Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series)

by Skye, S. D.

  A snarl choked J.J.’s throat as she tromped up to them and sliced him in half with a wicked glare.

  “Well, well, well, gang’s all here,” J.J. snipped. “You two are looking awfully cozy.”

  “J.J.! You’re…here,” Gia said, her face scrunched in disappointment. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

  “Apparently not.”

  Tony gave J.J. a “c’mon” look and cleared his throat. “Uhhh, I’m going to hit the head. When I return, we’ll all chill out, relax, and drink to the end of a long successful week. Hai capito?”

  J.J. pursed her lips and nodded, as she watched him walk away. She appreciated his rear view as much as the front.

  “Beautiful man, isn’t he?” Gia said, also taking in the sights.

  J.J. shrugged, stifling her anger, as she played down her response. “Eh, he’s okay if that’s your type.”

  “You’d have to be dead for Tony not to be your type, wouldn’t you?” Gia said with a gossipy giggle, her tongue loosened by the spirits emptied from the three glasses in front her. “Umph. That ass. Those lips. So soft.”

  J.J. almost responded with a “Girrrrrl, I know that’s right!” when the question hit her—how the hell does Gia know how soft his ass and lips are?

  “Soft?” she said with an unnatural calm. “You guys have gotten friendly, huh?”

  “Mmm, yes. We kissed at Gordon Biersch last week when he met me for drinks after work. But his mother called and he had to rush out.”

  “His mother, huh?”

  Gia nodded with a far-off stare and a smile eating up her face.

  J.J. mustered every ounce of strength she could gather to maintain her composure. She wanted nothing more than to stomp a mud hole in Tony’s ass, but she refused to allow her emotions to best her in front of Gia.

  Tony strolled up behind her. “Are we ready for another round?”

  J.J. turned to him, face to face. The hurt weighed her eyes thin; she hoped he could see the pain in them. “I’m gonna head home,” J.J. said. “I’m a third wheel. But if your mother phones while you’re kissing Gia again, I’m free to take the call.”

  Tony’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped, his glare shifting between J.J. and Gia.

  “If you both will excuse me,” J.J. said, quickening her pace toward the door.

  “J.J. wait!” Tony called from behind her as she whisked through the door. “Let me explain…I didn’t know…”

  “What, Tony? You didn’t know you loved me before you kissed her…or until after I told you I loved you?”

  “Please, listen…”

  “No! Gia told me everything I need to hear,” J.J. snapped, her jaw clenched. “Revenge tastes sweet, right? Gia’s waiting. Get your ass back inside. Drink up!”

  The death glare J.J. shot at Tony had to leave him with no doubt about the depth of her anger. He knew it was a bad idea to follow her. Chocolate couldn’t soothe the beast inside J.J. that wanted to punch Tony in the face, but it was a better place to start than Belvedere…or her clenched fists.

  Chapter 56

  Sunday Morning, November 15th – Southeast D.C.

  “I’m leaving the Anacostia Metro right now,” Santino said, talking to Katherine through his Bluetooth for the entire trip. “I should be at the Big Chair in a few minutes.”

  “Remember, timing is everything,” she reminded him. “I’ll see you back here within the hour.”

  Santino exited the subway station and caught the bus a few blocks down Martin Luther King Avenue to the meet locations, D.C.’s choice. Although quiet that Sunday morning and clearly in the midst of revitalization, it was still a part of town you visited because you had to not because you wanted to. Neglected old row houses and empty lots with fallen fences still lined the newly paved streets leading to the renovated freeway entrance, and the only people on the streets were homeless men wrapped in charity blankets and churchgoers bopping their heads to the gospel as they passed by them on the way to the early service.

  Santino wore jeans and a pair of seen-better-days Nikes; the dark glasses and his reversible jacket’s black hood exposed too little of his face for anyone to get a solid ID. Not even his hair color could be seen. The canvas satchel Katherine had prepared for him to transport the passport was clenched under his arm. His most distinguishing feature was his height. It wouldn’t matter once he boarded the bus. If he pulled off Katherine’s plan, he’d lose his tails before they got get within five feet of him anyway.

