Jake was well-known in the agency. He’d moved up in the ranks fast, which had him on everyone’s radar.
“Shit—when Sean made his so-called phone calls asking around about Connor, he must have talked to the wrong damn person.”
Jake. “Jake’s being here is not the problem.” I gulped. “He’ll know who I am.”
“I highly doubt that, Olivia.” There was a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “You haven’t been with the agency that long.”
I exhaled a breath and walked to my window. “He was one of my instructors at Quantico.”
“What?”
Jake didn’t normally teach at Quantico, but he was brought in special to teach a class on counterterrorism in the United States. Identifying, investigating, and diffusing terrorist cells.
“Why did Connor bring an FBI agent to town? Is he here for a visit, or is Connor . . .?”
“I have no idea,” I said, but part of me had a gut feeling that Connor had called in a favor from an old Marine buddy. He wasn’t planning on making a deal with Declan. He was probably trying to take Declan down, like me. I just didn’t know why.
And because I’d pulled him into the deal, I’d put Connor directly in harm’s way.
I was sure Connor could handle himself, and the fact that he had a high-level FBI agent on his side, meant I shouldn’t worry. But something nagged at my core, making me feel a little sick.
Maybe it was the lying.
Terrorists would be using weapons that Connor’s company made—and Connor had no idea.
“I have to tell him who I am. We’re on the same team.” I sank back onto my bed.
“No. We don’t know that for sure. I don’t know what Connor’s endgame is, but we have our own priorities. Just keep away from Connor while Jake is in town.”
“But we can work together,” I protested.
“No!”
“Blake. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Olivia, don’t make me remind you that you take your orders from me. You work for me. We cannot tell anyone. Period.”
“You’re making a mistake.” I wanted to say more. To yell and scream, but I bit my tongue. I needed to come up with an alternative to present to Blake, because I knew arguing with him would get me nowhere.
“I don’t care what Connor’s intentions are—when he makes a deal with Declan, he’s going down, too. We’ve already discussed this. I’m really not sure why we’re rehashing this again.”
My nostrils flared.
“Can you come here so we can talk in person? We need to strategize.” His voice was calmer now, at least.
I glanced at my watch. “I have a few things I need to take care of first. Swing by in a few hours.”
“Stay out of trouble.”
He hung up before I could say anything, which was probably for the better.
I went into my bathroom and swept my hair up into a loose bun, then placed my palms on the counter and stared into my eyes. It was lonely doing what I did. I didn’t have any real friends. The only friends I made were for my cover.
Like Claire. And Bobby. I hated that they’d be blindsided by the truth when it all came out, but that was the name of the game. I couldn’t risk them knowing.
I wondered how long I’d be able to keep this life up. Living lies, even if for a good cause. Would I ever be able to marry? Have a family?
My thoughts drifted to Connor. For the first time in a long time, when I thought about him, I smiled.
***
Connor
“Tyson went to the Middle East three times in April before your father died,” Jake said as I parked my Jeep outside the police station.
“With my dad?”
Jake shook his head. “By himself, but the charges were billed to your father’s credit card.”
“Where’d he go?”
He reached into his pocket for his phone, studied it for a moment, then looked up at me. “Pakistan, Iraq, and Syria.”
“That can’t be a coincidence.” I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening. “What else did you find?”
“He was in Syria for two days. And Iraq and Pakistan once each. All trips were within a week apart.”
“I’ll have to look into a connection between my father’s prior deals with Declan in relation to when Tyson flew abroad. Maybe my father had concerns about something and sent Tyson to follow up. And the evidence is in the safe deposit box.”
“It makes sense.” We stopped just outside the police station entrance, standing at the top of the stairs.
“Declan helped Matthews Tech secure the Saudi contract, but maybe my father regretted it later, or found out Declan was doing something illegal. Worse than simple corporate bribery.”
