In Too Deep (Strike Force: An Iniquus Romantic Suspense Mystery Thriller Book 1)

by Fiona Quinn

  “I was following up on information from Mr. Green.” Steve nodded toward the silhouette on the video screen. “CIA had received word that the assassination had taken place and that the cleanup crew needed to make a final sweep, and then all would be pristine and complete. I was hoping to gather any evidence that needed to be swept. But I obviously had already missed that opportunity, and I diverted to save Lacey Stuart.”

  “Did you know Miss Stuart?” Mr. Green asked.

  “I had not yet met her in person, but of course her name and likeness were being used by Danika Zoric. Keeping track of what Danika did in the guise of Lacey Stuart was part of our ongoing casework with the Zoric family in our efforts to monitor the terrorist funding provided by the Zoric family, as well as our work supporting the rest of the taskforce agents in their efforts. We know, for example, that Danika began using the persona of Lacey Stuart at the same time as the Zoric family focused on Bartholomew Winslow and began blackmailing him.”

  “With what information?”

  Monroe cleared his throat, indicating that he’d take that answer. “His homosexual relationship with Radovan Krokov. Taking a step back. The Zoric family became aware of and thus interested in Bartholomew Winslow because he was in a romantic relationship Radovan Krokov, Boss of the East Coast United States branch of the Krokov family. His relationship with Krokov gave the Zorics ammunition against Winslow because Winslow was a prominent member of the Assembly, and, of course, that organization is extremely homophobic. The Assembly went so far as, for example, to convince the parliament in Uganda to put anyone found to be involved in a homosexual act to death. Winslow maintained a great deal of power and produced a great deal of income through his association with the Assembly, and if the Assembly felt that Winslow had misrepresented himself and his dedication to Assembly beliefs, then that might have negative repercussions.”

  Mr. Green’s silhouette took up almost the entire screen as he leaned toward the camera. “By repercussions, you mean . . .”

  “Much of the Assembly’s power lies with their law enforcement and judiciary connections.” Monroe continued. “Something might occur such as a false arrest, sentencing, and imprisonment. It has been our experience that those whom the Assembly actively opposes have shortened life expectancies, especially in our penal systems. Winslow would do whatever it took to keep his homosexuality quiet – his life depended on it. To continue, we know that once information about Bartholomew Winslow and his connection with the arts community filtered back to Slovakia, the family there made a list of art they would like to have for their homes.”

  “In this case, Finley, why do you think that Winslow didn’t simply bring this information to Radovan and have him handle it?” Mr. Black asked.

  “From my understanding,” Steve said, “Winslow was not aware of Krokov’s crime connections.”

  “Go back to your word ‘possibility,’ please,” Mr. Green rasped through the voice-altering software.

  “Lacey Stuart was at the home. Lacey Stuart spoke with Musclav Zoric. These are facts. But subsequent to this interaction, she was in a car accident, and she suffered from traumatic amnesia. She says the last thing that she remembers is leaving the gallery to go and hang a painting for Radovan Krokov, and then she remembers me helping her at the accident.”

  “And that’s when you extended your undercover role to playing the role of boyfriend to Lacey Stuart and informant to the Zoric family?”

  “It is.” Steve’s muscles bunched in his calves, causing him burning cramps. He welcomed the pain – a small penance.

  “Since the time of her accident,” Mr. Green continued, “has the real Lacey Stuart mentioned anything about the Krokov estate?”

  “No,” Steve replied.

  Mr. Black leaned in. “Have you considered having her hypnotized to see if she could recall any intel that way?”

  “I did not, sir,” Steve said. “I thought I would have the opportunity for her to work with some of our psychiatrists and learn what happened at the house once she was in protective custody. We needed her to continue with her normal life until this Saturday in order to keep the sting in play. Last Thursday night, however, we were tasked with removing Lacey Stuart from the area. We planned to put her in a safe house and begin the process of putting her in our witness protection program. This is why she was at the scene of Bogdan Zoric, aka Leo Bardman’s, murder. I was supposed to meet her at the bar, but I was detained. I sent Higgins in to watch her until I could make my way there. Lacey ran from the scene.” Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Higgins drop his head.