  Up ahead of him in the parking lot next to The Big Chair, Santino saw D.C. pull up in his black Cadillac Escalade that sported no-view tinted windows and a set of rims more expensive than Santino’s house in Jersey.

  Santino scanned the area slowly, spotting the guys she called “the Gs” exactly where Katherine said they’d be. She told him not to flinch, to keep his eyes forward. They wouldn’t pop him there. No. Santino’s purpose, in their eyes, was to lead them to America’s Most Wanted. So far she was right. Not a single one moved. He checked the time and settled down, slowing once he got a few feet from D.C.’s Caddy.

  As Santino approached his car, D.C. turned down the window. “Castellano! In your Sunday’s best, I see.”

  “Hey, dressed for success,” Santino said with a smile. “You got it?”

  “Right here,” D.C. said, holding up a manila envelope. “Birth certificate’s in there too. Here you go.”

  Santino grabbed the package, examined the contents, dropped the package inside the canvas bag, and handed D.C. an envelope thick with cash. “Birth certificate? Since when do you believe in charity?”

  “Where I come from ten Gs ain’t charity. Comes with the package,” D.C. said, “Now I gotta run.”

  Santino looked down to the end of the block. Nothing. His transportation was running late so he stalled. “No Godfather quotes this morning?”

  “Hmmm, let me think. Oh wait, I’ve got one. Check this,” he said. “‘I spent my whole life trying not to be careless. Women and children can afford to be careless, but not men.’ Wise words wouldn’t you say?”

  “Indeed,” Santino said as he watched the bus pull around the corner. “Ahhh, here’s my ride. Thanks and, uh, you be careful.”

  Santino boarded, paid his fare, and headed to a seat in the back corner. There were only three riders. From inside his jacket, he pulled out a beige baseball cap, which he reversed to the navy blue on the inside. Once he exited at his next stop and made his moves, he’d be free and clear in no time. If Lana was right and the Gs had expected him to drive to the meet, then they would be unprepared to follow him on foot. As long as he got a small window of time when they lost sight of him, he could get himself in the clear and finish this job. Nicky Mumbles, Jersey, and the life he’d been forced to abandon were only a few steps away.

  Chapter 57

  Sunday Morning—Surveillance Detail

  Kyle found it difficult to disguise his nervousness. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood that welcomed cops of any flavor but especially Feds. In this world, snitches got stitches. And disrupting a federal case was a badge of honor. One misjudged glance at one wrong person and the entire op could be blown.

  Kyle ordered his two G teams to establish a box perimeter surrounding the Big Chair; he set up the iPad to monitor the tracker inside the fake passport he had FBI Special Projects make especially to take down Lana. He and Hopper took up the lead position on V Street, which gave them direct line of sight to D.C.’s meeting with the devil’s gatekeeper – the man buying the ticket to Lana Michaels’ freedom. And like a breadcrumb trail to the witch’s house, he’d lead the FBI straight to her. As soon as this Castellano person collected and delivered the goods, they would be on the way to toss her in Supermax.

  Hopper glanced down at the iPad and then at Kyle. “Should be here any minute. D.C. sold him some story about being a punctuality fanatic.”

  “Talk about a whopper. D.C. doesn’t even breathe on time. He’s late for everything,” Kyle said, his eyes locked
on the street ahead. He heard the low hum from a bus rumbling down Martin Luther King Avenue. It stopped and moved again, its load lightened by one. When it pulled away, a man in a dark hoodie carrying a canvas bag under his arm trotted across the street. He turned sharply and positioned himself facing toward Kyle and Hopper’s car for a moment too long to be coincidental.

  “He caught the bus? I thought he’d drive.”

  “Depends on what he drives. In this neighborhood, maybe he was afraid it’d get jacked.”

  Kyle cut him a sideways glance, still amazed by Hopper’s level of green, his inexperience. “No, something doesn’t feel right,” Kyle glanced over at the iPad.