“So, Edward tried to back out. Declan said no. And he collected evidence to bring Declan down—”
“Or my dad was blackmailing Declan. Had something in his pocket on him just in case.” I wouldn’t put it past my father. If he was willing to work with Declan in the first place, it was possible he was attempting to manipulate the situation for a better deal for himself and the company. But it was still a bit farfetched. My father had always been an honest man, so I had thought. “Hell, I don’t know. We need more proof.” I slipped my sunglasses off.
“We’ll get it.”
I nodded, and we made our way through the precinct and down the stairs to the medical examiner’s office. “Is he expecting us?”
Jake had flashed his badge and worked his magic to get us in the police station and to the ME’s office. “Yeah. We’re right on time.”
Two glass doors automatically slid open, allowing us entrance to the OCME, the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner.
“You must be Jake Summers.” A tall and fit African American man approached us. After he’d shaken Jake’s hand, his brown eyes shifted to me. “I’m Danny Bennett. I run the department. Jake told me on the phone that you have reason to believe my John Doe might be someone you know?” He folded his arms across his white coat.
I glanced at Jake before focusing back on Danny. The three of us were alone in the room. There was a body on a table a few feet away, and my stomach turned at the sight of it. An autopsy in progress.
Jake nudged me in the side. I still hadn’t spoken, unable to tear my eyes away from the body, even though the sight of it made me ill. “Yes.” I reached into my pocket for the photo I’d found of Tyson at my father’s office; a different one than the image Jake had emailed the ME’s office. “I’m looking for this man, and I’m hoping he’s alive and not here.”
Danny took the picture and studied it. “He might be a match for my John Doe, but the body is in pretty bad shape. You up for a look?” He handed the picture back, and I nodded.
We followed him through another pair of doors, and the cool air slammed us as we entered the room. Danny walked over to a silver wall with several black handles; it was basically a refrigerator for bodies. Great.
Danny pulled open drawer five from the middle of the wall, and he unzipped the body bag. My hand shot to my face, covering my mouth as I stared at the corpse. “Where’d they find the body?”
“The Hudson,” he answered. “He died several weeks ago, but his body was only recently discovered.”
“Doesn’t look like he drowned,” Jake remarked while eyeing the body.
The ME donned a pair of purple latex gloves and lifted one of the corpse’s hands. “His fingertips have been severed. Missing.” He opened the man’s mouth. “Each tooth was pulled.”
Bile rose in my throat, and I turned away from the body. It was hard to tell if it was Tyson. The body was discolored, and the flesh partially stripped. “Does he have a tattoo?” I remembered Tyson had a tattoo of the Marine Corps flag on his chest. We’d been at a family function at Martha’s Vineyard once when I was fifteen, and Tyson had been there. My father had brought him everywhere like Tyson was his own personal secret service.
On the beach I’d noticed Tyson’s tattoo,
which prompted me to ask him about his time in the Marines. Our conversation had always stuck with me, and the night my father and I had the big blowout, I remembered Tyson, and I thought, Why not?
“He has a tattoo,” Danny responded.
“Marine Corps flag on his chest?” I balled my hands at my sides, my chest flaring with rage. Tyson had been a good man. A better man than my father. He was someone I went to for advice when I was a teen. He’d worked for my father since I was twelve. I respected the man. And now—
“Yes.”
“How’d he die?” I still couldn’t turn around. Jake’s hand was on my shoulder, and I leaned forward, pressing my hands to my knees.
“He had multiple wounds, but the final blow was most likely the stab wound to the left groin that hit the femoral artery. He was either tortured, or someone really didn’t want his identity discovered. Probably both.”
I sucked in a breath, held it a moment, and released it. I needed to get out of there.
“You gonna be okay?” Jake asked as my spine straightened.
“With Tyson dead, I have to assume that my father was also murdered.” I turned to face Danny, who was zipping up Tyson’s body bag.
“Is it possible that someone could fake a heart attack?” I knew the answer, but I was curious to hear a medical opinion.
