Double Cross

by DiAnn Mills

  He grinned. “We are. Just wanted to make sure you don’t change your mind.”

  She feigned annoyance while her lips tingled. “You can be so unpredictable.”

  “Good. Keeps life lively.”

  “Good morning, you two.” Wilmington, dressed in a white robe, hobbled into the living area. “Tell me I didn’t see you kissing.”

  “A hallucination,” Daniel said. “I’m your trusted bodyguard.”

  “Who’s in love with my fiancée.” He shook his head. “I won’t tell a soul. Just keep it private.”

  Laurel sensed the heat rising up her neck. “I’ll go make a fresh pot of coffee. Do you two want breakfast?”

  CHAPTER 51

  7:25 P.M. SUNDAY

  Abby snapped off the TV and narrowed her gaze at the books and knitting she’d brought to the hotel. The suite held the grandeur of a five-star-plus property, but as a vacation spot, not a cell. Which was exactly how she viewed the hotel room. Just when she’d gotten settled in the last one, they’d been detected.

  Oh, to feel the sunshine, hear the noises of the city, walk through a park. Anyplace outside of uniformed maids and room service swamped by off-duty police officers. She closed her eyes and transported herself down the Amazon in a boat with only three other people and Earl. Staring into the thick growth of the tropical forest, beaming with colorful birds and hidden animals. The bulging eyes above the wicked-looking teeth of a twelve-foot crocodile. That was life, not this day-after-day boredom.

  Couldn’t garden.

  Couldn’t tinker with her jigsaw, and she’d designed a new birdhouse.

  The riding lawn mower needed an oil change, and the lawn guys were sloppy.

  Didn’t want to bother Daniel, although he’d given her a burner phone.

  She didn’t mind heading home to Jesus. But she’d rather stand up and fight whoever wanted her and Earl dead. Daniel risked his life every minute of the day, and she’d called his supervisor. Wouldn’t tell her a thing. All that bunk about him taking a vacation. She knew better. He was working the case, most likely with the FBI, and so was Laurel. What part did Morton Wilmington play?

  “Abby, what time is it?” Earl said from the couch.

  “Too early to go to bed. Want me to find you a detective show on TV?”

  “Perry Mason sounds good.”

  Earl’s mind rested in the past. “I’ll see what’s on, honey.”

  “Jimmy’s late again, isn’t he?”

  She blew out her misery. “I suppose.” Nope, this wasn’t living at all.

  The officer stationed outside their door stepped inside. “I’m going to order dinner. Have it delivered. Do you want anything?”

  “Order me something chocolate,” Abby said. “Sinfully delicious. Hot. And a scoop of ice cream.” She held up a finger. “The last time I ordered a hot dessert, the ice cream was melted by the time it arrived. Why don’t you pick up one for all three of us?”

  The officer shook his head. “Bad idea. I’d better stick to room service.”

  Abby narrowed her eyes at him. “What can happen with the door locked? I’d go get it myself if I could.”

  He studied her.

  “You have my word. I won’t open the door to anyone but you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Get going. Probably will take just a few minutes, so I’ll shower while you’re gone.”

  “Yes, Miss Abby.”

  The door closed and she double-bolted it. “Enjoy your show, Earl.” She retrieved her pajamas and robe, then headed into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, letting the steam fill her lungs. Thoughts of rich chocolate with ice cream helped make up for the boredom.

  A knock on the bathroom door stopped her from undressing. “What is it?”

  “Just got a call on your cell from Morton Wilmington. Daniel needs us.”

  “The burner or the other one?”

  “Your regular phone.”

  Puzzled, Abby turned off the water and opened the door. She could better read Earl’s frame of mind. “What’s going on?”

  He bounced the car keys in his hand. “The two were having dinner at the Cafe Express at Uptown Park when Daniel got sick. Can’t drive home.”

  “Why didn’t Mr. Wilmington drive him or call a taxi?”

  “You know Daniel. He’s too stubborn. Wilmington has an appointment and can’t take Daniel.”