  The radio buzzed and Cannon, one of the Gs positioned around the perimeter, said, “Heads up. Possible subject. White male, six-two, dark hoodie, jeans, and sunglasses, approaching the meet location. A black Caddy SUV’s pulling into the parking lot. Stand by.”

  “You got the tracker map screen up?” Kyle asked Hopper.

  “Roger that. It’s activated. D.C.’s car is parked by the chair right now.”

  The radio buzzed again. “They’re making the exchange. The target has the package. Looks like he’s putting it inside the canvas bag.”

  Kyle took a deep breath and started the car. It was time to pursue. Time to meet Lana face-to-face. Hollow point-to-face if he had his way. No matter what, she would pay for killing his best friend. She would pay for the loss to Kyle’s godchildren, Jim’s children.

  “Black Caddy is bugging out,” a voice called over the radio. “Subject’s moving toward the bus stop. Westbound bus approaching. Subject is boarding.”

  Hopper turned to Kyle, his expression panicked, his face red. “I-I-I don’t know what happened. We lost the signal!”

  “What?” Kyle said.

  “It’s gone! Just disappeared.”

  Kyle leaned over the steering wheel in frustration then bolted up and slapped it. “Jesus H. Christ! It didn’t just disappear. It’s the bag. He’s jamming the signal. Gotta be Lana. She knows we’re onto her,” he grabbed the radio. “Cannon. Get ahead of that bus and have the foot team board at the next stop. Tracker’s disabled. We need eyes on the target now!”

  Kyle turned the ignition and pressed the gas to the floor, the wheels turning and screeching until the smell of burnt rubber lingered in the air. “If he gets on the subway, we’re going to lose him. He’ll run us in circles all fucking day.”

  After a short pause, another update.

  “Blue leader, this is Cannon,” he said. “Cham’s on the bus…and target’s gone.”

  “Gone?!” he and Kyle yelled. “What are we, fucking Keystone cops? Unless you want to file for unemployment tomorrow morning, you’ll find him.”

  “All units are sweeping the area and we’ve got a foot team entering the Metro. Standby.”

  Kyle sped down MLK Avenue, grumbling under his breath. “Goddamn, Houdini. They stashed a car down here.”

  “How the hell did he get in the black,” Hopper asked, his glance flicking from side-to-side, scanning for logical escape routes. Then he spotted it. “Pull over! Look right there?”

  Three blocks away two large vans, parked illegally, blocked the view to the bus stop. He could’ve easily slipped out of the rear entrance and between the trucks unnoticed while the Gs boarded in the front, a shrewd move no doubt coached by his partner-in-crime.

  “That’s it,” he said. “That’s got to be it. This case just went to shit. No way we’re going to get them today unless one of the Gs gets lucky.”

  “Don’t give up yet,” Hopper said. “If anyone can find them, they can.”

  With a defeated expression, he waited for a clearing in the traffic. He whirled the steering wheel to the left when he felt his phone vibrate. He glanced at the caller ID. An FBI Headquarters number he didn’t recognize.

  “Oliver. What can I do for you?” he said in a snide voice that said he wouldn’t be doing any favors.

  “No, sir,” Sunnie said. “It’s what I can do for you. We got the results of your facial recognition analysis from the lab.”

  “What did they come back with?”

  “Okay. Looks like a negative on the facial recognition for Lana Michaels. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t her. Just means that they could not confirm the ID based on the analysis.”

  “Well…damn,” he said.

  “The good news is they did get an ID on the car. It was Jersey plate FVB 23K.”

  Kyle sat upright from his formerly slumped position and whispered to Hopper telling him what was going on. “I’ll be damned. Who is it?”

  “One Santino Castellano. He’s a known Bonanno associate with no criminal record. We did a full work up, and he temporarily forwarded his mail to a D.C. address on Irving Street—2131.”

  Kyle gasped. “Santino Castellano on Irving Street?”

  Hopper turned. “Hey, that’s where we interviewed that Sonny guy! You mean Lana was there all along?”

