“Of course. We’ll make sure she gets home. I would suggest you have the codes and locks changed on the house, and make sure your security system is on, even when you’re home.”
“Yes. I hate to see Jolene come to this. I wanted us to be friends, that’s all I wanted after I married Harper, and she hates me.” Adeline put her head in her arms and sobbed.
The deputy took a few minutes to write up a statement, then called his supervisor with a report. Adeline smiled to herself when he characterized Jolene as hysterical. When he was finished, she thanked him for his prompt response and walked the deputy to the door. His partner was standing next to their car with Jolene in the backseat. Adeline closed the door and whispered, “Don’t mess with me, Jolene. I always win.”
As soon as the deputy’s drove off with Jolene, Adeline rushed over to her phone and called her campaign manager, Rob Garza. Other than Joseph, there was no one else she trusted, no one else who understood the many layers of her life.
“Rob, Jolene just attacked me at the house. Two Bexar County Sheriff deputies were here, saw everything, and are taking her home. Make sure the press gets a picture of her when she gets there. You have less than fifteen minutes to set this up. I want her completely discredited. I don’t think she knows anything about our side business—if she did, she would have spilled it tonight, because Lord knows I baited her—but if she does suspect anything, I don’t want anyone to believe her.”
“Consider it done,” Rob said.
* * *
As soon as blogger Gary Ackerman read that Harper Worthington was dead, he started to pack.
Somehow, they’d found out.
And they’d killed him to keep their secret.
Gary wasn’t certain who they were, but one of them was Harper’s wife, Adeline Reyes-Worthington.
Gary had tried to tell voters seven years ago that Adeline Reyes-Worthington was bad news, but they voted her in anyway. For a while, he’d become obsessed with proving that she had rigged her election, to the point where Adeline had gotten a restraining order against him.
He didn’t know how she did it, but she’d done it.
He’d stayed away from her because he didn’t want to go to prison. He’d be killed inside, because he knew too much. The Chinese were buying up the country with Obama’s blessing—and probably his help—and the Bushes had put their blue-blooded cronies in every corporation in the country. The unions benefitted their leadership more than the workers and Wall Street controlled the financial system to benefit the few. Someone high up in the government had assassinated Kennedy, and someone else high up in the government had tried to assassinate Reagan. Oswald and Hinckley were just scapegoats—part of the conspiracy, but not the leaders of the conspiracy.
Everything was tied together, a sick and twisted fist tightening its control over the hearts and minds of Americans. He told the truth on his blog every day, and he didn’t flinch from the hate mail. He got it from everyone—so-called conservatives who thought he was wrong about their golden child; so-called liberals who thought he was a racist because he didn’t praise the president; racists who thought all the problems were because of blacks/Hispanics/Jews. He despised them all. They didn’t understand that the root of all the evil in the world was the corruption of government on all levels. It was insidious. It was everywhere. And they would do everything they could to preserve their power and control.
He had proof. Harper Worthington was dead. The one respectable person who had actually listened to him was dead.
Gary hadn’t believed Harper when he first came to Gary two months ago. He thought Adeline had sent her husband to trick Gary into violating the restraining order so they could put him in prison where he would be killed. But Harper agreed to all of Gary’s rules: no Internet or cell phone communication (it was all monitored by the government); no meeting at Gary’s apartment (he had rented it under a false name); correspondence only through a mail drop. When they finally did meet, it was at a dive bar in a neighborhood without surveillance cameras.
Harper didn’t call him paranoid or weird like most people did. He listened to everything Gary had to say. Some of it, Gary could tell Harper didn’t believe, but he never once made Gary feel foolish. And when Gary told him about the history of suspicious land deals that his wife had been part of, Harper was very interested.
Except Gary had no proof. His strength was seeing patterns, and there was a pattern of land that had been bought and sold at above and below market prices. He didn’t know what it all meant. He’d written out a sheet of numbers and Harper had understood.
Finally, someone believed him. Harper said he would get to the bottom of what was going on.
And now Harper Worthington was dead.
Which meant he would be next.
For about two seconds he considered calling the FBI and telling them what he knew. Except the FBI was part of the government, and the government was all corrupt. How would he know if he got one of the good agents and not one of the bad agents? He’d read about the DEA agent who was working with the drug cartels. There were more. He didn’t know who they were. He didn’t want to die.
He had a safe place, out in the middle of nowhere. A one-room cabin completely off the grid with a year’s supply of water, food, and ammunition. That’s the only place he would be safe. He’d forget about Harper Worthington, forget about Adeline, and just survive.
Gary grabbed his bag and opened his door.
Almost before he could register that there was a man standing in the doorway, three bullets hit him in the chest.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DEA Agent Brad Donnelly hated desk duty, but his doctor hadn’t cleared him for the field. He was lucky to have been allowed to work at all considering he’d been tortured and nearly killed by a high-ranking member of a small but violent drug cartel. Most of the crew was dead and Brad had survived, so he’d take the pain and move on with his life.
