He had to get out of there.
Jax strode down the hallway, trying his hardest to look normal. But how could he?
His failure was right outside! He’d seen her, with the FBI.
They had to be on to him. Why else would they have brought her here?
He didn’t think she’d seen him. Even if she had, the chances of her recognizing him were slim. The drugs should have been strong enough to erase any memories.
“Oh, J.J., there was a call–”
He held up his hand. “Not now, Verna. I have some urgent business to see to. I’m not to be disturbed. By anyone for any reason, understand?”
Her white eyebrows pinched together. “Are you okay?”
The worry in her tone both annoyed and touched him. He forced a smile. “Of course. I have a lot going on at the moment.”
“If you say so.” Her words said she wasn’t buying it, but she also knew him well enough to know better than to push.
He went into his office and closed the door behind him.
What to do?
He couldn’t exactly run out of here. Not with the FBI outside.
Plus, any change in his routine would draw attention. Attention he couldn’t afford to have drawn to him, not now, not when things were going so well.
He strode to the window and stared down.
There she was. Talking to that FBI agent, the one who’d been here the other day.
They looked at his building.
He didn’t move. The reflective coating on the windows would keep them from seeing him.
If only he knew what they were talking about.
They were headed this way!
His breath hitched.
It was okay. Everything was fine. They couldn’t see him, didn’t know he was up here.
Maybe he should leave now, through the back. But would that only make things worse?
Probably. After all, he’d told Verna that he had a lot of things to do. If she came looking for him and he wasn’t here…
Besides, he’d told her he wasn’t to be disturbed. She’d keep the FBI out.
If there was one thing he could say about Verna it was that she was fiercely loyal. She’d always had his back and had been a mother to him after his own mom…
He shut the thought down before the memories could crawl back in.
Crossing to his office door, he flipped the lock. That would keep everyone out.
Now he needed to do some serious damage control.
He didn’t think there was anything in here that could be linked back to his warehouse, the warehouse he owned under Ebony’s name, but he had to be sure. When Verna turned the FBI away, as he knew she would, they’d probably come back with a warrant.
There could be no trace of anything incriminating here.
₪ ₪ ₪
Dak led the way into Trane Imports and Exports. He and Kevyn passed the leather sofa, two matching chairs, and glass and wrought iron coffee table that took up the lobby space and approached the receptionist’s window.
The receptionist, a young woman with mousy brown hair and square glasses, looked up. Recognition flickered in her eyes. “I remember you. FBI, right?”
Dak nodded. “We were hoping to speak with Mr. Trane.”
She reached for the phone. “Let me call Verna.”
Ah, Verna. The gateway to J.J. Trane.
After telling Verna of their presence, she hung up the phone and nodded toward the outside. “Sure a lot of activity going on out there.”
Sure was. And he wasn’t about to give her the inside scoop she obviously wanted. “Yep. Ongoing investigation.”
“You think Mr. Trane has something to do with it?” Her eyes widened.
“With that?” Kevyn laughed lightly. “Oh, no. We just want to see if he’s seen anything that might help us.”
“Phew.” The woman made an exaggerated motion like she was wiping away sweat. “I thought I’d have to find another job.”
She still might, but he wouldn’t tell her that.
The secure door opened and Verna stepped into the reception area. “Agent Lakes. A pleasure to see you again.”
Tight lines marred the space between her eyebrows.
Sure. It was a real pleasure, wasn’t it?
“We were hoping for a moment of Mr. Trane’s time. We’d like to ask him a few questions.”
Verna’s eyebrows rose. “I’m sure he told you all he knew the other day.”
“Actually, it’s about one of his employees. We think they might have some information for us.” Kevyn smoothly interjected.
Verna nodded politely. “I see. Well, J.J. is quite busy today. He said he wasn’t to be disturbed.”
Hmmm. Convenient timing that he was suddenly so busy on the same day that they executed a warrant next door.
“Would you please let him know that we’re here? We won’t take more than five minutes of his time. Which is significantly less time than we’ll take if we have to come back with a warrant.” Frankly, he wasn’t sure if he had enough to get a warrant, but the threat had worked with Mays. He hoped it would work here, too.
Verna pursed her lips, clearly not pleased with the request. “I’ll tell him. Please have a seat.”
The receptionist buzzed Verna back through the secured door, which locked behind her with a soft click.
The leather sofas were the right blend of soft and firm, but Dak was wound tightly enough that he couldn’t get comfortable. He rested his elbows on his knees and tried his hardest to look casual, in spite of the tension that grew by the second.
Kevyn didn’t bother to sit. She meandered around the small space, looking at the nondescript wall art before wandering over to the receptionist. “That is such a pretty top! It really brings out your eyes.”
What was she up to?
The receptionist smiled warmly. “Thanks. You know I got it on clearance and everything.”
“No! I’m so jealous! I never find cute things like that on the clearance racks.”
