by Layla Reyne
Nic grabbed one of the rolling chairs and kicked the other over to Aidan. “Do I need to bring you up to speed?”
“Saved you the trouble,” Mel answered instead.
As easy as that, and Aidan was still here, still willing to help. His surprise must have shown. Sighing, Aidan clasped his forearm, squeezing. “For the last fucking time, Dominic, you’re family.”
Still hard to believe, given his limited knowledge of the same, but it was getting harder and harder to deny. And Nic didn’t want to. “All right, then,” he said with a nod. Then to Lauren, “Anything in Dad’s file we didn’t know about already?”
“There’s an outlier account. Neither Vaughn nor your father’s other lenders seem to know about it.”
“Curtis has been careful with this one,” Mel interjected. “All we’ve got so far are records of micro-transactions. Small, non-triggering amounts being taken out of other accounts and deposited into this cloaked offshore one, regularly.”
“How regularly?” Nic asked.
“Every month, for over ten years, until last April.”
Exactly when the unknown calls had started. Because the payments had stopped?
“You’re thinking about the calls,” Mel said, reading his mind.
He nodded. “I have someone in Navy admin looking into them.”
“Could be related,” Mel said. “But that’s an awfully convoluted path to get five thousand to someone in North Carolina.”
“Five thousand total?” Those were micro transactions.
“Five thousand a month,” Lauren corrected.
Aidan whistled. “That’s over half a million by now.”
Not so micro, but in his dad’s investment heyday, five thousand a month was Curtis’s dining out budget.
“For what?” Nic said. “Or for whom?” He made the least sense where Curtis was concerned. “That’s a decent-sized rainy day fund he’s kept hidden.”
“Assuming no one’s tapped it already,” Aidan said. “Do we know that yet?”
Lauren shook her head, strands coming loose from her pencil bun. “Like Mel said, it’s cloaked. We’re still trying to find it. We’ve just got the withdrawals going to the same place. We have to pull back the cloak and find the account.”
“Keep digging,” Nic said, then moved on to the more immediate problem. “What more have we learned about Vaughn?”
Lauren pinged a few keys, and FBI documents on Vaughn zoomed forward on the screens. “He’s connected to half a dozen arsons and at least two murders. Not to mention all the extortion cases he’s suspected of being involved in.”
Nic rolled closer, squinting at the screens.
“How has he not been charged?” Aidan asked.
“It’s all hearsay,” Nic answered, catching on fast to the pattern of evidence before him. “No one’s caught him in the act.”
“He’s threatened you.”
“Me, an interested party. Just like every other person he’s pressured into not testifying or answering the feds’ questions.”
“But you’re not like all those other people, are you?” Mel tried and failed to hide her smile.
“No, I’m not, but I need more than this—” he pointed at the screens “—to charge him. Bowers will never move on Vaughn based on my word alone.”
Lauren spun in her chair, facing him. “You do realize who’s the prosecutor who stalls us out all the time, right?”
“Oh, I realize, but I need a paper trail Bowers—or the Deputy AG, if I go over his head—can’t refute.”
“We think we’ve found the start of one.” Mel waved him over to the metal desk running the length of the opposite wall. She spread a stack of bank statements out in front of him. “Your father’s assistant has been most helpful.” She tapped a French nail by the payor’s name on the first sheet. “This is the account that paid off his bank home loan.” She tapped at the second. “The same payor also paid off the subordinate lenders on your father’s building in Burlingame. One of Vaughn’s entities.”
Nic gestured at the other sheets. “And who do all these other accounts belong to?”
“Federal employees.”
Nic’s mouth went dry, and Aidan gasped behind him. “Vaughn’s got that many people on payroll?”
“Do any of them trace back to Bowers?” Nic asked.
“We isolated his accounts first, and no,” Lauren said, clearly disappointed. “We’re working on the others.”
Nic glanced at Aidan. “Only a handful of people have been on each case and would know where I was.”
Aidan nodded. “We’ll run the list as soon as we get it.”
It was a break, a better one than they’d had in months, but it still involved exerting pressure on pawns Vaughn already had under his control. Nic, however, had a direct path to Vaughn, if he chose to play the queen on the board. “There might be another avenue open to us.”
Mel crossed one leg over the other, heel bouncing. “What’s that?”
“Vaughn approached me at the brewery Saturday night.”
Lauren slumped back in her chair, staring openmouthed at the ceiling. “And y’all complain about me always hiding the ball.”
Nic would’ve laughed if Aidan didn’t look like he was about to spit nails. At him. “That’s what you wouldn’t tell me last night.”
“I’m sorry,” Nic said. “Won’t happen again.”
“What’d he say?” Mel asked, calm and assessing. This was a friendly team-up meeting, and yet Nic still felt like she was interrogating him.
“He made certain...”
“Threats?” Aidan supplied.
“Overtures.”
“To what, come work for him?”
“Not exactly.” His cringe must have given him away, because Lauren’s blue eyes went round as saucers and her mouth fell open in a silent oh.