  “You haven’t found her?” Mr. Black twisted his chair so he was staring directly at Steve.

  Monroe interrupted. “From the point where Bogdan Zoric was knifed down in the bar, we have been looking for both Lacey Stuart and Danika Zoric.”

  “You’ve lost track of both women?” Mr. Green asked.

  “Possibly,” Monroe said.

  Mr. Green grunted. “There’s that word again.”

  “We believe that one of the women was killed. Her body had not yet been identified by the medical examiner.”

  “When did this happen?” Black asked.

  “Perhaps Monday—that was the night her body was found,” Monroe responded.

  “And they don’t have her identified yet? This is a priority, a matter of national security,” Mr. Green bellowed.

  “Yes, sir, but we can’t convey that to anyone, can we?” Monroe slipped a pen from his pocket and started rolling it back and forth in his fingers. “They have what they need in terms of records and samples, but there was a four-car traffic accident with multiple fatalities, so their lab is backed up. We’ve been promised an answer tomorrow.”

  Mr. Black pinched his chin between his thumb and index finger. “So tomorrow we’ll know if the murdered woman is Lacey or Danika and from that—”

  “If it is even Lacey or Danika. We believe it’s one of them, but we don’t know as fact that it is one of them,” Monroe said.

  “What is being done now about the search? If you have the possibility of one body, that leaves one of the women in the wind. We needed both women. We can’t let one of them slip away.” Mr. Black scowled at Monroe’s twitching pen.

  “The night Lacey ran, she contacted one of the Iniquus operatives. It seemed expeditious to include Iniquus in our search, so we contracted them to locate her. We have our own agents also looking for them.”

  Mr. Black typed a note to himself into his iPhone.

  “We have a potential witness who could possibly give Dr. Nadeer the information he needs to narrow his search and find out how the Zoric family is becoming such efficient assassins, but either we can’t find her or she’s dead,” Mr. Green sputtered.

  “Yes, sir,” Monroe said. “That’s correct.”

  Andersson, sitting next to Monroe, had not shifted a single muscle since she’d passed him the water, Steve noticed. As if she thought her lack of movement would mean that eyes would slide past her, and her involvement in this fiasco would go unnoticed. But now that there was a moment of quiet, she stretched out her neck. “On a positive note. Everything is going according to script on the front of the arts con. We feel that we’ll be able to recoup the original works. And this should also lead to significant arrests for Monroe’s Human Trafficking Task Force.” She smiled brightly.

  Mr. Green rasped from the video screen, “I’m not interested in the arts con, and I’m not particularly interested in their prostitution rings. It’s not insensitivity on my part. Shutting down this family means another crime network is gone from our streets. And I appreciate that shutting them down also means that they won’t be raising and funneling money into terrorist activities. But my focus is on, and must remain on, stopping the political assassinations. And too, if it is discovered by the Krokov family that the deaths in their family are indeed Zoric murders, this will destabilize the hard-won and very tenuous peace here in the East.”

  “And here in the W
est, as well,” Mr. Black said. “It is of the utmost importance that the Krokov family never find out that their US boss was probably,” Mr. Black took a moment to send a scathing glance at Steve, “murdered instead of the victim of a heart attack.” His gaze scanned the task force members. “If that happens, we all understand it’s not just Eastern Europe that will blow up, but that violence will break out right here in the streets of Washington. We will have our own little war on our hands, and the bodies will pile up. Collateral damage will be high. Right here in the seat of democracy. Right here under our president’s nose. Does that sound like a good idea to anyone?” Mr. Black’s fist came down onto the mahogany conference table with a loud thud. “I want that woman found. And I want that woman found now. If she can tell someone that a murder took place, then she’s our loose cannon. The only weak link while we figure out how this is happening. We need to handle this.”