Sure she was. But the receptionist was eating it up.
“I know, right? I got lucky.”
“Sure did.” Kevyn leaned against the wall beside the window. “Have you worked here for a long time?”
“About a year. J.J. treats us well.”
“That helps, doesn’t it?” Kevyn sounded like she was chatting with an old friend rather than someone whose name she didn’t even know. “What’s he like, anyway?”
“He’s pretty cool. I mean, I don’t know him personally or anything. He really keeps to himself.” She sighed melodramatically. “Too bad, ‘cause he’s pretty cute. But he’s got a girlfriend already, I guess. I met her once.”
Dak fought to concentrate, but the chatter grated his nerves.
What was taking Verna so long? It didn’t take that long to let Trane know they were here, did it?
“The cute ones are always taken, huh?” Kevyn’s giggle sounded more like a college student than the seasoned agent he knew her to be.
“Yeah. She looked too young for him, if you ask me. This tiny little thing with no curves and almost white hair.” The receptionist flipped her thick brown curls over her shoulder as if for emphasis. “I don’t know what he sees in her.”
Young. White blonde hair. Tiny.
The words snagged his attention faster than anything else the receptionist had said so far.
The description matched the one Wally had given of the girl who’d bought Kexatreme. Could it be the same one?
Possible.
Which might mean that J.J. Trane was their unsub.
He ran through his meeting with Trane. Had there been any signs that might indicate such a thing?
If so, he’d completely missed them.
Not too surprising. Their unsub was smart, probably knew how to blend in.
At least until you got to know him.
“What’s J.J. stand for, anyway?”
The receptionist tilted her head. “I don’t really know. Everyone calls
him J.J.”
Given that his father’s name was Jeff, Dak had originally assumed it stood for Jeff Junior. Well, it’d be easy enough to check.
Verna stepped back out of the secure hallway, casting a disapproving look at the receptionist as she did. “As I said, Mr. Trane is busy and not to be disturbed. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to make an appointment.”
Dak rose. “No problem. We’ll get that warrant and be back.”
Verna pulled herself up to her full five-foot-two-inch height and thrust her shoulders back. “You do that.”
She turned to go, but Dak stopped her with a question. “Verna. What is J.J.’s full name?”
Returning her attention to him, she surveyed him with narrowed eyes. “Jeffrey Jackson Trane.”
Jackson. Or maybe Jack? The same Jack that used a small blonde woman to buy his drugs?
Dak concentrated on bringing the face of the man he’d met to mind and comparing it to the sketch the chef had given them. Could it be the same man?
Maybe. He’d need to study the sketch again, maybe compare it with Trane’s DMV photo.
One thing was for sure, though.
Trane wasn’t going to leave his sight until he knew the truth.
₪ ₪ ₪
Jax clicked off the video and leaned back.
Too bad he didn’t have sound. He would’ve loved to have heard what that airheaded receptionist had said to the woman who should have been his.
But hearing her words would have been even better.
The way she carried herself wasn’t like a victim.
She carried herself like a cop – or FBI, which is who Verna said was here to speak with him.
His suspicions had been right.
So much made sense now. How she’d managed to fight him off like no one else had. How she’d managed to get away. Why she was here.
He should have seen it before. She’d been perfect. Exactly the type of person he wanted to add to his collection.
It should have been a red flag, but he’d only seen what he wanted to see. What they’d wanted him to see.
He stood so abruptly his chair slammed against the wall behind him.
It felt like his whole life was seconds from crashing down around him.
He jabbed his fingers into his coarse curls and raked his short fingernails against his scalp.
The FBI was here. They were suspicious.
Maybe he should pack up, clean out the accounts, buy a ship, and move his family to a non-extradition country.
Or maybe he should eliminate them all.
It wasn’t like they were really embracing the life he’d given them anyway. The ingrates didn’t deserve his generosity.
Unworthy. Every last one of them.
Except Ebony. And his child.
Yeah, he didn’t need any of the others. He could build his own family.
If he found another woman, one like Ebony, he could build a family twice as fast.
Wendy was pretty enough.
He rejected the idea almost as soon as it entered his mind. She’d already proven that she would never accept her role in his house. No, she’d have to be eliminated along with the rest of them.
Maybe he could go to another brothel, find someone like Ebony who would appreciate his generosity.
The idea rolled around in his mind. He could do it. All of it. Find a new woman, get rid of the unworthy ones. He could even use them to divert suspicion from himself.
He could find a patsy. Maybe someone who worked for Mays that hadn’t been arrested. Take them all to that person’s house.
And burn the place to the ground.
How long would it take the FBI to mobilize against him? Get warrants for his business? His home?
A day? Less?
He didn’t have much time. He’d have to act.
Tonight.
Twenty-One
“Find out what kind of car Trane drives.” Dak waited until they’d reached the parking lot before speaking. “I want to know which of these cars is his. We’re going to put him under surveillance until we can get enough evidence to either clear or arrest him.”