“You want to use yourself, as bait,” Mel likewise surmised.
“If I can get him to actually confess, on record...”
“By seducing him.” Aidan, very not calm, shot out of his chair, sending it slamming back into the metal table. “You’re walking a thin line of entrapment.”
“Entrapment requires I induce him to commit a crime he wouldn’t otherwise commit. He’s gonna commit a crime. I’m not talking him into anything.”
“No,” Aidan said, pacing in front of him. “It’s just you, talking yourself into an early grave.”
Nic stood, squaring off against the other man. He wasn’t angry or upset. He was actually humbled by Aidan’s concern, by his commitment to protecting his family, including him.
But the same held true for Nic. “Vaughn’s gunning for me, my livelihood, and my family.” He punctuated the last word with a significant glance around the room, at the members of his family gathered here. “If I don’t start talking soon—if I can’t find a different song to sing—then I’m going to be dead anyways. And I refuse to take any of my family to the grave with me.”
Chapter Ten
Run out of his mom’s room by the night nurses, Cam traded the chair by her bed for the one in the hallway. She’d come through the bypass fine, though she was still mostly asleep, only waking once during his shift—he checked the time on his phone—which ended shortly. He was starting to fade too after a day of searching through books and archives. Not even the atrociously uncomfortable hallway chair was stalling the nodding off. He checked his phone again. Almost midnight there; he’d still be awake.
Nic picked up on the second ring. “You on night shift again?”
“West Coast time, relatively,” he said around a yawn. “Dad can go home and sleep, and Bobby and Quinn can be with their families.”
“You need to sleep too.”
“Keith comes on at three. Only God and the Marine Corps know what time zone his body’s set to.
I’ll sleep then.”
Nic laughed, low and soft. “I remember that, never quite sure where or when you are.”
Cam slouched in his chair, closing his eyes against the florescent lights and white walls. He could commiserate with them both. Not quite sure where and when he was. He needed to be here with his family, and today at the station, he was reminded of the people he missed working with. But Nic’s voice, his laugh, made Cam want to be someplace different too. He felt grounded in Nic’s presence, adrift without him.
“Hey, Boston, you still there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” He opened his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, tugging it, as if he could tug himself into the here and now. Awake. “Zoned out there a minute.”
“That thing I mentioned about sleep...”
“Zip it, smart ass.” Nic laughed again, and Cam hated to have to upend the easy mood of the only easy conversation he’d had today, but he needed an update worse, and a distraction worse still. “Anything new on Vaughn?”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
Cam gritted his teeth and righted himself in the chair. “I’ll worry about you if I goddamn want to.”
“I said you don’t need to worry about that because I brought in Aidan and AD Moore, like you suggested.”
Cam unclenched his jaw and released a giant sigh. “Thank fuck.” He’d still worry, no stopping that, but this was progress. More people on the team meant maybe they’d fix this shit with Vaughn and Curtis before more bullets flew. At Nic.
“We’ve got the full FBI files now,” Nic went on. “We’re following the money, looking for Vaughn’s Bureau and USAO sources. Fucking game of whack-a-mole, but we’ll get there.”
“And when you do?”
“Pressure, and if I make a run at Vaughn directly—”
Cam launched out of his chair. “If you do what?”
“It’s fine, Boston.”
“The fuck it is,” he shot back, hand braced on the opposite wall, trying to stop himself from punching through it. “I should be there.”
“You should be right where you are. I can take care of me.”
“He threaten you again?”
“Not so much. He showed up at Gravity.”
Cam’s arm gave out and he sagged front-first into the wall, banging his forehead on the plaster. “Fuck me.”
“Listen, Cam. Aidan and Moore have my back now too, in addition to Mel and Lauren. We got this. Now, tell me how it’s going there with your mom.”
He flattened his palm and counted to ten, biting back the argument on the tip of his tongue. Nic was right. He had all the team assembled there, except Cam and Jamie, who were here. If they really needed them, they’d say so, Aidan especially. Didn’t make it any easier, knowing the guy he was falling for could make one wrong move and Cam would be across the country where he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. But fucking argue. And what the fuck good was that going to do at three in the morning but piss the both of them off.
He took a deep breath and pushed off the wall. “She’s fine. Bypass surgery went as well as could be expected. Now we wait for her to stabilize before they assess if another operation is needed.”
“That’s good. What about Erin’s case? You and Jamie make any progress?”
He dragged his feet back across the hallway and collapsed again into the chair, waving at the nurses on the way out of his mother’s room. “We were at the Family Justice Center today, going through old missing persons cases. Trying to find links.”
“You didn’t do all that before?” Nic asked.
“Yes, I have, but fresh eyes, and a fresh list from Mom.”
“Your mom?”
“It’s been her pet project the past year. She’s been making notes and missing persons lists in her old romance novels.”
“No shit?” The admiration in Nic’s voice made Cam smile.
“No shit, and you’ll never guess who one of the names was.” He didn’t keep him in suspense long. “Rebecca Wright.”
