by DiAnn Mills
“Since when?”
“Do you want to take the chance? Some of those girls in jail aren’t happy with your success. Your pimp can’t help you there.”
Coco swore in Spanish. “Oh, be glad you’re so good-looking. I’ll call you tonight. Same price as always. Leave it with the girl at the McDonald’s inside Walmart.”
CHAPTER 19
12:25 P.M. TUESDAY
Daniel wanted to see Laurel or talk to her. Her dismissal bothered him, especially when the FBI had given the media a conflict-of-interest reason. Paper-thin. What did he have to lose with a phone call, since he had no idea who’d threatened his grandparents?
She responded on the second ring. “Officer Hilton,” she said.
“It is. Are you busy?”
“I’m supposed to be updating my résumé for a headhunter, but my heart’s not in it.”
Not a job he’d want to tackle. But he detested paperwork too. “Need some help?”
“I got it. Thanks.”
“I have a blunt question.”
“No, I don’t want pizza.”
He chuckled. “Good one. This is another matter. Are you going to tell me why you’re no longer with the bureau? I realize it’s none of my business, but you did take an interest in my grandparents’ case.”
“I can’t. The circumstances are raw. Maybe in the future.”
“Fair enough.”
She sighed. “I care about your grandparents and all the others who’ve been abused by a scammer. The FBI’s following up on all leads.”
“So I direct everything to SSA Preston?”
“Yes. What happened?”
“Got a call last night, ordering me to back off the case or my grandparents might have an accident. Burner phone. What have you found as the typical way to scam the elderly?” Daniel said. “If you’d rather I talk to SSA Preston, just say so.”
“I don’t mind. The typical victim is an older person who lives alone with no family or the family is not attentive. Too many times, the victim meets a couple, husband and wife, at the person’s church or a reputable charity organization. The scammers start out taking care of little things for the person, doing more than the family. When the couple establishes trust, they persuade the elderly person to add them to various accounts.” Laurel sighed. “But that’s not true of all the victims. We’re looking at an out-of-the-box scam.”
“How do you think Russell Jergon weaseled inside Silver Hospitality?”
“Found a way to avoid the security cameras. The FBI is constantly pouring inquiries into the FIG—Field Intelligence Group.”
“I know the FIG’s function.” He swallowed his irritation. “This is an operation with nationwide potential. They’re using a computer database that gives them a list of specific victims. I found out a few things about health insurance databases from a friend of mine. You probably have the info, but I’m being the good guy and sharing.”
“I’m sorry. The situation with my job and Morton Wilmington has me distracted.”
“And I’m probing you. My apologies.”
Laurel hesitated before continuing. “One of the reasons I want the scam ended is because of my growing-up years. A dear woman raised me, a foster mother. Ten years ago, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and her husband put her in a filthy nursing home. I saw her every chance I could until she passed.”
“So you understand my protective nature with Gran and Gramps.”
“When your grandfather mentioned dignity, I was transported back to her suffering.” She paused. “Fat lot of good it does me now that I’m no longer working for the system. I have to ask you not to contact me until this is over. Please. This has gotten dangerous.” She ended the call.
He didn’t believe she no longer worked for the FBI. She specifically said, “No longer working for the system.” Wilmington had been released from prison. She’d supposedly been dismissed from her responsibilities. Neither was a coincidence. Even with her abrupt end to the conversation, her mood didn’t match that of a woman whose career had just been flushed down the toilet.
8:30 P.M. TUESDAY
Laurel finished the laundry while her mind spun with Morton Wilmington’s release and how she loathed the man. Washing, drying, and folding clothes hit the no-brainer level, making it impossible to push the man away from her thoughts. Partnering with him collided against everything she believed in. Yet, the end justified the ugliness. At least that’s what she told herself.
SSA Preston had promised they’d watch her back, but that meant a device inserted in her phone, a chip implant, or a wire. She’d refused them when she worked undercover with Wilmington before because of his security methods, and she did so again. Today’s sophistication meant she could lose her cover, and she’d rather risk her own life to find the truth. Her reasons sounded heroic, but they only reflected her low self-esteem. She had nothing to live for except justice for Jesse. His death could have been prevented if she hadn’t hesitated in shooting Wilmington. It was only one of many areas where she’d failed.
Taking a deep breath, she shoved aside the piercing fragments of her past. Being alone brought it all on, and she despised the memories. If—
Her cell phone rang, and she didn’t recognize the number. Laurel answered with a simple hello.
“This is Morton.”
Chills numbed her. “I thought you weren’t contacting me until later.”
“We have a new development.”
No surprise there. “What is it?”
“My contact called. Wasn’t expecting him to get in touch this soon. Wanted to know my plans. I dropped the bomb and told him we were back together since I became a Christian. Gave him the scenario about the FBI giving you the ultimatum of your career or me. You chose me and they fired you. Stated both of us were bitter. Told him I wasn’t sure what the future held, but trusting in God wasn’t exactly working out.”
“His reaction?”
