She hid her smile as they started walking and she tried to decipher what he meant. But when she spotted the car and saw the partial license plate, which did indeed match, her thoughts shifted to the case.
Connor went to work and broke into the car faster than she could’ve using a key. In minutes, they had a wallet and a phone safely tucked inside separate evidence bags.
He turned the wallet in the bag and opened it, then used his phone’s flashlight to read it. “Hello James Norvell. From Louisiana.”
“It has to be a fake.”
“I know. But it’s a starting place. And this may answer a few more questions.” He studied the bag with the phone inside. “Do you think it’s Pablo’s or our shooter’s phone?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t take it,” she said. “It’s evidence.”
“I’m not taking it. Just gonna peek, see if it’s password locked.” He pushed a few buttons through the plastic. “And if not, I’ll forward any calls or texts to Juan. He’s good with electronics. Phones, computers. He can…” He smiled. “It’s not locked.”
“You sure you should do that?” she asked.
He looked up. “Says the FBI agent who stole a car and assaulted an officer.”
“It wasn’t evidence,” she said.
“I once waited three weeks for a small-town police department to get me phone information. I’m not destroying anything. They’ll see what I did.” He stared at her.
She frowned.
“You want me to stop?” he asked.
She considered it. “No. But you’re really going to piss off Detective Sampson.”
“That’s okay,” Connor said, toying with the phone. “He already knows that I’m trouble.” Connor continued to push a few buttons through the plastic. “Besides, he likes me better than he does you.”
“He just doesn’t know you,” Brie snapped.
Connor grinned, then refocused on the phone. “Ah, here we go.”
“What’ve you got?” She moved in.
“No calls. But a couple of texts.”
“What do they say? Who are they from?”
“All we have is a number, but one of them contains the address here. The next one is…it came in about fifteen minutes ago. Just a question mark. Probably asking if the hit was done.”
Connor lowered the bag and let her see for herself.
“Wait?” Brie said. “What time did the text offering the address come in?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
What is she doing here?” Sergeant Brown asked as he entered the Willowcreek precinct and walked past where Brie sat with Rosaria.
“You mean Agent Ryan?” Connor led Brown into a different room where Detective Samson said they could wait.
“What other ‘she’ could I be referring to?” Brown shut the door with a resounding whack.
Mark had texted Connor a few hours ago and said that he and Sergeant Brown were on their way there. He’d also warned Connor to not piss Brown off. That was easier said than done. Half the time when the sergeant got bent out of shape, Connor wasn’t trying. “She gave us this lead.”
“That doesn’t mean you had to bring her. You say ‘Thank you, I’ll look into it.’” Brown moved to the table and dropped down in a chair.
“Yeah, I should’ve thought of that,” Connor said, sarcasm thickening his voice.
Brown continued. “She’s a liability. She’s not even working the case with the FBI.”
Connor stepped closer. “Brie’s been assisting us in the investigation.”
“Brie?” Brown studied Connor. “Oh, hell. You aren’t banging her, are you?”
“Slow down,” Mark jumped in. “Agent Ryan has been working at the Black Diamond for four months, looking into her sister’s abduction and murder.”
“And Agent Calvin doesn’t know this?” Brown asked Mark.
“Since the leak inside the FBI is tied to the Sala case, and Agent Calvin hasn’t been ruled out as a suspect, we didn’t feel the need to share that information.”
Connor joined Mark at the table and sat across from Brown.
Brown looked puzzled. “I thought you liked Agent Miles for this. Yesterday you said you found something in his financial records.”
“We did,” Mark said. “But it was Agent Miles who told Agent Ryan about the informant’s girlfriend being here. And Miles had an explanation for the deposits. Hopefully, the texts we got will help us find—”
“What texts?” Brown asked.
Connor spoke up, willing to take the hit. “I found the shooter’s car. It had his phone and wallet inside. Someone texted the shooter twice: once with the address where Rosaria Altura was living, and a second one, asking for an update.”