“You’re shit—” He cut himself off, and Cam could picture Nic drumming his fingers on the nearest surface, deep in thought. “Actually, I remember that. There was a missing persons report in her file.”
“From when she was fourteen. Two years older than Erin.”
“But she didn’t stay missing. False alarm, as far as we understood.”
“And the two matters are probably unconnected, but given her similar appearance and age when she disappeared...”
“You want me to question her?”
“If you’ve got time.”
“I’ll make time.”
That feeling of being too far from shore walloped Cam again. The anchor was right there, but out of reach, the current pulling him back the other way.
Unfortunately, he had to go with the current, back out to sea, for the time being, especially with Bobby and Keith stepping off the elevator at the end of the hall. “Fuck, I gotta go.”
“Everything okay?”
“Keith just got here,” he said, standing.
“Good, go get some sleep.”
The genuine concern in Nic’s voice tamped down his instinct to snark. “Thank you, for following up,” he said instead, meaning it both ways. “And let me know what Becca says.”
“Of course. Later, Boston.”
“Bye for now,” Cam replied, and the words felt wrong the second they left his mouth.
Nic hung up before he could correct them. But would giving his usual signoff be fair? Could he answer “Sooner, Price,” when he had no idea when sooner would be?
“You look like you ate something sour,” Bobby said.
Keith, without a greeting or second glance, went directly into their mother’s room.
Cam’s gaze followed his younger brother, until the older one in front of him spoke. “He’s angry.”
“He’s been angry for two decades.”
“Because of what we did.”
Grim-faced, Bobby tilted his head toward the other end of the hallway. They were halfway down the hall before Cam asked, “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be home sleeping.”
“Sat up talking with Keith, then gave him a lift here.”
“Don’t you have to be at work in the morning?”
Bobby waggled his dark brows as he ducked into one of the lounges. “Benefits of being the boss.” He ran his own private security company, an ironic yet appropriate gig for a former B&E guy. “Besides, you’re the one who looks like he needs sleep.”
“Everyone keeps telling me that.”
“Because it’s true,” Bobby said, as he poured coffee for them both. “How are you, really?”
“Tired,” he admitted, eagerly taking the cup, and Bobby smiled wider. “The case—”
“Don’t want to hear about the case.” He pulled out a chair at one of the lounge tables, and Cam claimed the other across from him.
“You’re angry too.”
“No,” Bobby said, surprising Cam. “I understand why she asked, and why you have to look. You’re doing us both a favor.”
“But Keith...”
“He’d be just as angry if you were here, looking over his shoulder.” He took a long swallow, then leaned back in his chair. “I meant, how are you doing? After that case last spring? With work? With San Francisco? You haven’t really mentioned to anyone how life’s going for you out there.”
“I’m not the one we need to be worrying about right now.”
Bobby laid a coffee-warmed hand on his forearm. “I’m not worried. I just want to know, and to not think about our mom’s condition for five minutes.”
There was a reason he and Bobby were closest. They thought so much alike, for better or worse. “The case was hard. I can’t go into details.”
“Understood. B
ut you made it through okay?”
“Yeah, I have a good partner and good friends. They kept me grounded through it.” The heist case had been rough, having to dig into his old life to save another, and there’d been more than a few close calls. Worth it, though. “I was able to help someone else’s sister too.”
“That’s good, that’s good.”
“I haven’t broken our promise, Bobby.” After Erin’s disappearance, they’d promised each other never to slip back into the life. It’d been hard for Cam on that case, to ignore the adrenaline rush each time he cracked a safe, coming right up on his red line multiple times, but he’d stayed on the right side of it, by remembering the promise he’d made to Bobby and the people counting on him.
“I know that,” Bobby said with a nod. “How’s San Francisco?”
“Fucking expensive.” Cam groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “And fucking swarming with Giants and Warriors fans. Though get this, Nic, the ex-special forces prosecutor—” he lowered his voice because God forbid anyone hear the blasphemy he was about to utter “—fucking Kings fan.”
Now it was Bobby’s turn to groan, loudly.
“He’s determined to rename Bird, Joe.”
“And this guy’s still a friend?”
More than, but Cam still wasn’t ready to have that conversation, not while they were all so tense. “He also brews a wicked-good beer,” he said, sticking to a safer topic.
“Hmm, good man to have around then.” Bobby searched his face, a little too knowing, and Cam stood, heading back to the coffeepot. “Anyone special in San Fran?” Bobby asked.
Cam almost bobbled the pot. “A few dates here or there, but with work...”
“No one at work?” Bobby continued to dig, damn him.
“After Aidan and Jamie’s office romance, no.” It technically wasn’t a lie.
Bobby shrugged. “Worked out for them. Jamie looks happy.”
“He is, and I’m happy for him.”
“You deserve to be happy too, Cameron.”
The words and sentiment were so heartfelt, Bobby’s blue eyes so concerned, that Cam could tell this wasn’t the first time Bobby had had this conversation. For some reason, the matter of his love life, or lack thereof, was a family concern worth discussing. “Why’s everyone on my ass and not Keith’s?”