  Something didn’t seem right. “It’s not like Daniel to call us for help.”

  “My point. So are you driving, or do I go alone?”

  Abby stiffened. “You aren’t driving anywhere.” She snatched the keys. “First I’m calling Daniel on my burner.”

  “We need to hurry. The boy needs us.”

  Annoyance with a twinge of alarm settled on her. She pressed in Daniel’s number. No response. Although he’d called her on her iPhone, she’d keep her promise not to use it. “Okay, let me leave a note for the officer when he returns. We ought to wait for him. He could go with us—”

  “Abby, you can stay here if you want to, but this may be Jimmy’s turning point.” He walked toward the door. “I’m not turning my back on my only child.”

  “Hold on, Earl. We must leave a note.”

  She scribbled it and hurried with Earl to the elevator to ride to the first floor. Thank goodness their Lexus was valet parked. She’d insisted upon their own car when all this hotel business started. Glad she’d refused to leave home without it.

  Abby drove south toward Uptown Park. Driving at night made her nervous. Her vision just wasn’t what it used to be. Daniel had called this afternoon to check on them, and he seemed okay. He must be really sick not to answer his burner.

  Finally she was doing something to help instead of rocking away her life like an old woman.

  CHAPTER 52

  7:35 P.M. SUNDAY

  Daniel regretted not seeing his grandparents, but it was for their safety. He understood the need to quiet his mind in order to focus on what had to be completed and keep others safe. For him, sometimes all it took was soft music or a good speech on how to handle stress. Exercise and prayer took him to a calm level where his mental state lowered his blood pressure. Tonight he’d done the whole gamut. His wrist ached, and that added to his list of frustrations. Laurel left around seven after Wilmington had gone to sleep. The tiny lines around her eyes spoke of her exhaustion, and he’d encouraged her to go home.

  He reached for more Tylenol in Wilmington’s kitchen and walked upstairs to his bedroom. He peered out the window. A vehicle entered the driveway. No headlights. Not a car he recognized. He snapped off the lights and picked up his Glock, tucking it into the back of his waistband while watching the happenings on the driveway.

  A figure emerged from the car, a frame accented by the streetlight. Tall. Unrecognizable. Daniel walked downstairs to the living area and waited in the dark with his firearm. His gut told him this wasn’t a group from church wondering why he hadn’t attended this morning.

  The doorbell rang. He expected the man to shoot his way inside. “Who’s there?”

  “Special Agent Thatcher Graves.”

  He looked through the security hole for confirmation. “Little late for office hours.”

  “I’d like to talk to you.”

  He opened the door and faced Thatcher. This couldn’t be good. “What’s going on?”

  “We have new developments.”

  His thoughts raced to a nightmare situation. His grandparents? Laurel? He gestured Thatcher inside. “Are my grandparents okay?”

  “To our knowledge they’re okay,” he said. “Where is Mr. Wilmington?”

  “Asleep. Heavily sedated after the explosion.”

  “Is he able to ride with us to a meeting?”

  “I suppose. I need an explanation. Is Laurel okay?”

  “She’s fine. In fact she’s waiting for us there.”

  “A meeting at this hour? Has the case escalated?”

  “We’re being pressured to
end the scam.”

  Daniel understood the clock ticked toward the fund-raiser. “I’m glad to accompany you, and if Wilmington is up to it, he’ll cooperate too.” He excused himself to check on Wilmington. Seemed a little cruel when the man had been injured.

  Daniel turned on a lamp and woke the man. He explained Thatcher’s request.

  “Can you give me a hand with a shirt, or does your wrist hurt?” Wilmington said.

  “Sure. What about your pants?”

  “I’m not that bad off.” He slowly brought his legs to the floor. A moan escaped his lips. “I’m not the in-shape guy I used to be.”

  Daniel chuckled. “We’re just wounded old men.”

  In a few minutes they met Thatcher at the door. Questions flooded Daniel’s mind while he grabbed his wallet and keys.

  “You don’t need your Glock.” Thatcher pointed to his firearm still tucked in the waist of his jeans.

