Savage Deception

by R. T. Wolfe

  She crisscrossed her legs and faced his list of names. "Thurmond Moody. I opened the envelope you sent me."

  "I met with him on Tuesday."

  "You what?"

  "I met with him about some work, some portraits."

  "Bullshit."

  "Well, I know that and you know that—"

  "No, I mean it's bullshit. Think about it, Duncan. You sent me pictures of him at the press conference announcing my return home. And again, when I was sworn in as detective. I remembered his bracelet. I can't remember him wearing it, but that can't be a coincidence."

  "Yes, I've thought of the possible connection with him, but you and me?"

  She dropped her legs and turned to face him. "We seem to be gaining some public... something. I'm no Bebe Lyons, don't get me wro—"

  "I don't want a Bebe Lyons."

  "I know. It's confusing." She trailed the words. It was a million-dollar puzzle.

  "I'm not famous is what I meant. Yet the Lyons knew who I was. Even my parents had gotten wind of us and came all the way from their precious Maryland to slum in upstate New York."

  "Your portraits were on nearly every wall." He leaned in and bit her earlobe. "I earned a half-dozen new clients thanks to those portraits. You think he knows I know." A sinister light bulb seemed to appear over his head. "You think he's setting me up as I try to set him up."

  "You got it."

  "I can use that."

  "Oh, no you don't. We can use that."

  She nodded to the chart paper before he could turn away. "Why Tanner and McKinney?"

  "I'm thinking of everyone who was either involved with you on an illegal level or might somehow be. Did you read my email explaining the sketch of the man of Asian descent?"

  It had to be done sooner or later. Slowly, she stood and took the black pencil from the chalk tray at the base of the easel. Taking a deep breath, she faced him. "I have something to share with you that isn't going to sit well. Will you promise to keep it where it belongs, in the police investigation?"

  "No."

  She sighed but continued. Reaching for the end of his list, she drew a single line across the words, 'Asian man,' and above wrote the name, 'Jun Zheng.'

  "You know who he is?"

  She nodded.

  "That's why he—?"

  "Said my name at the casino in Vegas, yes. He must have recognized me."

  "But then... that means... fuck. Fuck." He rose to his feet, hit the easel hard enough to send it to across the room in pieces. "He was one of them. Is one of them, and I've been sitting on this for how long?"

  "In your email you mentioned Slippery Jimbo had spotted him in town."

  Duncan stopped at his wet bar, braced himself, elbows locked, and shook his head back and forth. She'd seen him lose his temper, and it wasn't something she thought this shiny new room could withstand.

  "Yes, and I think he might have been the driver in Tanner and McKinney's get-away truck."

  She wrapped her hands around his sides. His head hung low between his arms.

  Taking in this new information, she sorted through it as she tried to calm the storm. "You didn't know," she crooned.

  "I knew something. I kept it from you. I don't even know why."

  For the first time since she'd known him, he sounded vulnerable. She could have handled angry, dismissive, passionate, or even protective; these were familiar. "I know why," she said as she stepped to the side of him.

  He turned to her, brows together.

  She repeated the words Gloria had spoken. "You've been forced to keep secrets your entire life. Big secrets. Ones no child should need to keep."

  "And you forgave me. Twice. And for something like this." It wasn't a question.

  "We're a pair of something, you and me. I just have no idea what that is yet."

  * * *

  Duncan sat in the love seat he had installed in his plane. The plush carpet and table lamp atmosphere did little to settle him. When did his life turn around to where leaving New York caused nerves? He went over his time estimates for his next few projects, reread the schedule his secretary had made for him and started outlining his next move.

  Zheng was a wash. Duncan had dragged Andy to three different, distant Wi-Fi spots, leaving a traceless virtual maze through eight states and three countries as they searched. He used every system, scan and database he had access to. And a few he didn't.