“Of course. A lot of drugs can induce a heart attack. Even some common medicines, if abused, can result in heart failure, especially if someone has a pre-existing heart condition.” He pushed Tyson’s body back into the refrigerator. The thought of his body packed away like meat made me sick again.
“We need to get to my father’s place and check it out.”
“Thank you.” Jake shook Danny’s hand again, and I followed suit.
I handed Danny a small scrap of paper I’d brought with me, just in case. “Here’s the name and phone number for this man’s sister. You might want to have her come and ID the body.”
“Thank you. Sorry for your loss,” Danny said, averting his eyes to the floor. I couldn’t imagine his job—having to meet with families and give them the worst news of their lives.
“Thanks.” Jake and I left the police station and made our way back to the Jeep.
“You ready to go to your father’s?”
I sighed. I had to do it eventually. “I guess.”
Jake turned on the radio. Country music, of course.
I glared at him. “Hell, no.”
“Oh, come on. This is real music.” He drummed his fingers on his knees and looked out the window.
“I don’t want to hear about someone’s broken truck and dog running away.”
“At least my music has lyrics. Unlike that techno stuff you listen to.”
“I don’t listen to techno. It’s called house music.” I pulled out onto the road, joining the pack of cars on the busy street. “They sing, F.Y.I.”
“Uh huh. Sure.” He grinned at me.
“Man, I don’t know how I put up with you in the past.”
“Oh shit,” Jake said a few minutes later.
“What?” I stopped at a red light and looked over at Jake, who was holding his phone.
“I just got hits on the photos of those guys you sent me.” With a low voice he announced the names: “Andrei Belyakov and Oleg Konstantin.”
I quickly reached for the music, turning it off. “Konstantin? As in Alexander Konstantin?”
“Oleg is Alexander’s nephew—his brother’s son. And Andrei is one of Alexander’s hitmen.” He tapped at his phone. “Tyson’s murder has Russian mafia written all over it. It’s a classic Russian hit—everything from the teeth and fingers to the Hudson River. And with you running into Oleg and Andrei at the gym yesterday—”
“It just seems suspect that Declan would ever introduce me to them.” I paused, thinking back to the gym. “Well, they didn’t exactly give me their names.”
“You could be reading into that, but the fact that he’s friends with these guys means he’s probably connected to Alexander Konstantin.”
“Declan mentioned making a deal with the Russians, but the Russian mafia wasn’t the first thought that came to my mind when he said that.” I gripped the steering wheel as the light changed. “Can Konstantin be the middle-man between Reid Enterprises and the Saudi deal? Is Konstantin even capable of creating that kind of connection in the Middle East?” Frustration pushed through me, knocking me off my game. It was a feeling I wasn’t used to, and sure as hell didn’t like.
“Konstantin could probably make the mayor of New York run in circles and sing damn opera if he wanted, but a deal with the Saudis?” He pulled his lips together in thought.
“This is getting complicated.”
“Thank God I’m here to help you.” He smirked at me and reached into his pocket and pulled out his black-rimmed glasses. “I’ve pulled up the rap sheets on Oleg and Andrei.”
“And?”
“They’ve been in and out of jail for the last twelve years. But they rarely served longer than a few months. Most of the crimes were small. Just got out of jail recently, though. The both of them.” Jake scratched his jaw. “Well, damn. I almost missed this. Nine and a half years ago, they were both accused of murder, but the case never made it to trial. Two people were killed at a club in the city—a bartender and Colin McGregor, the right-hand man of the McGregor crew, an Irish gang. The McGregors owned the bar, but—” He shifted in his seat and looked at me.
“What?” I pulled off to the side of the road, illegally parking so that I could focus.
“The club McGregor owned—you’ll never guess who now owns it.”
“I’m not great at guessing games.”
“John Jackson and Declan Reid.”
Everything went silent at that moment.
