Damage Control

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Calculating and lethal,” I say. “Let’s hope that proves true in what he has to say tonight.”

  “It does and it will,” Seth assures me, motioning me toward a door, where our driver swipes a badge and then keys in a code.

  We follow him into an enclosed area where he presses his fingers against a panel and another door pops open, and my skepticism over Nick’s operations begins to fade, at least a little further. Nick is waiting for us when we finally enter the warehouse, wearing a navy-blue FBI T-shirt, a piece of his past that he keeps trying to drag into my future.

  “This way to the conference room,” he says, his stocky build and hard stare speaking of skill and confidence, while his graying blond hair speaks of experience, which I remind myself is valuable.

  Seth and I fall into step behind him, moving through a surprisingly high-tech facility. The main room we’re presently occupying is split into three parts: a boxing cage, a firing range, and a cluster of computer terminals.

  “It’s an impressive facility,” Seth comments. “One of the selling points when I contracted Nick for Brandon Enterprises.”

  “I’ll be impressed after I hear what you brought me here to hear,” I say dryly.

  “We have options to present,” he assures me. “Good ones, in my opinion.”

  I cut him a look. “You keep saying that and you usually don’t repeat yourself. It makes me wonder, who are you trying to convince? Me or you?”

  “Just offering reassurance.”

  “Another thing you never do,” I remind him at the same moment that Nick stops at a towering, steel-framed door and waves me forward.

  Stepping into the next room, I discover a massive round stone table, as well as an aquarium against the far wall. I claim one of the twelve gray leather chairs around the table, my gaze flicking over a stack of files a few feet away, and then lifting and landing on a framed Godfather movie scene covering almost the entire wall in front of me.

  Nick claims the chair to my right, following my gaze. “Badass, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure how to feel about you idolizing a gangster,” I comment, while Seth claims the seat to my left.

  “It’s Pacino I love,” Nick explains. “The man’s a chameleon; he becomes whatever he want to be whenever he wants to be, like many of our adversaries. Something that picture never lets me forget. It keeps me sharp.”

  My respect for Nick ticks up a notch, but with caution. “I hope sharp enough to give me a solution to Martina that doesn’t include me going to the FBI.”

  “We have a plan,” Nick confirms. “It’s now a matter of your approval.”

  “First things first though,” Seth says, sliding one of the folders from the center of the table to him. “We pulled the security feed from the night Emily met her guard Randy.” He opens the folder and sets a photo clearly captured by elevator footage. “That’s Randy. Real name José Garcia.” He sets another picture down, this one of José with Adrian Martina. “He is to Adrian what I am to you.”

  I look up and between Seth and Nick. “What the hell was he doing in my offices and near Emily?”

  Nick answers. “It’s not immediately clear if the contact with Emily was intentional or by chance. And since Derek was not in the building, his purpose for being there is also unclear.”

  “In other words,” I say. “I have no way of knowing if Emily is a target.”

  “In my professional opinion,” he replies, “she isn’t a target. Not yet.”

  I arch a brow. “Not yet? What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means,” Seth says, “that we believe Martina’s visit this morning was about him trying to draw you into his circle.”

  “The man has a god complex,” Nick adds. “He believes he can mend all, and do all, including your resistance to this partnership. Emily won’t be in danger until he decides you’re a problem he can’t solve by simply including you, where Derek has excluded you.”

  My jaw sets hard. “Then, as I’ve already stated, we need to get him the hell out of my company before that happens.”

  “I agree one hundred percent,” Nick quickly says, “which is what we want to talk about today.”

  “Let me summarize what we’ve done thus far,” Seth interjects, sliding a folder to me. “This is all inside the file if you want to follow along.”

  “Just get to it,” I say, eager to hear solutions, not problems.

  “We have a paid informant inside the locker rooms at Mike’s ball club, as well as for the one associated with Brody Matthews. We also pulled records on Ridel, the drug that we assume is being used to package an illegal performance-enhancing drug. We’ve found prescriptions have doubled since last year’s records, with a concentration in Colorado.”