  “If you weren’t concerned about being followed, you wouldn’t have pulled into the drive with your lights off. I’m taking it. And I need to get my burner phone upstairs.” He hurried to his bedroom while Thatcher complained about time being important. Daniel disconnected his phone from the charger and dropped it into his jeans pocket.

  Fifteen minutes later, Daniel sat in an enclosed waterway taxi at the Woodlands Town Center. Thatcher drove it—the man apparently had many talents. SSA Preston, Thatcher, Wilmington, and Laurel were the only ones on board. Only in terrorism and espionage cases was information classified, so Daniel intended to get answers. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the taxi, courtesy of the FBI. Good thing because he needed the caffeine kick to his system.

  He snuck a glimpse of Laurel while she talked to Preston. The rock on her left hand put to shame anything he could ever purchase on his salary. He’d like to think it was fake, but he knew better. Wilmington was living out his true feelings for her. As if she’d guessed Daniel’s thoughts, she covered her ring finger.

  “Let’s get started,” Preston said. “We need solid answers about the elderly scam case. The fund-raiser is this Thursday, in case you haven’t checked your calendar. Which is why we’re having this meeting tonight. We’re not shutting it down until we can ID the silent partner.” He had a laptop in front of him, but he didn’t look at the screen. “Although we can’t seem to pinpoint any specifics, as a precaution, we’ll have a thorough bomb check prior to the event and agents in place monitoring the evening.

  “Regarding the investigation—the only thing incriminating on Silver Hospitality’s computers was a lapse in security on the part the chef and director. The chef, Steven Thomas, confessed to an affair with Josie Fields, who posed there as Liz Austin.” He glanced at his computer.

  “Apparently Fields bribed Thomas with sexual favors to allow her ‘boyfriend’ to visit while Thomas and the director, Marsha Leonard, played online chess. He claimed not to have compromised the security system. We believe Fields hacked into the system and handled Messner’s entrance and exit when Thomas was unavailable. Leonard denies any knowledge of what was going on. Both have been questioned and released. The two other memory care facilities here in Houston don’t have as rigid security as Silver Hospitality.”

  Daniel pitied Chef Steven and Miss Leonard, although they shouldered some of the blame.

  Preston scrolled down his laptop. “About the $4 million withdrawn from your account in the Cayman Islands and deposited into Agent Evertson’s account—we traced it to Switzerland.”

  “Name?” Wilmington’s face reddened. Pain or anger?

  “Working on it. At this point it’s linked to Natalie Ashton, Cayden’s wife’s maiden name.”

  Laurel swiped her iPad screen. “Sir, you indicated she was innocent in the scam. Have you revised your conclusion?”

  Preston pressed his lips together. “He could have opened the account in any name.”

  “She’s an accountant,” Laurel said. “I’d like to request investigating her further.”

  “Natalie Cayden’s on the back burner at this point. Cayden has our concentration with the fund-raiser on the fifteenth. He’s brilliant and capable of spearheading this scam. With his exemplary military career, we have no doubt of his extraordinary abilities to deceive. He has the MO of the intruder at the elder Hilton residence.

  “Officer Hilton, we learned your grandmother contacted Emma Dockson’s nephew and persuaded him to have an autopsy on his aunt’s body.” Preston shook his head with a slight smile. “Maybe we need to hire this lady, because he agreed. We’ve learned Mrs. Dockson died of a drug-induced heart attack. The hospital indicated a thirty-second gap in their video surveillance system, which gave someone time to administer the drug. We’re working to rebuild the time segment. An additional three hundred thousand dollars is missing from the deceased’s account.”

  He steepled his fingers. “Officer Hilton, we appreciate all the work you’ve done with this investigation. Mr. Wilmington, you’ve been a tremendous asset. You and Laurel are playing a critical role in drawing out the players. Earlier this evening, we received an encrypted message identical to the one Mr. Wilmington decoded for us. We’ll get to that later.”

