that the house was dark and speculated all the occupants were asleep or the house was unoccupied. Courtney was with that squad and assured Demond she’d call as soon as they knew something.
Mackenna’s car had arrived at the federal garage and despite a thorough search, it yielded nothing. Not so much as a map to hint at her destination and no clue about her disappearance. Like the state trooper said, it appeared she parked the car and never came back. But Demond clung to the knowledge that he’d interviewed the woman, seen terror in her eyes and her hands shake in fear. His gut told him she hadn’t run off. It was something else.
The switchboard rang his desk and informed him an agent from the Alabama FBI office was on the line, asking the switchboard to contact Demond at his home. Of course, he’d ask that. No one would expect to find him at his desk in the middle of the night.
Demond instructed the operator to connect the call.
When he introduced himself, his Southern drawl sounded just like Jake’s, causing Demond to smile.
“Sorry for the late hour, sir, but this is important enough to bother you at home.”
“I’m not at home. We have an event here so I’m at the office.” Until they were sure what they were dealing with, the Bureau would keep Jake’s disappearance on a need-to-know basis.
Agent Cody Wilson paused. “I’ve been trying to reach Jake Manettia for hours without success. I stumbled across your name in a file I’m looking at for Jake and I recognized it from my conversations with him. Can you put me in touch with Jake ASAP? None of the numbers I have work and this is important.”
“I’ve been trying to reach him too. What do you mean you stumbled across my name? Where?”
“Um, just some records that came across my desk.”
“What’d you say your field of expertise is? Computer analyst? Are you the one who’s been nosing around in the bank records from my robbery cases?”
On the other end of the line, Cody remained silent. This wasn’t the time to play cat and mouse. “Let’s lay our cards on the table, boy. I’m friends with Jake’s and right now, he’s off the grid. If you have information that might help find him, I suggest you share it. I’m not going to bust you for hacking into my files.”
Demond waited through the silence.
“This information pertains to a Mackenna McElroy. Jake asked me to review several deposits to determine their origin. But I don’t see how this information can help you find Jake.”
Finding Mackenna might be just as good. “What’d you see, boy?”
“The deposits into the McElroy account were interoffice. Whoever is behind them spun an intricate web to disguise the trail, one so complex I almost gave up.”
“Were you able to follow the path?”
“Yes, sir. The deposits originated from the manager’s office, inside the bank located on Mound Avenue.”
Demond’s shoulders sagged. So what? McElroy must be in cahoots with the manager. “Is that all?”
“No, sir. I took it a step further to determine the source of the funding. That money funneled into the bank through a shell corporation that traces back to an Italian restaurant called Cabacolli’s Casaria. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t think anything of it except when Jake and I spoke I had the impression that this McElroy woman meant something to him. By the same token, Jake offered that he’d stumbled into a relationship with someone from the Cabacolli family and I find it odd that money in Mackenna McElroy’s account is coming from Cabacolli’s re
staurant. I think Jake should be warned about her. She might be setting him up.”
Demond would’ve never guessed that Mackenna McElroy was that devious. Or that Jake could be that gullible. She’d seemed genuinely surprised to see the huge totals in her checking account. “Anything else you can tell me?”
Cody hesitated. “I verified the login each time a sum of money moved from the shell corporation to another account. It’s a regular stream into the bank through an employee who signs on as t-gleaner. From what I can tell, t-gleaner diffuses that money into a smattering of accounts in a handful of different branches and moves them around like checkers. I tracked t-gleaner to three different branches. He’s careful about spreading it out. But he got careless with the deposits into the McElroy account. They were high-dollar amounts and made as direct deposits, creating a clear link. I accessed the bank’s personnel records and it appears t-gleaner is one Ted Gleaner, listed as regional manager.”
Demond recognized the name from bank personnel interviews after one of the robberies. He shook his head. “I’m glad you’re on our side, Cody.”
Cody cleared his throat. “Agent Crews, if there’s anything I can do from here to help locate Jake, say the word. The full Alabama field office can be there in a matter of hours.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
On a separate sheet of paper, Demond jotted three names: Jake’s, Mackenna McElroy’s and Ted Gleaner. Where was the connection? A love triangle gone bad?
He reviewed Gleaner’s statement taken by another agent after the Mound Avenue robbery, but nothing raised a red flag. Unfortunately, he’d never spoken to the man. There was little Demond could do until the bank opened later today. If neither Jake nor Mackenna surfaced by then, he’d interview Gleaner.
Demond dropped his head back and closed his eyes but his respite proved brief. Courtney called his cell phone.