“You handed it over to the Willowcreek officers, right?”
“Of course. Right after I forwarded the texts to Juan.”
“Oh, that’s going to make Detective Sampson real happy.” Brown’s frown deepened. “Has Juan gotten anything yet?”
Did that mean Connor wasn’t in the doghouse for his indiscretion? “He called right before you guys pulled up. He’s put a trace on the number that texted the shooter. And…” Connor decided to throw out the good news. “I think this might help us to quickly eliminate one of the Feds.”
“How?” Mark asked.
“Brie realized she’d received a call from Agent Miles at almost the exact time as the text was sent to the shooter. So if the text and call dinged off different towers, we can rule him out. It’d help if we could get the phone to Juan. There might be some deleted texts he could pull up.”
“I’ll talk to Detective Sampson’s captain, but I can’t promise they’ll share until after they go through it themselves.”
Connor leaned back in the chair, feeling justified for sending Juan the information in advance. “We also need to get a protective detail on Rosaria Altura.”
Brown let out a big puff of air. “Doesn’t she have somewhere she could go?”
“Right,” Connor snapped. “We think someone from the FBI put out a hit on her, and as soon as this story breaks, he’ll know the hit man failed. And you’re just gonna say good luck and send her on her way?”
Brown looked ready to blow when Mark intervened. “Sergeant, Connor’s right. We have to protect her. And to Connor’s other point, what’s the chance of you talking your captain buddy into keeping this story out of the media? Even if we get just a few days to dig into the text messages.”
Right then, the door banged open and Detective Sampson walked in. The smile on his face said he had something useful.
“What?” Connor asked.
“We got him. Our shooter’s name is Kevin Omen. He’s from a small town east of New Orleans. And he’s got a rap sheet as long as my arm.”
* * *
It was after noon before they headed back to Anniston. The day was gray and wet and looked as tired as she felt. She had to concentrate to keep the phone to her ear.
“How is he?” Brie asked Tory as she watched the wet landscape fly past. The sound of the wipers whooshing across the windshield and the tires sending water splashing to the curb filled the car.
Brie had reservations about leaving Rosaria before the protective detail showed up, but when she learned the story of the shooting was being held from the media, she agreed to ride back with Connor. But before she left, she promised Rosaria she’d see her soon, praying APD would allow her to keep that promise.
“The doctor says the latest CAT scan showed the swelling in his brain has decreased,” Tory said. “He almost sounded positive, Brie.”
“Great,” Brie said. “Is his color still good?” She looked up at the dark gray sky, which felt ominous, as if they were riding right into a storm. She felt it inside, too. Even though she was relieved to know the person who shot Carlos, and possibly killed Pablo, was dead, the hard part was going to be catching who had hired him. Especially since it had to be someone she had trusted at the FBI—someone she’d trusted with her lif
e.
“Better than ever. He’s going to wake up, Brie. I know it now.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Brie said.
Brie’s gaze shifted to the splats of rain spidering across the glass. Two Anniston cops would be transporting Rosaria to a safe house soon. Connor, Mark, and their sergeant had pushed to get Rosaria brought to Anniston. They convinced Detective Sampson that the shooting of Agent Olvera took priority.
“I’m about to head back to Carlos’s room,” Tory said. “Did you want to speak to Eliot?”
“No, I spoke with him earlier.” Instead of finishing the sandwich that Connor bought for her, she’d snuck off and called Eliot. In parent-mode, he’d asked if she’d been up all night. She’d assured him she’d go straight home and rest, but her mind was already forming a to-do list.
She wanted to research Kevin Omen. She wanted to help Connor find Regina Berger. She wanted to find Pablo’s other phone. Part of her wondered if Omen found the informant’s phone when he was in Carlos’s hotel room. If so, why was he going after Rosaria? She hadn’t seen him. Or was he going after her simply because she could corroborate the FBI involvement?