  “Woah there.” Steve jumped up. “By ‘handle this,’ just what are you saying?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Deep

  Wednesday Morning

  “Okay,” Deep said as they moved into Lynx’s kitchen, after returning from the museum. “I’m going to put something in the oven for dinner. Why don’t you sit at the table and keep me company?”

  “I need to be doing something to move us forward.” Lacey shucked her jacket, then reached out for Deep’s.

  Deep watched her move into the dining room, where she hung their coats on the backs of the chairs rather than in the closet. It seemed to him like she was trying to claim the space as a place where she could be safe and where she belonged. He hoped she felt that way here. Hoped he could make her feel welcome. Hoped he could keep her safe. He was anxious to talk to Dr. Jones tomorrow. “Alright, how about you look through the notebook and see what you can find?”

  Deep watched Lacey pull her feet onto the dining room chair, curling herself up as she carefully turned the pages over. He went back into the kitchen to make his old Marine days’ faithful tuna noodle casserole.

  Salad fixed, fruit cut, casserole in the oven, Deep noted that if he planned to be here much longer, he’d need to go get groceries. He also noted that his R and R week was all but done. Strike Force would be down range until their task was accomplished. In planning, they’d given it a two-week window. Expectations were that he’d be jumping a transport back to the sandbox to join up and lend a hand. While his downtime had been figured into their operation, his team needed his skillset to accomplish the job. How was he going to leave Lacey? Where was he going to leave Lacey? He only had through the weekend to figure everything out. Monday, he’d be wheels up.

  Lacey got up and went upstairs. While she was gone, Deep thought he’d start a fire in the fireplace to cheer things up a bit.

  “Hey, Deep?” Lacey called down the stairs. “Do I have time for a quick shower?”

  Deep moved to the bottom of the stairs to answer her when he spotted the folded piece of yellow legal paper with two pieces of junk mail on the floor under the mail slot. He bent to pick it up.

  “Deep?”

  “Uh, hang on.” Deep opened the page and read:

  Just to let you know, some guy lost his puppy in the neighborhood. He cruised the neighborhood about four times before he tried to find the little guy on foot. I talked to him over near your back fence. He seemed really determined to find the puppy. If you see a lost puppy, let me know. Also, we’ve been having trouble with raccoons in the trashcans. I’d be careful what you put out there that might attract them. – Dave

  Deep scanned over the information again. Someone had made the house. He and Lacey had to get out. Now. Deep moved back to the kitchen, where he grabbed some Windex, rags, and garbage bags and made his way up the stairs.

  “Deep? Shower?”

  “Lacey, sweetheart, someone’s scoping the house.”

  She stiffened; her smile fell away. “What? I don’t understand what you said.”

  “One of Lynx’s neighbor’s left me a note—he’s seen someone casing the neighborhood. I promised Lynx we’d leave immediately. So, here’s what we’re going to do . . . “

  Lacey pulled the note from his hands and read it over, shaking her head. “You got that someone found where I’m hiding from this note?”

  “Lacey.” Deep tamped down on the urgency and modulated his voice to keep calm. He’d found a cadence and sound quality that kept people from panicking. It was the voice he used when he had precious cargo under his wing, and he was trying to get them out of the hot zones. He’d found that a combination of voice quality and short lists of actions kept their heads together.

  But he’d also had to stick enough of them with Lorazepam and hike their dead weight out of the shit, too. It didn’t always work.

  “Lacey,” he repeated, to get her eyes off the note and onto him. “What I need you to do is gather all of your things and put them in a bag. You need to be thorough—every wrapper, every price tag, every thing that wasn’t here when we arrived has to go. Trash, toothbrush, everything. Put the trash in one of these bags, and put the things Lynx bought you in another. I need you to strip the sheets and blankets on both of the beds and put them in to wash on the sanitary cycle. The washer is downstairs in the basement. Did you see the door in the kitchen to go down there?”

  “Yes, but I—” Her eyes wandered back to the note, and he could tell she still wasn’t on board.