“Has a business proposition for me. Not sure those with him will approve of you. I told him we’d discuss it and get back to him. But we were a team and I had plenty of contacts of my own.”
“Faster progress than SSA Preston expected. Did this guy contact you in prison?”
“Yes. Offered me a partnership in an elderly scam. At the time I wasn’t interested. He asked why I hadn’t eliminated you. Told him I still cared.”
“Sounds like overkill.”
“He and I go back a long way. Were in the Army together. He went on to serve in Delta Force. He was the first person I told about asking you to marry me. I made myself believable.”
She shivered. “When we have a face-to-face, I want to know everything.”
“Got it. We need to move dinner to tomorrow night. The longer we wait, the more victims.”
Still using his control tactics. “Okay. When do you think he’ll get back to you?”
“Hard to tell. I’ve arranged for a leak to the media. That will show him we’re together.”
“Wonderful.” She didn’t hold back the sarcasm.
“Laurel, you despise me. That’s a given. You don’t trust me. That’s a given. I’m not happy about this charade either. But I’m ready to see it through to the end. Staying out of prison is at the top of my list of priorities.”
“How noble.”
“Watch how it plays out.”
“I don’t see how your friend will ever believe I’m on the wrong side of the law.”
“We might need to stage a crime. With FBI clearance, of course.”
“That’s the only way, Morton. They’re heading up this project.”
“I’m working with the law on this whether you believe me or not. My driver will pick you up at seven thirty Wednesday night. Bodyguards are watching you. These people tend to leave bodies in their wake.”
“How big’s his operation?”
“Haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Does SSA Preston have this information?”
“I just learned
about a few specifics tonight. I’ll give you more tomorrow at dinner.”
“Why not now?”
“Because I want to verify it first.”
Laurel set her phone on the counter when the call ended. Fear spiraled through her, but courage took over. She’d see this through. What more could she lose? Her former partner and best friend had cast her aside, and the one man outside the FBI she could trust could get himself killed along with his dear grandparents.
CHAPTER 20
6:45 P.M. WEDNESDAY
Laurel wriggled into a short red dress and slipped on six-inch red glittery heels. Dress the part. Photographers would focus on every inch of her. She wore the color of passion from her nails to her toes. Her makeup would make a cosmetic artist proud—lined eyes and four shades of color complete with two applications of mascara. Her lipstick was called Blood. The implication caused her stomach to churn. She thought the days of placating Wilmington were over. His information and connections had better be worth it.
You’re a strong woman, Special Agent Laurel Evertson.
Morton Wilmington cannot hurt you any more than he already has.
She added diamond drop earrings to her streetwalker ensemble, while a sense of professional escort swept through her. She excused her actions tonight with a reminder of her commitment to the FBI. Sacrifices came with the territory. To put Wilmington away for good, she’d do this. She dreaded the photos sure to hit the Chronicle and far too many online sites tomorrow.
She’d rather spend the evening devouring pizza with Officer Hilton—dressed in jeans.
She spritzed on perfume, a brand she’d not worn before. Wilmington preferred Jean Patou Joy perfume, which she’d poured down the drain years ago. For a moment, Laurel feared she’d be truly ill. Every tick of the antique mantel clock on her dresser brought her closer to him . . . enduring dinner, talking through the case, searching for evidence to nail him. Easing onto a bench in her bedroom, she drew in a deep breath and held a protective arm over her middle. The girl who shunned boundaries had died when Jesse bled out. She hadn’t undergone any religious conversion. After all, the prayers for Jesse went to his grave. But morals and truth became more important, the only thing she could hold on to. Or control. She and Wilmington both had the big C going on.
Now she was being tested by the man who brought out the worst in her.
I can do this and find out what he’s planning.
She closed her closet door and grabbed her bag, complete with her Springfield 9mm. Bodyguards, agents, and cameras waited in the shadows, yet if her life was in danger, she’d use it. Thoughts of previous dates with him . . . things she’d said and done. Shivering, she left her apartment. One more mission with Morton Wilmington.
Morton’s driver picked her up on time and drove to Damian’s, an upscale Italian restaurant. Morton wanted media coverage to show he’d forgiven the woman who’d betrayed him. What about her forgiveness for his shooting an agent? Of course, he’d state her good works for the FBI helped him to find the error of his ways. Trash talk.
She clenched her fist to control the shaking. The time had come to think like an agent and not a wounded woman. She’d been assigned to this mission for a reason, and she’d not let anyone down.
Within the hour, Laurel sat across from Wilmington at a rear corner table at Damian’s. A place they’d frequented five years ago. No one had searched her, which was a surprise. Or did he assume she’d be wired and packing? Judging by the empty tables around them, Wilmington must have paid well for their privacy. He’d cleaned up. Haircut. New suit. Same smug look. Memories stabbed at her like a knife twisting in an open wound.
“You’re tempting a man who hasn’t been close to a woman in five years. I like your hair longer.” His full lips turned upward. “Forbidden fruit.”
