by Mary Stone
As Erin looked to the doorway and then back, a flicker of sadness flitted across her face. “Do you know when you’ll be coming back?”
Swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat, Ryan shook his head. “No, I’m not sure. I’ve got something I…” He had to pause for fear his voice would waver. “I still have something I have to do out here. There are some people I need to help.”
“Mom’s worried about you,” Evan said. He glanced to his sister, and Erin nodded. “I told her you’d be okay, but she still cries a lot. I don’t think she wants us to know about it.”
Though Ryan could remain stone-faced in front of hardened criminals and grizzled law enforcement veterans, the struggle to keep the despondency off his face in front of his niece and nephew was arduous.
He swallowed in an effort to displace the lump that had turned into a stone. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”
He’d managed to speak with so much confidence, he almost convinced himself.
But no matter the conviction in his voice, it felt like each word was a lie.
Three full days passed before Ryan summoned up the fortitude to undertake the short trip to the Richmond FBI office.
After a little digging to refresh his memory on those federal agents involved in the Presley heists almost a year earlier, he’d been relieved to learn that Agent Winter Black—the same Agent Black who had helped him escape Heidi’s clutches and shimmy into an FBI van to undo an elaborate collar bomb—still operated out of the bureau’s Richmond field office.
Though he’d been too panicked to take note at the time, Ryan got the feeling that Agent Winter Black was one of the good guys. Not just because she operated on the right side of the law, but her demeanor on that distant day told him that her interest wasn’t in serving herself and her own career.
She’d had a chip on her shoulder at the time, no doubt about it. But no matter her dark past, she struck him as a person who sought justice, not just an easy win.
Each step he’d taken to the front doors of the building had been painstaking. When his foot hit the ground, he wondered if he would be better off cutting his losses, taking his rich targets for all he could manage, and getting himself, his sister, and his niece and nephew to a country with lax extradition laws. Evan and Erin were young. They could still learn Spanish if they relocated to Panama.
Maybe, but he’d scoffed aloud at the notion, and Lillian had been reticent as well. Evan, Erin, and Lillian had been through enough. Ryan didn’t need to heap any more onto what they already had to contend with on a day to day basis.
Like a sudden trip to Panama or the Ukraine, any thoughts he might have had to drop off the face of the planet for the alleged benefit of his remaining family were ridiculous. Despite his checkered past, Ryan knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he abandoned his sister and her kids at such a pivotal point in their lives. Even from a prison cell, he’d be of more use to them than he would in Eastern Europe or South America.
That left him with one option.
Make a deal with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He’d help them put away a potential serial killer—not to mention all the perverts and creeps who had commented on the photos and videos—and they would offer him leniency. And as a cherry on top, he’d make sure they knew about Kent Strickland and Tyler Haldane’s manifesto. They probably already had a printed version locked up somewhere in the building, but it never hurt to be thorough. To use whatever you had.
The decision to work with the FBI was a gamble, but Ryan had never been one to cower when the odds shifted out of his favor.
The light creak of a door’s hinges jerked him back to reality. He’d been about to drift off to sleep in the middle of an FBI interrogation room.
Scrubbing both hands over his face, he glanced at the two-way mirrored glass and then to the door.
As it swung inward, his pulse rushed in his ears. His hands were clammy, but his mouth was as dry as an Ancient Egyptian tomb.
This had to work.
They had to help him.
3
Almost a year had passed since Ryan O’Connelly slipped out of the FBI’s grasp after the end of Heidi Presley’s rampage. When Winter last saw Ryan, he’d been held prisoner by Heidi, shot, and beaten. Today, he didn’t appear to be much better off.
As she and Noah Dalton entered the interview room, his blue eyes darted back and forth between them and the pane of two-way glass. Stubble darkened his cheeks, and strands of his dark hair had come loose from where they’d been neatly styled. His clothes, a white button-down shirt and dress pants, were clean and pressed, but the rest of him looked like he’d just escaped from the pits of hell.