  Preston eyed each of the participants. “We need to nail this operation before Thursday. With the crimes that have been committed against the elderly and our own people, I don’t want to think what could happen that evening. We’ve dug further and learned Cayden’s mother died three years ago of pneumonia. However, she suffered from dementia. Left her estate to her eldest son, who earned well over six figures. Our suspect received only five thousand dollars. The money disappeared from the older brother’s account six months later and restitution hasn’t been made. Two months later, the brother and his wife and children were tragically killed in a car accident.”

  Daniel gestured to SSA Preston for his attention. “So he’s suspected of embezzling his so-called inheritance and then moving on to exploit the elderly. Murdering along the way. Currently he has the bank account numbers of several elderly people. If he was telling Mr. Wilmington and me the truth, he has more than one way to launder money.”

  “Granted, you’ve learned a significant amount of information. But without the name of the silent partner, a sharp attorney could get the whole case thrown out of court based on Cayden’s impeccable record. By the way, Cayden’s inhaler revealed he removed his fingerprints.”

  “He could have burned them off while overseas on a special-ops mission,” Wilmington said. “Or removed them later to avoid being ID’d.”

  “We didn’t find anything in his medical other than the asthma and the stress-related problems bringing him to the VA hospital,” Preston said. “The doctor checks out.”

  Preston secured the whole group’s attention. “We’ve put together a good composite using the past eight years of elderly fraud, thanks to a combined task force. Almet manufactures and distributes various drugs used for treating dementia patients. Their database lists health insurers that store information in codes—like the patient’s diagnosis, address, and medical data. Cayden apparently identified the victims through the medication and accessed hospital records, which list financial information about every patient. The perfect database to scam dementia sufferers would merge health info with financials, including bank records pointing to the patients’ income. The dementia sufferer has the potential to be scammed on many levels. Our man would have all he needed to scam them with false charities, investments, claims of long-lost grandchildren, home repairs, health care–like prescription fraud, and life insurance policies.”

  Preston brought up something else on his laptop. “Which brings us to the message decoded earlier today. ‘Congratulations on deciphering my code. Unfortunately by the time the pathetic FBI figures out who’s responsible, it will be too late.’” He glanced at the group. “For him to take the defensive, something has to have been exposed.”

  “He’s always been a little arrogant,” Wilmington said. “Someone drove the getaway Escalade wh
en Josie Fields was shot. I’m accusing Cayden, and he dumped her body. At this point, I’ve only uncovered Ignacio Vega working for him.”

  “He’s suspected in several killings, but he’s local,” Preston said.

  “My men are on top of things,” Wilmington said. “They’re watching Laurel and Daniel. We’d be fools not to figure Cayden’s having all three of us watched.”

  “I’m concerned about the elder Hiltons.” Laurel looked pale, but sleep deprivation attacked people in numerous ways. “I understand they have protection, but our guy has multiple reasons to eliminate them from the picture.”

  “I’m also keeping an eye on their hotel,” Wilmington said.

  She stiffened. “How do you know where they’re being housed?”

  “I have ways.”

  Daniel had no idea who Wilmington’s men were. He hadn’t seen anyone, but the man spent lots of time on the phone.

  Preston turned to Thatcher. “Keep me posted with the updates in Miami. I’d like to know if Mrs. Cayden attempts to contact her husband or leave the country. Also keep me posted with her phone calls.” He paused. “We haven’t done our job or arrests would have been made. Let’s get this job done.”

  The meeting adjourned, and Thatcher drove the waterway taxi back toward the docking point. Everyone remained quiet like Daniel, with only the sounds of nearby busy restaurants and the mall filtering through the night. Weary of the chase, he longed for simpler times when his biggest concern was arresting a speeder.

  Preston and Wilmington joined Thatcher at the controls and Laurel remained with Daniel.

  “How are you?”

  He could write a dissertation on that question. “Okay. Be careful out there.”

  Her eyes softened. “I want this over as badly as you do.”

  A chill swept over him, a foreboding that he couldn’t shake.

  CHAPTER 53