  My lips thin. “A drug that is all but retired has doubled in usage. Were the users athletes?”

  “We’re still working on that,” Seth replies. “As well as looking closely at the doctors and medical clinics involved.”

  “And while doubling in numbers sounds big,” Nick adds, “the numbers are still extremely low. This is good news, as I doubt Martina would be involving you if he planned to localize Sub-Zero. He’ll plan a wider release, which we have no reason to believe has happened as of now.”

  I think of the video Seth obtained of after-hours packages being moved out of our Boulder division. “What about the transportation division?”

  “They may be testing it out,” he replies. “Using it to supply these doctors, or for other substances.”

  “That is way too deep into our operation for comfort,” I say. “What if one of those trucks gets stopped?”

  “Which is all the more reason to shake things up now, not later,” Nick says. “Adrian wants to rule the world. He’s power hungry, savvy, and smart, which makes him dangerous, but it also means he doesn’t make stupid mistakes. If we can give him cold feet, I’m of the opinion Adrian will be forced to pull out. If he doesn’t, and his father gets word of what’s happening, he’ll yank him out of here himself. And believe you me, Adrian doesn’t want that to happen.”

  “Cut to the chase,” I say. “What’s the proposed plan?”

  Nick and Seth exchange a look, with Seth delivering my answer. “We stage a raid of both the main BP facility and the Boulder warehouse in unison. We’ll do them late at night when there are limited employees present.”

  Nick quickly adds, “We believe that this is the kind of heat that will get Adrian’s attention, especially this early in the Martina-Brandon relationship. Will that be enough to get him to pull out? We can’t promise it will be, but this is only step one of a two-part plan.”

  I am not ready to move away from step one. “Who would do these raids?”

  “Obviously we need it to appear official,” Nick says, “but we have to tread cautiously. Pretending to be an agent when you aren’t is a federal offense.”

  “But I have a solution to that problem,” Nick quickly offers. “And his name is Ted Michaels. He’s an active agent that contracts for me.”

  I flick a hard look between them. “Are we really going down this path again? I told you both no Feds.”

  “He’ll run the raid off the books, and after hours,” Nick assures me. “He’s a good man, and we can trust him.”

  “Define ‘off the books,’” I say, far from ready to say yes. “And if he’s trustworthy, why is he operating off the books at all?”

  “Tragedy and necessity,” he replies. “His sister had a DUI accident and ended up paralyzed.”

  I narrow my eyes on Nick, looking for where this goes south. “What about insurance?”

  “She was the drunk driver and her own victim. Insurance isn’t covering anywhere near the special care she needs. In other words, Ted needs money, and since this is not something he’d normally do, it’s going to cost you.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty thousand,” he says.

  I whistle. “That’s a big number for a one-hour operation with n
o guaranteed outcome.”

  “I’ve checked out Ted,” Seth says, sliding a thumb drive in front of me. “That includes my notes, his personal history, as well as my live interview with him earlier today. He gets my thumbs-up.”

  “Even if I agree,” I say cautiously, slipping the drive into my jacket pocket, “aren’t there repercussions to Ted for doing this off the record, and still using his badge?”

  “There could be,” Nick agrees, “thus the price tag, but we have a plan if this ever surfaces to cover his ass.”

  He stops there, as if I’d actually let him get away with telling me nothing more. “Go on,” I press. “Because if he’s busted, the FBI is then linked to my facility.”

  “We’re covered and so are you,” Nick says firmly. “We’re contracted by the Feds on several Most Wanted List cases. It’s known he works for me on a contract basis because of his sister’s situation. We’re going to tell them we were on a case that led us to your facility. With reasonable cause, Ted made the decision to lead my team inside. That story also covers any press that might arise out of this.”

  I shake my head. “No. I don’t like the Feds being involved at all. And I’m damn sure not paying fifty thousand dollars to invite them into my facility.”