Winter and Noah exchanged glances as they took their seats across the table from the prominent thief and conman.
Setting a little notepad atop the laminate table, Winter cleared her throat. “Well, good morning, Mr. O’Connelly. This is…unexpected. Agent Weyrick says you’ve got something for us about Tyler Haldane and Kent Strickland, is that right?”
As he threaded his fingers together, Ryan exhaled a long breath. “Well. Yes and no.” He paused to shift his wary gaze from her to Noah and back. “I do have information about Tyler Haldane and Kent Strickland, but that’s not the main reason I’m here.”
Whether because of time that had elapsed since he’d been in the States or a conscious decision of his own, Ryan’s accent was less prominent. Winter knew based on a cursory background check that the man had never actually lived in Ireland, so his manner of speaking was unusual to begin with.
The accent was one part of Ryan’s persona that had always piqued Winter’s curiosity. Maybe this time around, she’d find the time to ask him why a man from Chicago would cultivate an Irish accent. After all, Aiden Parrish had grown up in the South Side of Chicago, and aside from the occasional sharply pronounced “a,” he had no accent to speak of.
Noah’s chair creaked lightly as he leaned back to offer Ryan a curious look. “You’re not here to tell us more about a couple mass murderers?”
To Ryan’s credit, despite his weariness, he didn’t balk at Noah’s skeptical tone. His eyes were tired, and his expression strained, but he held himself like a man with a purpose. “That’s not the main reason I’m here. Strickland and Haldane are dead or in prison. They’re not a danger to anyone anymore, so any information I’ve got on them is more to help your prosecutor than anything, yeah?”
With a thoughtful glance to Winter, Noah nodded. “True enough.”
Narrowing her eyes, Winter propped her elbows atop the table and leaned forward. “You know we won’t just let you walk out of here. Even if you do have something on Haldane and Strickland, you’re a wanted fugitive, Mr. O’Connelly.”
The shadows moved along his throat as he swallowed. “I know. Believe me, Agents, I know. But I also think you know by now that I’m not anything like that psychopath Heidi Presley, yeah? I like money, not hurting people. And, honestly, who doesn’t like money?”
Noah let out a quiet chuckle, playing “good cop” to the letter. “Can’t argue that.”
Waving a hand, Ryan gestured to the silver and black watch on Noah’s wrist. “I figured you’d understand. How much did that thing set you back, anyway? Looks vintage, had to be at least fifty grand.”
Winter could hardly stop herself from flashing Noah a wide-eyed stare. She forced a neutral countenance to her face and twirled a pen in her fingers. Fifty thousand dollars? For a watch? Who was this stranger she’d been sleeping with?
With a charming smile, Noah held up his wrist for Ryan to see. “Honestly? I’ve got no idea. My granddad collects watches. He gave me this one when I got back from my second tour in the Middle East. My gramma got it for him a long time ago. If I didn’t have to wear a suit every day, I don’t even think I’d wear it. It’s more of a sentimental thing to me, but y’all don’t seem to see it that way. Plus, it’s a damn fine watch.”
It bette
r be. Winter kept the thought to herself and refocused on the task at hand. “You were saying, Mr. O’Connelly.”
Folding his hands in front of himself, Ryan nodded. “Of course. Sorry. I’ll just start at the beginning, then.”
Clicking the end of her pen, Winter tilted her chin to bid him to continue.
“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t want to go into too much detail about the first part, but please believe me when I say I’m only doing it to protect my sister. She was in a bad situation, and after you took out that crazy bitch Presley, I helped her and my niece and nephew out of it.” He paused to flick an intent look back and forth between Winter and Noah. “You’re cops, so you know how abusive relationships work, right?”