He was ready to go back full-time, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His knee had been shattered. Surgery had replaced the knee, but running was still difficult, and after a full day working, he limped. His physical therapist told him he was making great progress, but it didn’t feel like it to him. It had been nine weeks.
But he came in early every day because he met with his trainer at 5:00 A.M., five days a week, in the hopes that diligence and hard work would bring his body back to top form. By seven Monday morning he was showered, dressed, and sitting at his desk reviewing the work of his field agents, itching to join them. Today, his direct line was ringing before he even sat down.
“Donnelly,” he answered.
“Kane Rogan.”
He’d kept in touch with Kane Rogan after he’d helped take down Vasco Trejo’s cartel in Mexico. In addition to using young boys as drug mules, the gang had been part of a larger conspiracy to steal guns from the US military. Or, rather, Kane had kept in touch with him when he had information. Kane had been following Trejo’s remaining gang in the hopes of shutting them down before anyone took over Trejo’s enterprise. What he’d learned was that someone was still pulling strings and Trejo’s people were still unified under an unknown leader.
Donnelly had learned early on that Kane didn’t do small talk, so he said, “You have something?”
“The last members of Trejo’s core group were taken out last night in San Antonio.”
“I haven’t heard of a major op. Are you sure it was us?”
“They’re dead. Possibly a rival gang; I don’t know who yet. Word is retaliation, but there’s nothing on my radar that would warrant such a splash. It’s got to be a rival gang cleaning house when Trejo’s people didn’t join up. You?”
“I got nothing. I’ve been digging into known associates and they’re in prison or dead. Except—” He hesitated.
“Spill.”
“Tobias.”
“Shit.”
Brad’s thoughts exactly. Tobias was a shadow. He had been on no one’s radar until nine
weeks ago. He’d been seen entering Trejo’s compound in Mexico minutes before an explosion took it down, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t escaped.
The disturbing thing was that neither Kane Rogan’s vast connections south of the border nor the DEA had heard of Tobias before that day. They didn’t even know if Tobias was his real name. Lucy Kincaid, one of two people who had seen the man, had poured over photographs and hadn’t been able to identify him. She and one of the boys she rescued had worked with a private sketch artist, but the image was too generic. They’d only seen him at night under poor lighting.
“If he made it out,” Brad said, “he could have the connections to keep Trejo’s group together.”
“Find out what’s going on with that attack. SAPD has the scene, but because of the known connection to the cartels, you’ll be called.”
“I’ll jump on it. Are you in town?”
“No.” Kane hung up.
Brad lowered his receiver and shook his head. Kane was a hard guy to talk to, but his intel had always been solid.
Brad called his DEA liaison with SAPD, Jerome Fielding. “Jerry, it’s Brad.”
“How’d you hear so fast?”
“About the hit on Trejo’s people? I have my sources.” Kane never ceased to amaze Brad.
“Are you coming down?”
“I literally just heard. I don’t even know where, when, how many, or why.”
“I’ll send you the address. It’s off Mission Road.”
One of the worst crime areas in the city, run by the gangs.
Jerry said, “Are you back on duty?”
“I can go to a damn crime scene.”
“Wear your vest. We’re not wanted down there.”
“Got it. What else?”
“I know the when—last night at seven thirty P.M.—and the how many—nine. But not the why. Yet. Maybe you can help there.”
“I might. Nine dead? Any survivors?”
“None at the scene. We found drugs and guns. Every victim was shot at least three times, all with at least one head shot. Not just the gangbangers, but two women and a kid.”
“It’s a fucking execution.”
“If this is the first shot, there’s going to be a bloody war down here.”
“My source says it was retaliation.”
Jerry was silent for a minute. “If it was, then it’s out of my jurisdiction. There’s been nothing of this magnitude for a long time, nothing on the wire. It’s an abandoned strip mall that had been taken over by a gang with ties to Sanchez and Trejo—who you took care of. Honestly, it’s been quiet the last two months since those bastards were put in the ground.”
“Someone must have seen something.”
“And they’re not going to talk to us.”
Jerry was right. No one talked to the police down there. They didn’t trust cops. Didn’t matter if they were first, fifth, or tenth generation; it was cultural. Even those who did trust law enforcement feared retaliation by the drug cartels if they said anything. Fear was a powerful silencer.
“I’ll be there in an hour,” Brad said.
* * *
Sean dragged himself into HWI headquarters at eight Monday morning. Lucy had woken before dawn with another nightmare, even after they were both exhausted from a full day doing yard work in the heat.
She wouldn’t talk about it, and that bothered him, too. She kept saying she was fine. Then she did something she rarely did—distracted him with sex. He hadn’t noticed it at the time, but once she’d showered and left for FBI headquarters, he’d realized she’d changed the subject about her bad dream by kissing him and taking him back to bed.
They would be talking about that tonight. He was angry—and he didn’t want to be angry with Lucy. Which made him doubly frustrated.
Sean checked in with HWI’s front desk and was immediately sent up to Gregor Smith’s office. “Sean Rogan, it’s good to finally meet you.”
“Likewise. I’m sorry to hear about your boss.”