  Seth leans in closer. “Think about this, Shane. You need to shake Martina loose, and it’s better to do this on your terms, not someone else’s.”

  I bite back another rejection, reminding myself Martina is a problem we might not survive, quite literally. “You said you want to do the raids here and in Boulder, in unison. Ted’s one man. He can’t be in two places at once and this Most Wanted List idea won’t hold water for multiple locations. He can’t chase someone into two of my locations. Not without implying we’re sheltering fugitives.”

  “That’s where I come into play,” Seth says. “I’ll go to Boulder, report an insider tip about a raid that never materializes, but everyone will scramble and I’ll get a bird’s-eye view.”

  My mind goes back to this morning. “Martina assured me there is nothing to find in my buildings.”

  “It’s not about what we find,” Nick responds. “It’s about him thinking the FBI is looking into you, which leads to him.”

  I lean back in my chair, considering all they’ve said, but not ready to make a decision. “I’ll think about it. What else?”

  Nick studies me for a few beats, and I have the distinct impression he wants to argue but apparently decides better. “Mike Rogers,” he says instead. “He’s rich, powerful, and has a lot to lose by way of a drug scandal. I have nothing to support this theory, but my gut is that Martina has forced his involvement with some sort of threat or leverage.”

  “If that’s the case,” I say, “then he’s voting to give my brother control and we can assume that the head of the transportation division is as well.” I consider that possibility, thinking back on my brother’s recent behavior, and my own gut regarding Mike, whose silence, and my father’s file, has made me question. “No,” I say firmly. “Derek is still too afraid of me for that to be the case. Mike must not know what’s going on. He’s a target they want to own, just like me. I’ll talk to him, and feel him out.”

  “He’s shut you out, Shane,” Seth reminds me. “That doesn’t speak of innocence.”

  “Based on Mike’s file, he’s hiding money with my father,” I say, thoughtful again. “In fact, he has to know Derek isn’t the man to protect his money. I am.”

  Seth arches a brow. “Are you suggesting you take over your father’s efforts on his behalf?”

  “I’m suggesting I either convince him to let me handle it legally, or that we move his affairs before my father is no longer capable of handling them.”

  “You need to tread cautiously here,” Nick warns. “If you’re wrong, and you say anything about Sub-Zero to Mike, he could alert Martina that you’ve become a problem.”

  I cut him a hard look. “I can handle Mike. You handle Martina.”

  My cell phone beeps with a text and I grab it from my pocket and find a message from Jessica: Brody wants you to call him. And then the number. I glance between Seth and Nick. “Brody Matthews sidestepped his management team and made direct contact with Jessica. He wants me to call him.”

  Seth arches a brow. “Really? That’s unexpected.”

  I key in the number and it rings once before I hear a voice. “Shane Brandon?”

  “That’s me,” I confirm. “I assume your team told you I wanted to chat.”

  “Yeah, man, but we both know it’s not about an endorsement deal.”

  Yet something else I don’t expect and I eye Seth. “No. It’s not about an endorsement deal.” Seth tilts his chin slightly and I add, “It’s time we talk.”

  “In person,” Brody agrees. “Tonight.”

  “That works for me. When and where?”

  “There’s a bar downtown called Majors. I’ll meet you in the basement level.”

  “I know it. When?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “An hour and I’m bringing my right-hand man with me.”

  “An hour,” he agrees and hangs up.

  I replace my phone in my pocket. “We’re meeting at Majors downtown in an hour and he knows what I want to talk about.” I stand and Seth and Nick follow.

  “What’s your read on him?” Nick asks. “Is it a warning or a solution?”

  “Brody isn’t the kind of guy you send to deliver a warning.” And a solution sounds really damn good right now.

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, Seth and I sit in the dimly lit lower bar area of Majors, sitting against the wall, and watching the door, while Brody is nowhere in sight, nor is he answering his calls. I punch in his number one more time, with the same direct-to-voice-mail response. Frustrated, I set my phone down and reach for my freshly filled cup of coffee. “Why call me at all if he was going to do this?”