She might throw up. “I remember how you liked red.”
“And you wear it well. We have much to discuss tonight, so I appreciate your moving the date up.”
Smile, Laurel. It won’t break your face. “We have a job to do, and success means your permanent parole and an elderly scam ended.”
“You rehearsed those lines well considering your feelings about me.” He raised a hand before she could speak. “You look lovely, my dear.”
Should she blush and act coy? She bit her tongue to keep from blasting him with the scathing details of how Jesse died.
The waiter handed them the wine list.
“No thank you.” Morton returned it. He gestured to Laurel. “The lady may want a glass of chardonnay.”
To keep up appearances, he was no longer drinking. Interesting, considering how much he once spent on alcohol. “Sparkling water will be fine.”
“The same for me.”
The waiter, complete with a bow tie, left them alone, and she could feel Morton’s eyes boring into her. What should she expect when she was dressed like a high-class hooker?
“What else is on your mind?” she said.
“You have a new perfume. I like it.”
She hated the charade. “You’re welcome. You didn’t answer my question.”
“SSA Preston said you refused to wear a wire.” He leaned back in his chair. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Is this personal?” Laurel danced her red fingernails on the tabletop.
“I have an addendum.”
The waiter returned with their beverages and asked if they were ready to order.
“What will it be for you tonight, Laurel? Are you still fond of Chilean bass?”
The low timbre of his voice annoyed her. “The bass is fine.”
Morton ordered the house steak, medium, and again they were alone. Soft piano music kept the silence from driving her crazy.
Control.
“Once the public sees us together, we’ll have more credibility. In every sense of the word. It’ll go viral on Facebook and Twitter. In return, I will give the FBI names of key persons from my former life.”
“What if one of your old buds gets wind of what you’re doing?”
He grinned. “The FBI will have them all dead or locked up unless you plan to tell my old business partners.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Just look at the great service I’ll have done for society.”
“Doesn’t matter what color of the spectrum you paint your words. They’re still a lie.”
“So you don’t believe I’ll provide the information.”
She forced a smile. “Prove me wrong. If you want to do the turnaround thing, then why don’t you pull out the millions of dollars you have stashed in undisclosed accounts. Give it back to those you robbed. Print business cards with the sign of a fish.”
He took a sip of water, his face red. She hadn’t said anything to make him so furious. “You’re selfish, Laurel.”
“And you?”
“Tell me, did you think you’d get away with it?” The muscles in his face tightened.
This was the Morton Wilmington she knew. “Get away with what? Sending you to prison?”
“Embezzling $4 million from me.”
She startled. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“My sources tell me otherwise. A welcome-home present with your signature.”
“If I found a way to access your funds, it would be in the FBI’s hands. I don’t have a death wish. Your source is full of it. Look somewhere else for your missing money.” While anger wanted to take over, she defused it and reached for logic.
His eyes narrowed. “The account was hacked a few hours ago and traced to you.” He pulled his phone from inside his jacket and handed it to her.
She recognized the account number. Saw her name. Whoever was working hard at discrediting her did a good job. She gave him eye contact. “I have no idea how the money got there. If I’d stolen from you, I would have put it in a good place, not my own savings account.”
“Point taken.”
“Since you hacked in, you pulled it out?”
�
��No.”
“Reported it to the FBI?”
He nodded.
“I will make sure this is handled. I’m not a thief.”
“I had to ask. I think someone arranged it to discredit you.”
She analyzed his body language: softened features, relaxed. “What can you tell me?”
“First off, I’ll confirm the person behind this.” He took another sip of water. Perspiration dotted his brow. “I liked you better when you were working undercover.”
“I didn’t,” she said.
The server returned with salads. Wilmington bowed his head. How long would he keep up the act?
“I’d like to hear your history with this friend of yours,” Laurel said when he raised his head again.
He nodded. “We met in the Army and served in Afghanistan. I’d already dabbled in lawbreaking and enlisted before getting caught. In the heat of a firefight, he saved my life. I finished my time and came home. He went on to serve in Delta Force, got married, and had a daughter. His career ended when he was diagnosed with adult-onset asthma. He was furious with the medical discharge. Then his mother died, and his brother received most of her estate. He found a way to hack into the funds and transfer them to an overseas account. His brother figured out what he’d done, so my friend eliminated him. He realized there was money to be made by scamming the elderly. Been downhill ever since.”
Laurel filed these details away. It’d be easy enough to figure out an identity with military records and all these clues. “But you hadn’t kept in contact?”
“He visited me in prison as my cousin. I don’t have a cousin, but I played along and accepted his request. He showed up and talked about his scam. He’d heard my lawyers were working on an appeal. Thought I might need a job. I declined.”
“Are you thinking he’ll understand my fury with the FBI because of his discontent with Delta Force?”
“Exactly. His partner is another matter.”
“In what way?”
“She taught him the art of disguise. While he has military skills, she has the brains behind the operation. Both are cunning. Neither can be trusted.”