Hanging up, Brie watched Connor rub the back of his neck. She’d offered to drive, but he’d refused. No doubt he was as exhausted as she was.
He put both hands on the wheel and cut his green eyes to her. “Everything okay?”
“Doctor said the swelling in his brain is down.” Her mind went to Pablo’s missing phone. “Are you sure they didn’t find a phone in Carlos’s hotel room?”
“Yeah. Mark oversaw it.”
“Omen probably found it at the hotel.” Frustration sounded in her voice.
“That’s likely. I sent the phone number to Juan, but he says with the battery out, it’s practically impossible to trace.”
Connor’s phone, which he had charging, dinged with a text. After checking the road for traffic, he picked it up and smiled. “That was the ICE agent. When he arrived at the strip club in Houston, Armand wasn’t there, but he just showed up.”
The tension in her shoulders lessened. “Thank God.”
Connor set the phone down. “You know what’s been bothering me? You said everyone at the agency knew Olvera was coming here to get Armand’s prints. So why wouldn’t the mole have informed the Sala family? Why didn’t Armand get word of this and leave earlier?”
The question had crossed Brie’s mind. “Maybe the agent is no longer helping the Sala family. From the start, I believed Carlos was shot to keep him quiet about the leak. Not about Armand.”
Connor ran his hand over the steering wheel. “So maybe the agent didn’t help the Sala family out of loyalty or financial gain. Maybe they were blackmailed.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “How would you describe Agent Bara?”
Brie bit down on her lip. “A week ago, I’d’ve said he was a good guy, part of my FBI family. We went for beers. We brought each other coffee—he takes his with three sugars.” Her chest tightened. “I’d have taken a bullet for any of them.”
“I know.” He hesitated. “But what do you know about him?”
She tried to think. “He’s divorced. Has a five-year-old boy. He keeps a picture of him on his desk. I hear him talking on the phone to him sometimes.” She exhaled. “It’s hard to believe that any of them did this.”
“Did you know his parents are from Guatemala?”
“Yeah. It came up when we were working the Sala case.”
“Do you know if his parents and siblings live in the States?”
“I know some of them do, because he’s mentioned seeing them.”
“Has he visited Guatemala?”
“Yeah. He’s talked about it.”
“So maybe he still has family there?”
“You think someone found out we were onto the gunrunning operation and threatened his family if he didn’t turn over information?”
“It’s possible.” His gaze shifted to her.
She closed her eyes, knowing firsthand how a threat like that felt. Her ex-father-in-law had threatened to hurt Eliot if she didn’t go back to Todd. So yes, she knew the need to protect those you love was strong. So strong, it led her to the FBI’s doorstep and eventually the arrest of her ex-husband and father-in-law.
She got a mental vision of the photograph of Agent Bara’s son with a big toothless grin and a cowlick in the same place as his father. Would she have acted differently if the person being threatened had been vulnerable and hadn’t been an ex–Special Forces officer?
No, she told herself. Not if it meant she had to take another life.
Connor’s phone rang. He started to reach for it when it fell. But he must’ve answered it because the caller’s voice echoed over the speakers. “Detective Pierce.” Connor looked down, as if to disconnect it, but before he could, the caller continued, “This is Peter Ronan.”
Peter Ronan? Air caught in Brie’s throat. Why was her father calling Connor?
Hearing the voice sent her back. Back to being young, waiting and wanting to hear that voice. He hadn’t been one to dish out a lot of affection, but the times he had, she’d reveled in it. How’s my pumpkin? The question always came with a kiss on her forehead.
For years, Brie wondered if he also called Alma “pumpkin.” Or was that her special nickname?
Pushing the past down, Brie studied Connor, whose expression held a good dose of guilt.
“You left a message,” her father said.
“Yes.” Connor’s attention became equally divided among the phone, the road, and her. “When might be a good day to come up and talk? I have questions about your daughter Alma.”