  “Lacey, we have to be out of here in the next five minutes. Okay?” He pushed the bags into her hands and turned her toward the middle guestroom.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m packing my go-bag, and removing fingerprints. After you get the sheets, I’ll fold up the bedspreads and take them with us.”

  “We can’t take the quilt. Lynx’s grandmother made it for her.”

  “I swear we’ll give it back in good condition.”

  “Her grandmother made it for her. It’s hand-stitched.” That thought seemed to have some kind of distressing hold on Lacey. Sobs filled her voice as she hugged the trash bags to her chest.

  She needed to be concentrating her efforts full-steam ahead. “Okay, then take the duvet and quilt, fold them, and put them in the very bottom of the quilt chest in Lynx’s room. Actually, mix them into the stack that’s there. Okay?”

  Still seeming bewildered by the sudden change of events, Lacey started to move past him into the room he had given her their first night together. “Lacey, honey, really, I need you to put the accelerator down.” Deep took her by the shoulders so she would look him in the eye. “We need to clean and go in the next five minutes. Every minute we’re here puts you at greater risk. We don’t know who was here. We don’t know why. We don’t know if they left eyes and ears in place,” Deep said. She nodded and seemed to be on board.

  Moving now with his own concentrated effort to the front room, he began spraying down the surfaces. His prints wouldn’t matter; he was worried about Lacey’s. Lacey, as far as he knew, wasn’t being sought for a crime—she was trying to stay under the radar while she tried to figure out how she fit into this whole weird scenario. So his cleaning was more for Lynx than for Lacey. He didn’t want to bring any heat Lynx’s way. He checked his watch and gave himself four minutes to put his car in reverse.

  Lacey was out of breath as she pulled the car door closed. Deep had put their gear in the back hatch along with his computer. He’d already downloaded the information from the thumb drives and sent it to a file Strike Force maintained on the Darknet, allowing them to encrypt and hide information while they were working their cases. If for some unknown reason something happened to either Lacey or him, the team would know to look on there for his notes and evidence files. So he figured the information, at least, was safe. He’d also concealed the thumb drives in a covert zippered pocket in the BDUs he was wearing. He needed to make sure the pictures of the kids, if nothing else, got into the right hands.

  Dinner had been pulled from the oven and set
to cool on the counter, and he sent a message to Lynx about the game change (and another to Sarah, to tell her to come get the food he’d made and use it for her family’s dinner). Now he and Lacey were driving a circuit to lose anyone who might be on their tail.

  “Any idea where we’re heading?”

  Deep swiveled his head toward her. Her eyes were wide and trusting, but he could see that this extra dose of intrigue was hitting her hard.

  “I’m going to tool around for a little while.” He sent her a smile. “You still haven’t eaten. I know a pretty good place near Annapolis. Do you like seafood?”

  “Whatever you want.” She combed her fingers through her hair. It was the kind of preening move he’d seen bitchy girls make at the bars. The kind of girls that looked down their noses at you as if they ruled the world. But he knew that wasn’t at all the way he should interpret Lacey’s move. On her, at least in this context, it looked like she was trying to calm herself down. Food. That would help. He moved onto the highway and headed for I-50.

  “I think you’ll like this place. It’s right on the Chesapeake Bay — so it’s chilly, but they’ve got these big rock fireplaces that make things nice.” He reached out for her hand, then pulled it to his lips for a kiss. “Cheer up, Lacey. I love you. Everything’s going to be fine. We’re changing locations, that’s all. Tomorrow, we’ll go see this Dr. Jones guy, and then we’ll have some new information, and you can decide what to do from there.”

  Lacey bit her upper lip and nodded.

  “What?” Deep asked.

  “You said you loved me,” Lacey whispered.

  “I do. I’ve been saying that since I tackled you.” He chuckled. The ‘I love you’ had slipped out, and Deep hoped she didn’t feel he’d pushed too far, too fast.

  “You’ve been talking around it since you dove in front of a speeding bullet to save my life. How can I ever thank you enough? How could I possibly repay you for that?”