  Kyle slammed on the gas and hit the sirens. “We’ve still got a chance to beat him there. Or at least meet him. And when we do, Lana is mine!”

  Chapter 58

  Sunday Brunch—Irving Street

  J.J. took the elevator down to her condo lobby to meet Tony and Six. They all decided grab a bite at her father’s and head to Alexandria to interview Maddix Cooper. They needed every piece of information they could get to catch Gary Mosin, and Six was in need of company, still quietly reeling from Kendel’s death.

  Meanwhile, J.J. seethed over Tony’s behavior from the night before. Ogling Gia like some horny teenager. His attraction to her was clear to everyone. And every time she pictured his tongue in Gia’s throat, she vomited a little in hers.

  J.J. loved him, with all her heart she did, but she’d be damned if she played second fiddle to some barefoot and pregnant cultural fantasy ingrained in him since he weaned off his mother’s boobs. And Gia seemed all too eager to trade in her day job for Tony, a set of Calphalon pots, and a nursing bra.

  J.J.’s clear sense of self helped her understand that she was simply not made from housewife stock. She didn’t obsess over biological clocks ticking or wedding bells ringing. Only handcuffs clicking and sirens blaring resonated with her, but she also envisioned Tony beside her every step of the way…until now. Damn Task Force. Damn Gia.

  J.J. had the resignation letter in her pocket, she was ready to quit. And even Tony himself didn’t want her to go. Now, he seemed to desire the green grass in the yard next door, rather than the one he’d helped plant and cultivate himself. An interesting turn of events, indeed, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him know he got to her, especially with Six in the car. No, she decided to stay tight-lipped, get through brunch and the interview, and then spend the rest of the evening considering whether a future with Tony was even in the stars. Whether he indeed cared for and loved her as he professed. Did he really have her best interest at heart?

  As she exited the main entrance, Tony’s car was parked at the curb and Six was already inside, seated in the back. She slipped in, exchanged a quick cold greeting, and stared out the window, determined not to utter a word about what happened, especially while Six was sitting in the back seat. He was like a giant chocolate sponge ready to soak in any information hinting at a rift in their relationship in order to exploit it to his own advantage. But Tony refused to let the possum play dead.

  “J.J., you know I can’t do this. Let’s just be adults and clear the air.”

  She slowly rolled her neck until she faced him and snapped, “The air is just fine from where I’m sitting. If you ask me, you’re the one in this car with breathing problems.” She placed her hands around her neck and pretended to choke. Heaven knows she wanted to take him up on his offer. So many heated words were simmering at the tip of her tongue, ready to spill out and fill the car, but she restrained herself. “If you want peace to exist between us, you’ll leave this alone.”

  Tony threw is head back in disbelief.
“There ain’t nothing peaceful about what’s going on here. So just spit it out so we can friggin’ move on.”

  J.J. bit her bottom lip. They weren’t far from her father’s house now, only a few miles away. Oh, how she was tempted to let him have it, but if she was a lie detector, her father was certainly an anger detector. No matter how she tried to mask it and put on a smiling face, he’d know by her strained expression that they’d been slipping around in the muckety-muck. She wondered if she shouldn’t unload before she lugged their issues to the brunch table.

  “Go on. If you’re feeling froggy, take a leap. Nobody in here’s stoppin’ ya.”

  She inhaled deeply and then let it rip. “Since you insist on forcing the issue,” she began, casting a glance over her shoulder at Six whose ears were ready to receive every syllable. “The next time we go to the…store…keep the Hershey bar out of your basket if what you really want is the…peanut brittle. That’s all I’m saying! There will always be someone who wants a Hershey bar…over bony ass peanut brittle.”

  “Hershey bars are my favorite; I’ll take it over peanut brittle every day and twice on Sunday,” Six yelled from the back seat.

  “Really?” Tony said, directing his remarks to Six. Then he turned to J.J. “It doesn’t matter if I look at the peanut brittle, okay? I wanted the Hershey bar. I put the Hershey bar in my basket. I paid for the Hershey bar. And when I got the Hershey bar home, I loved it so much that I ate the hell out of it.”