“You probably don’t know this, but she’s deceased. The FBI looked into it. I’m not sure they found out what happened though.”
Brie remembered attending the burial. She’d stood about fifty yards away and watched as they lowered her sister’s casket in the ground. She’d been planning to give the bracelet to Alma’s mother, but in the end, she couldn’t let it go.
“I’m aware of that,” Connor said. “But I still need answers.”
“I already spoke with the police earlier,” her father said. “I’m a busy man, Detective. You can ask me now.”
Her father didn’t have time to find justice for the daughter he supposedly loved. But why was she surprised? He hadn’t even shown up for the funeral.
Connor’s hands on the wheel tightened. “No. I think you can make time. I’ll drive up to Henderson. When and where is good?”
Her father went silent for several seconds. “Fine. Tuesday at four.” He spouted out an address. “Don’t be late.”
“I’ll be there.” Connor hung up. “Sorry.”
“Why are you talking to him?” A distant cracking of thunder echoed and a bright flash of lightning filled the darkening sky. When he didn’t answer immediately, she asked, “You don’t think he had something to do with her death, do you?”
“No. But I can’t help but wonder if he knew more about what was happening in her life than he let on.”
“We know what happened. Dillon Armand happened. This isn’t going to help.”
“It’s an unanswered question and—”
“You’re wasting your time.” Her voice reverberated over the noise of the outlying storm. “You heard him; he doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t even care.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, as if he understood her pain. But how could he, when even she didn’t understand. Why did this still hurt?
How’s my pumpkin? Her father’s words from long ago had emotion growing hot in her chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me you contacted him? Why didn’t you tell me about Agent Miles’s financial records? What else have you not told me? I come to you when I learn something. But I don’t get the same courtesy?”
He glanced at her. “Brie, I’m being as upfront as I can.” Honesty, patience, and concern sounded in his words.
Tears stung her eyes. Suddenly, she knew s
he was taking her anger over her father out on Connor.
“I don’t…I’m exhausted. Sorry.” It was too much. Carlos still in a coma. Seeing a man with a giant hole in his gut. Knowing someone she had once trusted was responsible for this. Knowing the man responsible for killing her sister was still out there. Knowing her father didn’t care enough about his dead daughter to talk to the police. She turned and watched the storm brewing outside her window while feeling one brewing inside her.
* * *
Connor pulled into the diner’s parking lot at a little past two p.m. and stopped beside Brie’s car. The rain was now a lazy drizzle. The gloomy weather had turned day into almost night. Rubbing his eyes, hoping to assuage the brewing headache, he leaned back in the seat. He’d texted Mark earlier that he planned to grab a nap and shower before coming in.
Mark had texted back saying Billy had spent the day looking for Regina Berger but had come up empty. Tomorrow, Connor would get a warrant for the girl’s Facebook account. Thinking about Berger got him thinking about her baby girl. The one he’d bounced in his arms. The one abandoned by her own mother.
He could only hope the baby was young enough that she wouldn’t know what her mother had done. That she’d never feel like damaged goods.
Turning his head, he looked at Brie sleeping and remembered the pain he’d seen in her eyes when her father had called. Damn, Connor really disliked that guy.
Halfway here, she’d lowered her seat back and fallen asleep.
At first, she’d given him her back. Then in slumber, she had turned and faced him. Since then, he’d had a devil of a time focusing on the road.
A crazy thought hit. This was what he’d missed the night when he walked out. The chance to watch her sleep.
Every few minutes, she’d wrinkle her nose. A couple strands of blond hair lay against her cheek, her long lashes resting on the tender skin beneath her eyes. Right below her left brow there was a thin scar about an inch long. What had happened? he wondered.
Not driving now, he could study her features even more. Her full lips were bow-shaped on top and enticingly plump on bottom. Occasionally, her tongue would dip out and leave a sheen of moisture.
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