Winter did indeed. She’d written a paper about domestic violence for one of her courses at SUNY in Albany. She didn’t have to ask why Ryan’s sister hadn’t gone to the police. The woman was scared, that was why. Scared for herself, scared for her children, scared for her future. Instead of involving the authorities, she’d gone to someone she could trust—her brother.
Winter watched him closely. She would have been inclined to think Ryan was giving them both a line if it weren’t for the unmistakable pang of defeat in his eyes.
Ryan took the silence as his cue to continue. “I guess that means you do. That’s why I’m here. For her safety, that’s all I’ll say about that.”
Winter shot him a quizzical glance. “What do you mean? You don’t think we’d do anything to hurt her, do you?”
The corner of Ryan’s mouth turned down in a look of distaste. “No, I don’t think you’d do anythin’ on purpose, Agents. But I’ve been through that whole song and dance routine, and I know that when it comes to poor folks like me and my sister, the wheels of justice don’t carry us anywhere good. Some lawyer in their ivory tower gets a wild hair up their arse and decides to throw the book at me and her, you know where my niece and nephew end up then?”
In the silence that ensued, he fixed Winter and Noah with a hard look. As much as she wanted to protest, Winter knew he was right. If Ryan’s sister was sent to prison, the kids would either wind up back with their abusive father or as wards of the state.
Either way, their prospects would be grim.
Winter softened her tone. “That’s fine. Just tell us what you found. Agent Weyrick said that you had information about some young women who’ve gone missing.”
The cloud of petulance lifted, and Ryan’s expression turned bleak. “That’s right. I came to Virginia because I met some people online. Some people who had more money than sense, you know the type, right?”
With an amused snort, Winter nodded.
“I’ll spare you the details there. I figured they were just your run of the mill arseholes. You know that type too, I’m sure. The bad parents, unfaithful spouses, crooked businessmen, that type. And don’t get me wrong, plenty of them are, but…”
Noah lifted an eyebrow. “But?”
Ryan pursed his lips. “I’m here because I want to do the right thing, Agents. I had a chance to do the right thing when Heidi was on her bloody rampage, but I didn’t have the guts. On the one side, I had her crazy ass, and on the other side, I had a prison cell. Today, I’m here to do the right thing, but I need your help too.”
Based on her past experience with Ryan, Winter knew the man wasn’t cruel or maniacal like his former blackmailer, Heidi Presley. Ryan didn’t even steal from people who couldn’t afford it. He stole valuable, sometimes priceless items from those who hardly noticed they were gone. At the beginning of the Presley heists, he’d even donated the two-hundred thousand dollars from a bank robbery to a local church. In some respects, Ryan O’Connelly was akin to a modern-day Robin Hood.
Before Winter could reply, Noah broke the silence. “We’ll do the best we can. We can’t make you a deal right now. That’s something the SAC and the US Attorney have to hammer out, but they tend to listen to our recommendations before they make a final decision.”
Clenching his jaw, Ryan nodded. “I guess that’s the best I’ll get right now, isn’t it?”
Winter exchanged a knowing look with Noah. She’d seen the US Attorney cut deals in the past. In fact, word in Baltimore had it that Tony Johansson—the crooked cop who’d worked with the Russian mob for over a decade—was in the process of ironing out an agreement to testify for the prosecution in exchange for leniency. Not only would the man testify, but he’d become a valuable source of information into other dirty cops in Baltimore and Washington D.C.
Winter made her best effort at a reassuring smile. “We’ll do our best.”
When Ryan returned the expression, he looked even more tired than he had before. “That’s all I can ask, isn’t it? I’ll get down to it, then. I’ve been around these arseholes for a few weeks now, and aside from my contact, there ain’t a one of ‘em who’s squeaky clean. If you want to paint me in a good light to your prosecutor or district attorney, just put me up beside some of this lot.”
Though the sound was muted, Winter chuckled at the candid observation. “So noted, Mr. O’Connelly.”