“Connor?” Jake snapped his fingers in front of my face.
“What’s the name of the club?” I finally spoke, my voice breaking.
“The Wynn.”
I rubbed my hands over my face. “The name of the bartender who was killed?”
“Jessie Scott.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Olivia
I wasn’t sure what to do, but I was pretty sure Andrei Belyakov was following me. When I saw him at the gym, I didn’t think he recognized me, but the fact that he was tailing me must have meant that he, at least, had his suspicions.
But what could he prove?
I knew there was a chance I’d eventually come face to face with Andrei or Konstantin’s nephew. They had only been out of jail since mid-April. The DA was always going after Konstantin and his crew, but he couldn’t make the charges stick, or any sentences last longer than a year.
I ducked inside the subway train, popped in my earbuds, and pulled out my phone. I pretended to listen to music and read an eBook, hoping to seem unaware. Was it just a coincidence that Andrei was at the subway station? Boarding the same train as me?
I peeked up from my phone and glanced over my shoulder. I caught a glimpse of his large body, the tattoos spiraling down both his forearms. He was looking down at his phone and not at me. That was a good sign.
I hated Andrei, but it was Oleg who had pulled the trigger that night. Regardless of who took the shot, of course, Alexander Konstantin was ultimately the one to blame. His marching orders had caused my sister’s death.
I thought it would’ve been next to impossible to ever get on a case involving Konstantin, because of my past, but I had needed to do something. There were other men like him, and they had to be stopped. So as soon as I finished college, I applied to the FBI. When I discovered Blake, who I’d been sort-of dating, had been assigned to the case, I decided to stalk Konstantin and learn his behaviors and patterns.
I knew Konstantin was a boxing and MMA fan. He liked to party at clubs, particularly The Phoenix and out in Vegas. Loved gambling and women. When I realized there was a connection between Declan Reid and Konstantin, I presented my plan to Blake, but I struck a deal. Bring me in on the case for
the information.
Okay, so I would’ve told him what I’d discovered even if he’d said no, but I had to try. I wanted to bring Konstantin down more than anything. And I thought if we targeted Declan we might have a chance at getting Konstantin. Then the skies opened with mercy on me as an admin position became available at Reid Enterprises, turning my idea into a reality.
Although Blake begrudgingly had agreed to my plan, he wanted my past to remain a secret from Sean, the only other member on the team. Blake had insisted to the director that our team needed to be small, to prevent any leaks. Too many people were on Konstantin’s payroll—we had to be careful. No one other than our team and the director knew it.
At first, all I could think about was my chance to bring down Konstantin, the king of Brighton Beach, the man who’d caused Jessie’s death. But as I got to know Declan more, I had hoped I’d be able to drag his ass to hell, too. I couldn’t stand the man.
The doors to the subway opened, and when I looked up, Andrei was gone. I hadn’t noticed where he got off. Perhaps his presence had only been a coincidence. I also didn’t look anything like I did at the gym yesterday. I was dressed for work in a fitted gray skirt with silk blouse, and my hair was flat ironed, pin straight. Yesterday I had been a sweaty, make-up free mess.
I decided to stay on and ride the subway a little longer, varying up my routine. After exiting the subway, I hopped in a cab.
As the taxi pulled onto the Brooklyn Bridge, I peered at the bridge out the window, unable to take my eyes off the object as it loomed over the East River, linking the two boroughs.
My gaze pinned on its granite towers, and the web of wires and steel cables that poked the sky, arching and slanting in perfect symmetry to hold everything together. The bridge was secure. Stable.
I had to dislodge my heart from my throat when Connor had once told me about his escapades—one of them included bungee jumping off a bridge.
I caught a glimpse of the man I once knew when Connor dropped his guard with me this morning. He was definitely harder now. Steely. But if you cut through the many layers of Connor Matthews, you’d find the same twenty-two-year-old guy I’d met and fallen in love with.
Buried Lies Page 16