Gregor nodded. “It’s been hard on the staff. And Jolene, Harper’s daughter. Please sit.” Gregor had a large desk completely devoid of clutter. A computer monitor and phone were the only items on the desktop. “I don’t know how much you know about the FBI investigation into Harper’s death.”
“Some,” Sean said. Lucy had told him what she knew, but Gregor didn’t have to know that.
“Because he died under suspicious circumstances, we need to run a full forensic audit. We’ve already started the process, but we also need to verify that our systems haven’t been breached from the outside. Our IT department is good, but I would feel better having someone from the outside review our system. When it comes to computer systems, I’m a bit out of my depth.”
“Most people are,” Sean said. “You have this office, Dallas, and a small office outside D.C., correct?”
“Yes.”
“And your internal logs show nothing suspicious? When did you last run them?”
“Every night at midnight the system runs a security check and produces a report. The IT department determines if there have been any problems and alerts me immediately. So far, there’ve been no successful cyber attacks. Attempts, like usual, but no one has gotten close. But as you know, if someone is good, they can get through any barriers. Because you have a high government clearance, I can give you access.”
“I don’t need access.”
“But I thought you agreed to take the job. If it’s money, I can go to the board—”
“You agreed to my standard rate. I don’t need access because I already hacked into your system.” Sean slid a folder over to Gregor Smith. “Truthfully, you’re not that exposed. I couldn’t easily get into this office or the Dallas office. If I wasn’t concerned about being detected, I could have breached your firewall, however. I can fix that vulnerability. Your main problem is D.C.”
“Why? They use our intranet, they shouldn’t have any different system.”
“True, but any server—even an intranet housed privately—is potentially vulnerable if it can be accessed remotely. The Dallas office has their own server, but the D.C. office dials in, so to speak. I can recommend a few simple fixes. Overall, though, your computer security is better than most companies’. I’ll look at the log files for the last quarter to verify that you haven’t had any breaches, but since I know how it would have been done, it won’t take me long. I can easily explain it to one of your people. What I need to do now is going to be more difficult.”
“Which is what?”
“Investigate potential internal breaches.”
Smith didn’t say anything for a moment. “You mean corporate espionage.”
“If I wanted to get into a secure system, I would do it from the inside. With the level of security most companies have these days, that’s the best way to access information.”
“How?”
“I assume your employees all sign a confidentiality statement which includes permission for HWI to run a background check.”
“Of course.”
“Then I need access to all employee files. It would be best if I could use an office here. I also need a list of any computers that aren’t tied directly to the network, including employee laptops and company cell phones.”
“We’re a family here,” Smith said. “No one would betray us.”
That, coming from a former cop, bothered Sean. Loyalty was a strength in any business, but blind faith could be HWI’s Achilles’ heel. Betrayal wasn’t always voluntary.
But he said none of that to Smith. Instead he said, “Then there will be nothing to find.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lucy arrived at the office early and, armed with a large coffee, read an email Detective Tia Mancini had sent last night. Tia had checked with all her sources and no one knew the girl, except for the one tenuous lead she’d mentioned the day before.
I have a hunch my source is right—your girl is from out of town or new to the business, Tia wrote. I’
ve reached out to everyone, and no one knows anything. To me it’s odd, especially with the level of sophistication your girl seems to have in the business. I’ll keep working it—I have one more idea.
Tia didn’t give Lucy a clue as to what other idea she was pursuing, but the detective was right—the whole situation seemed odd.
Lucy forwarded the email to Barry and suggested they go wider looking for the girl. She also had a hunch, and added to her message:
Considering the two men we know she was with, Worthington and Everett, are both powerful businessmen, what if this girl is working a blackmail angle? I worked a case in D.C. where a call girl recorded her liaisons for a third party.
Zach approached as she sent off her message. “Have you seen the news?” he asked.
Lucy hated the little flutter of worry in her stomach. Not all news was bad news, right? “What happened?”
He dropped a print newspaper on her desk. “It came out this morning and was all over the morning news and the Internet.”
Congresswoman Reyes-Worthington Attacked by Stepdaughter
Congresswoman shaken but uninjured after Jolene Worthington Hayden threw a wine bottle at her.
Beneath the headlines was a photo of Jolene Hayden being escorted from a patrol car, in handcuffs, by two police officers. The photo description read:
Jolene Worthington Hayden, the only daughter of recently deceased Harper Worthington, CEO of HWI, escorted home in cuffs Sunday night by sheriff deputies after she attacked her stepmother, Congresswoman Adeline Reyes-Worthington, at the Worthington estate outside San Antonio.
“Thanks, Zach,” Lucy murmured as she read the article.
Jolene had gone to her father’s house Sunday night. Witnesses—unidentified—said that she was upset about the will. According to other sources, Worthington’s assets were split evenly between his wife and stepdaughter, and in addition his wife would get the house and Jolene the business. Jolene and her husband, Dr. Scott Hayden, were unavailable for comment. The congresswoman had released a brief statement.
Best Laid Plans Page 10