With a dismissive wave that reminded Winter of her good friend, Autumn, Ryan leaned back in his chair. “Anyway. One of the women is a widow, and her husband left her with a sort of membership in this weird little club they’ve established. They don’t have a name for themselves or anything like that, and it’s all very hush-hush. They’ll get together to come up with new business ventures and strategies, to talk about politics, their yacht club memberships, that sort of thing.”
Winter fought against rolling her eyes. There was a reason she wasn’t in the White Collar Crimes Division. If anyone ever came to her to cry about how they’d been scammed out of their third yacht, she’d be just as likely to shove them out the door as she would to file a formal investigation.
For the first time that morning, Ryan’s expression seemed to brighten. “I saw that look, Agent Black. I think we’re on the same page here.”
She snorted out a laugh. “That obvious?”
He shrugged. “Not all wealthy people are bad. I’ve met plenty of kind ones throughout my…career. But these people, with the exception of the woman I’ve befriended, they’re not kind. The bad ones, they tend to cluster around one another, you know what I mean?”
“Misery loves company,” Noah muttered.
Ryan’s look of amusement was short-lived. “It does. But that’s where the missing girls come in. About a week ago, my contact told me she’d heard rumors circulating that one of these people had been moonlighting by kidnapping prostitutes and filming their captivity. She didn’t know many of the specifics, but her guess was that they charged people to watch the videos.”
Scribbling down a few notes, Winter nodded for him to continue.
With a sigh, Ryan rubbed his scruffy cheek. “I thought that’d be an easy way to get some creeps to give away their money, and maybe one of these guys was doing it to make a few extra bucks. Not by actually kidnapping women, but by getting someone to act like they’d been kidnapped. It seemed like a good scam, so I figured I’d check it out. I’m sure you’re familiar with the dark web, Agents, but have you heard of the Marianas web?”
Neither Winter nor Noah confirmed their knowledge or lack of it, which almost made Ryan smile. For a moment, he’d almost forgotten they were both FBI agents, trained to neither confirm or deny.
Ryan went on. “It’s the deepest part of the dark web that can be accessed by the technology we have now. Soon, when quantum computers become a reality, the trench from which it was named will grow deeper and deeper, but at this point in time, this web is as low as you can go, pun intended.”
Ryan looked between the two and continued when they nodded their understanding.
“Between those two places, there’s all kinds of unbelievable stuff out there. I’ll cut a long story short and just tell you that I found what she was talking about. There were the videos, and then there were pictures. He’d take those
while he was stalking the women.”
Winter tapped the end of her pen on the notepad. “How do you know they were in Virginia?”
Ryan folded his hands, hating how his fingers trembled. “People on those sites, they tend to be open to paying higher premiums to watch videos of people from certain countries. A lot of snuff films are made in Indonesia, but people are willing to pay a lot more to watch an American instead.”
“Wait.” Winter raised a finger. “You’re talking about a snuff film? I thought you said these were videos of kidnapped women?”
Ryan’s eyes met hers. “They were. That’s how he started.”
The look on Noah’s face landed somewhere between ominous and befuddled. “How do you know it’s real, and it’s not like what you were saying? An actor, someone scamming all the creeps out there.”
Ryan was only a year or two older than Noah, but in that moment, he looked like he’d aged two decades older. “Get me a laptop, and I’ll show you how I know it’s real.”
An involuntary shudder worked its way down Winter’s back.
She didn’t even need to see the video. Ryan’s demeanor was all the authentication Winter required.
4
Noah Dalton had seen death before. He’d been on the scene of the gruesome murders committed by the madman referred to as The Preacher. He’d shot and killed that very madman, and months before that confrontation, he’d killed a twisted pharmaceutical researcher named Scott Kennedy. During his two tours in the Middle East, he’d seen his share of combat. He’d seen people die.
Not like this.
Not a helpless young woman who’d been all but decapitated by a psychopath with a butcher knife. He’d never watched the life so senselessly drain from another person’s eyes as blood soaked the front of their shirt.