Yes! Kevyn kept the smile from reaching her face.
And here she thought she’d have to convince him.
“You’ve met Trane, right? Could he be the man from the sketch?”
“Possibly.” Dak shook his head slowly. “I thought there was something familiar about the sketch, but couldn’t put my finger on it. The hood really threw things off.”
“I need to see Trane’s picture.” She wasn’t convinced it would do any good, but she had to try. “Maybe it’ll shake something loose inside my head.”
“Agreed.” He looked over at the fish packing plant, where activity was winding down. The team collecting evidence appeared to be about half the size it had been, which meant that a lot of the evidence was already on its way back for processing. “I’m going to go touch base with them. In the meantime, reach out to Felicia. Have her send you Trane’s picture and the make and model of his car.”
“Got it.”
He only took one step before hesitating and turning back to her. “And watch your back. If Trane’s our guy, he knows you can identify him. He may come after you.”
With all the agents in the area? Unlikely.
Still, she nodded. “No one’s sneaking up on me.”
As he continued toward the agents working the scene, Kevyn headed for the railing overlooking the Puget Sound.
She chose a spot in the middle, far from any corners or ramps, and leaned her back against it.
The only way someone could get the drop on her here was by jumping out of the Sound like some kind of fish.
The call to Felicia took only a minute, then Kevyn settled in to wait.
Maybe she’d pass the time by doing a web search for Trane. See what came up in the online community.
She launched an Internet browser and input Trane’s name.
An obituary was one of the first items in the search menu. She clicked it.
Dated six months ago, it listed the deceased as Jeffrey Trane. She skimmed the short obit. Sure enough, it was J.J. Trane’s father.
J.J. hadn’t spent much on his father’s obituary. Short and to the point, it bullet-pointed his life into a few short sentences, ending with “Jeffrey is survived by his only son, J.J.”
Six months.
The data rolled around in her mind.
Six months. The photograph of each victim had been exactly six inches from the rest of the license.
Six months. Six inches. A connection?
A traumatic event like his father’s death could have been a trigger.
The first victim of which they were aware had disappeared almost a month ago. What if there had been other victims before Susan Conrad?
Maybe the mysterious wispy blonde woman people kept mentioning.
Or maybe even people before that. Maybe people who either hadn’t been missed or who they hadn’t connected to their unsub. Maybe he’d only adopted his signature with Susan Conrad’s abduction.
There was no telling how many victims they could potentially be looking at if that were the case.
Her phone dinged.
Her email showed a new message from Felicia.
When she opened it, a man with curly blond hair and piercing blue eyes stared back. She mentally drew on a baseball cap, goatee, and glasses.
It definitely could be the same man.
Could was not good enough. She had to be certain.
She moved on to the vehicle information.
He drove a dark blue Escalade, which was only two years old.
Expensive ride. Then again, he owned an import and export company. He could no doubt afford it.
Straightening, she scanned the parking lot.
There! Parked in an end spot toward the furthest edge of the lot. She couldn’t see the make or plate number from here, but it was the only full-sized dark blue SUV in the parking lot.
She pushed off the railing and strode toward it.
The plate number matched the one Felicia had sent over.
She turned to find Dak approaching. “That the one?”
“It is.” She exhaled a measured breath that did little to relieve her frustration. “And I can’t say for certain that it’s the same man.”
“But it’s possible?”
“Yes. Very possible.” Her gut told her it was him, even though she couldn’t positively identify him.
Dak looked at his watch. “Almost five. He’ll probably be headed out before too long. We’ll wait.”
₪ ₪ ₪
Jax stepped away from the window.
They were still out there! Waiting for him.
They thought they’d been clever when they moved their car about a half hour ago, but he could see them parked on the street. No one was fooling him.
He looked at the antique grandfather clock positioned near the door.
Almost six. Dinner would be ready. Ebony would have expected him home by now.
But he couldn’t go there. He’d lead the FBI right to his family.
He paced beside the desk.
There had to be a way out of this. He just needed to find it.
Staying here all night wasn’t an option. He’d already stayed late enough to arouse suspicion.
Fine. They wanted to follow him, they could. He’d go home. To that big, empty house where he hardly spent any time. Let them follow him there. Let them search it, for all he cared. They wouldn’t find anything, not there.
Once he was home, he could go to the dock and take his boat out, use that to get to the warehouse where his family lived.
Yes, it’d take a little longer, but what other choice did he have?
He gathered his keys, shrugged into his jacket, and turned out the lights.
Act normal. It was the only way he’d be able to throw them off.
His car sat alone in the dimly lit parking lot.
He crossed to it, tossed his jacket across to the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel.
The drive home had never felt longer. He rarely saw the car following him, but he knew it was there.
Finally, his driveway came into view. He turned into it, his eyes flashing to the rearview.
No sign of his tail.
Nameless (Sinister Secrets Book 1) Page 25