  For now, Nickie would track down her Slippery Jimbo, and Duncan would concentrate on Moody. He thought he could pull one over on Duncan. He might have, but not now. Duncan had a plan and decided to include the police department for a change. It seemed necessary that he become accustomed to working with the police. Irony at its finest.

  Pulling out his phone, he sat back and placed his feet on the coffee table secured to the floor in front of him. He punched in Nickie's cell and texted,

  'detective, i'd like to set up a meeting with your captain.'

  He set his laptop on his legs and added a conference call he'd scheduled with a realtor in Louisiana for the following day to his secretary's planner. Opening the master spreadsheet of the properties he owned, his cell vibrated.

  Nickie answered,

  'r u sure ur ready?'

  'yes. I'll be back sat. afternoon. late.'

  'this isn't his jurisdiction.'

  'do we have options?'

  'FBI. i'll have 2 do it on my own.'

  Of course. What had he been thinking? Sliding his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket, he stared blankly at the sea of numbers in front him.

  Any doubt he had about Moody's involvement with the kidnappings was erased. There may be more than one man who owned a bracelet like the one found in the abandoned house in Nevada. It was little more than circumstantial evidence to say the photos of Moody wearing one that matched led him to the scene of the crime. But when Nickie remembered it, that was good enough for Duncan. Circumstantial still, for Nickie's set of cop rules and guidelines, but he wasn't a cop. Moody was involved. Involved enough to have been in Nevada. Involved enough to have been in that out-of-the-way house of horrors. Involved enough to have something to do with Nickie.

  Moody told him he kept away from crowds, that he wouldn't be around Time's Square for his own state's traditional dropping of the ball. There was more to it. Duncan was sure of it. He couldn't find a single photo of Moody at any of the Times Square New Year's Eve celebrations.

  Picture after picture showed Moody in the center of Mardi Gras, poker tournaments and NBA finals. Nickie explained to him that the men took the girls around the country to anywhere large numbers of wealthy men gathered.

  The white house. The white house on Moody's property was used for this. It had to be. There was a parking lot. Why else would he have a parking lot? Why was such a decorated place dug deep into his property?

  New Year's Eve.

  Chapter 16

  The nonstop week at the station should have made time fly. Instead, it was the longest week Nickie could remember in a while. She sat in her car in the parking lot next to the small Northridge runway. Duncan's plane was due on time, but she kept checking her watch anyway. Get a grip, Savage.

  An investigation into several stolen objects that turned up in the local pawnshop, a couple of teenagers missing from a winter hike in the mountains who ended up missing on purpose, follow up on the rape victim who was only now softening to the idea of coming forward. It was all part of the job. And Nickie was a woman. She could multitask. Regardless, the itch in the back of her head grew as time went on.

  She was anxious to see him, anxious about their meeting with the feds and anxious at how she allowed herself to be anxious. Hers was the only car in the lot. It wasn't meant for regular customers. Only a handful of planes landed and took off in the time she waited. He'd taken trips before. Dozens of them, some longer than this one. But she wanted him, needed him and wasn't sure that was a smart thing to let herself do at this point in her life.

  Each
plane that came into view made her sit up. They all looked the same, dammit. As soon as she was sure it was him, she bolted from her car like a high school girl. It was crazy. They still had to do the taxi thing and the shutdown thing. It took a while to lower the stairs. And yet, there she stood, behind the fence, freezing in the wind.

  The pilot came down the stairs with him. They were making some kind of arrangements. Duncan always treated the people who worked for him with respect and attention. As soon as they shook hands, he turned, scanning the inside observation area first. Yeah, she should be in there. When his eyes turned to search the outdoor waiting spot, he found her. In one of the rare Duncan Reed moments, he smiled, teeth and all. It was brilliant. Tiny lines radiated from his eyes, the sharp features that framed his face softened. Her knees nearly betrayed her.

  He motioned toward the end of the gate. As if she had all the time in the world, she strolled to the spot where he directed, forcing her feet to walk at a normal speed. Meeting up with her, he took her arm and dipped her into a dramatic kiss. The surprise should have made her stiffen, but she trusted him to keep her from falling. It was a damn good metaphor.