  “He got spooked,” Seth says, flagging down the waiter and pointing at his cup. “The question is by who? Your brother, or the middle man, who’s most likely the supplier he would have given up tonight.”

  The bartender, who’s serving as the only waiter on this level, appears, warming up my cup and refilling Seth’s. “We’re inside his team locker room now,” Seth says as soon as we’re alone again, tearing open sugar packets. “We’re going to find out how he’s getting his drugs.”

  I lift my cup, my gaze catching on Nick as he strides across the room toward us. “Looks like Nick gave up on being our front-door guard.”

  Seth’s gaze lifts and catches on the other man. “Walking with a purpose. That’s never good. I need the real drink I can’t ever afford to take.”

  “Right there with you,” I say, and we both lift our cups, taking drinks and setting them down at the same moment Nick claims the seat across from Seth and to my left, setting an iPad down on the table.

  “I’ve got another man on the door,” he announces, as if we’ve asked. “And we’ve had someone watching his house for days. He hasn’t shown up there, either.”

  “And yet you’re sitting here, for a reason,” I say. “Why?”

  “My man has been on the ground in Austin for the past six hours, and it’s been eventful. We haven’t located Emily’s brother, but we’ve confirmed her story with physical evidence.” He keys his iPad to life. “He went to the stepfather’s house, which was dark, and invited himself inside. Everything appeared in place, until he found this.” He turns the iPad in our direction and the image is of a floor and wall splattered with blue color.

  My brow furrows. “What is that?”

  “Blood,” Seth answers. “Emily’s brother wiped up but didn’t know how to get rid of the residual blood.”

  “My man cleaned it up, to keep it from leading back to Emily,” Nick says. “The brother’s house is dark, and there were papers stacked up. If he told Emily the truth and he’s out of the country, he didn’t leave on his own passport.”

  “I can’t bel
ieve these words are coming out of my mouth,” I say, “but where is the body?”

  “That’s my question,” Seth agrees. “Because considering the way he handled the blood cleanup, I don’t have a lot of faith about how he handled the body.”

  Nick’s phone buzzes where he’s set it on the table and he grabs it, reading his screen before he curses softly. “We didn’t find Brody, but he found us. He’s been in a car accident. It’s all over the news.”

  Hating where this is leading me, I bite out the question I’m needing answered. “Are we sure it’s an accident?”

  “My question exactly,” Seth agrees.

  “I know as much as you two do,” Nick replies, rotating in his chair to look around the room, and then stands to make a beeline for the television.

  Seth and I quickly follow, all three of us lining up at the bar, while the bartender flips channels. “There,” Nick says, as the news flashes with an image of what I think used to be a sports car, and at the sight my hands land on the bar, my head sinking low. He’s dead and somehow, some way, it’s related to me and my family. As if confirming my assessment, or driving it home with vicious precision, the reporter’s voice lifts in the air. “I repeat,” a female voice states, “Brody Matthews, star pitcher for the Denver Eagles, is dead at the young age of twenty-eight, and at the height of his career.”

  That tightness in my chest is now full-blown anger, an emotion only Derek has stirred in me in my adult life. I push off the bar and walk toward the stairs and I don’t stop until I’m on the street, where I am blasted with freezing cold wind that didn’t exist thirty minutes ago, because that’s the fucked-up way of Colorado. And fucking up everyone else’s life is the way of my family. My hands go to my hips and I look skyward, letting the wet flakes of snow hit my face, the cold doing nothing to soothe the burn inside me. I inhale a chilly wet breath, fighting down anger that wants to go to Derek right now and handle this like we did as kids. Gloves off, balls to the wall. But we are no longer those people and I don’t let anyone force my hand or my temper.

  Seth and Nick step to my side, and I lower my head, my voice steady, my mood leveled off. “We all know this isn’t an accident, be it that he was murdered because he was going to talk to me or he was driving under the influence of a drug that traveled a path through my company.”