  "I missed you, Detective."

  A few jeers came from the grounds crew and the boy who carried his luggage.

  He pulled her upright, and she ran her fingers through the top of his hair. "I thought about you once or twice."

  For a moment, he turned his head, judging her sincerity. Then, he tossed her over his iron shoulder, bouncing her like that as he headed for her car. A few yards from it, he stopped abruptly. "I really hate that car," he said.

  As he slid her to the ground, she said, "Be nice to her. She's sensitive."

  "She is not sensitive." Nickie wasn't sure if he was talking about the car or her.

  Duncan reached around, opened the driver's side door and popped the trunk. The boy who carried his luggage tossed them in.

  "The feds agreed to first thing Monday morning unless something else comes up," she said as he tipped the boy.

  Duncan slid into the passenger side, and she followed into the driver's side, surprised he was up for her driving, which was perfectly safe. Before she could start the ignition, he leaned over and gave her another quick kiss. She grabbed hold of the back of his head. She'd waited for days for his lips to be on hers, his hair in her grasp. He wasn't getting off that easy. His hair was soft and just long enough to lace her fingers through and grab hold. Sensations in her body played like an orchestra with the melody waving from head to toe and the harmony centered directly in her heart.

  * * *

  They spent the evening dining at Nickie's favorite hole-in-the-wall bar and grill, followed by a round of toe-curling sex at his place. Her eyes drifted closed as she sat with her cello between her legs. She'd played a solid hour as Duncan painted. Wagner's Lohengrin, Chopin's "No. 3 in E Minor." The reddening calluses on her fingertips were well worth it. She could live this way for the rest of her life.

  The thought brought her back to reality like a roller coaster screeching to a halt. Her bow stopped. Her fingers stopped.

  He turned his eyes to her, then squinted.

  She was literally choking on her thoughts and waved her hand as a signal it was nothing. Alluding to the pretense that she was done playing anyhow, she set her instrument on the stand he'd bought for her. She reminded herself to add it to her mental list, right under house key and drawer, when her eyes stuck to his chart paper. The one with the list of men he decided were involved in the kidnapping and prostitution ring.

  "We can't find anything on Zheng." She said it like they hadn't already known it.

  His arms quit moving at the sound of Zheng's name. He didn't answer, but she hadn't asked a question. Only his eyes moved to her, and this time they stayed there.

  "You found Moody in the background of pictures—the press conference announcing my return from being a rebellious teenage runaway, the one regarding my transfer to Northridge. He was tagged in those, of course, because he's been the frigging personal assistant to how many governors?"

  He stood and came to join her, also letting his eyes roam the list of names.

  "We know the former captain of police and fire chief were involved. We could search for images of them—"

  "And search for Zheng in the background. You are a genius." He grabbed her hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing hard enough to make her eyes water. But he didn't notice. His eyes were glued to the names on the paper, written appropriately in the darkest of black.

  * * *

  Nickie sat in her office, polishing reports that were due as she waited for the feds. She and Duncan had spent hours Saturday night searching hundreds of images for Jun Zheng. Sunday was much of the same, moving the number of images searched into the thousands.

  The three pictures of him they found had been shrunk and taped to the edges of her computer monitor. They were getting closer, and she was going to take down the rat bastard.

  Before she had time to savor the gleeful image of doing so, the ancient intercom system on her desk buzzed. "Savage," she answered.

  "Special Agents Strong and Lewis here to see you, Detective."

  "Send them up." She rose and closed the blinds to her office. Looking around, she noticed there wasn't a single clear place to sit or set a briefcase. Quickly, she stacked papers, files and books in a corner next to her printer, and threw away papers from the floor that had missed the trash.

  Then, she eyed the shots she and Duncan had found of Zheng. She took the pictures and tucked them into her bottom desk drawer. She wasn't ready to share Jun Zheng with the feds.

  Strong and Lewis stood outside her open door. Lewis knocked. They didn't come in. It made her want to roll her eyes and cringe at the thought of everyone in the common area staring at them.

  "Come in, guys. Shut the door behind you."

  They seemed out of place in her dismal office and rickety chairs.

  "Any news?" She wondered if they would offer any information.

  Lewis glanced at Strong. Lewis was the one who shared with her more than she had the impression he should have.

  "We flew out here to hear what you think you've uncovered."

  So damned condescending. "I suggested a conference call," she retorted.

  There was a long silence, which would have been awkward if it didn't feel so good.

  Lewis blinked first. "We have a lead that says they're taking some girls to Madison Square Garden. We've got a man on the inside posing as a customer."

  "Is this the 'important information' you mentioned that the thugs I arrested in Vegas gave you in their plea bargain?" From the looks on their faces, they must have assumed she forgot about that. Not a chance.

  "Yes," Lewis answered flatly.

  "I want in," she said just as flatly.

  They glanced at each other before Strong jumped in. "What do you have?"

  She supposed it was her turn. That was fair. She couldn't resist, however, baiting them. "An acquaintance of mine recently had a meeting with Theodore Mundy, personal assistant to the governor of New York."

  "Thurmond Moody," Strong corrected.

  She mispronounced Moody's name on purpose. And since she didn't think even FBI special agents had memorized the names of the personal assistants to every governor in the nation, Moody must already have red flags surrounding him.

  "Right. Moody. So, this guy has a meeting with an acquaintance of mine about some work—legit work—a portrait Moody wants painted of him in front of his Jag."

  "Is this acquaintance Duncan Reed?" Strong smirked. Male posturing was so annoying. She supposed they didn't know that she knew they'd been digging into her personal life.

  "Sure, it's him. Duncan likes to do simple background checks on potential clients. I noticed a photo he'd printed of Moody." It was mostly true.

  She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and took out the print. She turned it to face them, but they didn't seem to catch the bracelet that hung
below the sleeve of his shirt. Reaching back into the drawer, she pulled out the close up of the bracelet and held the pictures for them side by side.

  They had how many cases? She didn't know. Maybe a few. Maybe dozens. So, she gave them an imaginary thumbs up that they recognized the bracelet.

  "It's circumstantial," Lewis said, although it was definitely with reluctance.

  "I'm not finished." She took a sip of soda from her large Styrofoam cup. "Duncan mentioned that Moody made a point to tell him he doesn't like to attend big ticket venues anymore, specifically mentioned Times Square on New Year's Eve. As he is the personal assistant to the governor of New York, that made me curious. I did some searching. I found him cheezing for the camera at dozens of big-ticket venues, and not always political big-ticket venues. Super Bowl parties, bigger poker tournaments, the Kentucky Derby, NBA Finals. You get where I'm going with this? All places known for hosting prostitution rings, both adult, child and coed."

  Strong opened his mouth, but Nickie held up a hand. "Still not finished. Duncan took a wrong turn when he entered Moody's property." Sort of. "It took him past four warehouse buildings and down farther to a spectacular, two-story white house fully equipped with a lighted parking lot. Moody turned up his nose to Duncan's suggestion this might be the quarters for the help. In fact, Duncan was with Moody for over two hours and only ever saw a single person serving the man. I think Moody uses this house for guests. I think he brings the girls there. His place is close enough to the city. An hour drive from the city for an all-night party in lush accommodations is about right."

  They sat still, listening without taking notes. "Thank you for the information. We'll do some digging and see what we come up with." They were going to leave. Dismissive assholes.

  "Still not finished." It was good to be on her own turf. "I want men. I am requesting that you wave that wand of yours, talk to the Alabaster, New York, captain in Moody's jurisdiction and get me some squad cars. I want them for between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. outside the perimeter of Thurmond Moody's property the night of New Year's Eve."