Best Laid Plans (39 page)

It made sense, in a twisted way. “We need Elise’s statement. She said a man shot her—implied,” Lucy added. “If Adeline is behind this entire thing, she has someone working for her—someone we can cut a deal with.”

“This is where it gets tricky, Lucy. Elise is an unreliable witness. She’s already lied to us. Harper was dead before she left the motel room. She flirted with the taxi driver. She went to another client and had sex with him. She admitted to accepting a substantial amount of money to take dirty pictures of Worthington. And, even knowing that whoever hired her gave her a lethal drug
and
tried to kill her, she hasn’t given us a name. Plus, there’s nothing that connects Elise to Adeline.”

“Not yet, but we haven’t been looking for that connection. But if it’s there, we’ll find it.”

“I like your confidence, but not only do we need to find the connection, we need to make it stick. Circumstantial evidence isn’t going to give us a warrant, not against a member of Congress, let alone an indictment. This case needs to be rock solid, and that means that not only do we need Elise Hansen and James Everett to tell us the truth, we need to break Mona Hill. She already admitted to sending Elise to James Everett. Which makes me think she also sent Elise to Harper Worthington, even if Elise said otherwise. She’s the conduit and has absolutely no ties to Adeline—that we can find.” Barry glanced at Lucy. “Are you going to have your A game when we interview her again?” Barry asked her.

“Of course.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Barry—I let her get under my skin once. It won’t happen again.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “I made some calls last night.”

She knew what was coming. She didn’t want to talk to Barry about her past. She didn’t think he could know the details—it wasn’t super secret knowledge that she’d been raped, but the circumstances surrounding her rape and how she killed her kidnapper
were
sealed. But because of her association with Rick Stockton and Hans Vigo—and the fact that her sister-in-law taught at Quantico—people had a lot of theories about her. Most wrong. Some close to the truth.

“Matt Slater and I went through Quantico together,” Barry continued. “He told me about the prostitution ring you uncovered, the blackmail, the girls you saved.”

“Do you not trust me?” she asked bluntly. “Is that why you’re checking on my credentials?”

“It’s not about trust.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I don’t know you, and it’s clear you have far more experience than most rookie FBI agents who didn’t come from local law enforcement.”

“I thought after working together for nearly a week that I’ve proven myself to you. And yet, you call the D.C. office for what? To dig up dirt? To find out if I’m going to fall apart in the middle of this investigation?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“And what did Slater say? Because my partner and I solved that case, and we apprehended the killer and took down a corrupt lobbyist. People are alive because we did our job. That’s all I’m trying to do here.”

“Slater said you were protected from on high, but that you didn’t need it because you were a good cop. But—because most people in D.C. know about your friendship with Rick Stockton among other high-ranking staff and would unfairly judge you by it—it was wise that you were assigned far away.”

She didn’t say anything.

Neither did Barry.

Maybe there was nothing else to say. She didn’t like that Barry felt he had to check up on her. Especially after she’d thought they were working so well together.

Barry pulled into the parking lot at James Everett’s development company. Lucy was about to get out of the car when Barry put his hand on her arm. “Slater also said that you took too many risks, were lucky to be alive, and your FBI file was thicker than most senior agents’—but unavailable without clearance from Rick Stockton himself, which he declined to give Slater when asked. That makes me suspicious.”

“Let go,” Lucy said quietly. Barry dropped his hand. She got out of the car and walked to the lobby, waiting for Barry to catch up.

He followed and didn’t say another word about the conversation. Barry had reminded her once again that she would never escape her past.

Sometimes, she wondered why she even tried.

*   *   *

James Everett was clearly unhappy about seeing Barry and Lucy in his office Wednesday morning. So was his lawyer, Miriam Shaw.

“I’ve done all I can to help you,” he said.

Barry took the lead. “We have a witness who said that she took sexually explicit photos of you and turned them over to an individual who planned to blackmail you. Are you being blackmailed?”

Good lie, Lucy thought. The way Barry said it Lucy almost believed it. They were certain that’s what happened, but they couldn’t prove it. Yet.

Everett’s face drained of color. “No!”

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Everett.”

Shaw bristled. “My client denies that anyone has blackmailed him. Is that the only reason you’re here?”

“No. We are prepared to arrest Mr. Everett for solicitation and statutory rape.”

“Since when does the FBI make arrests for solicitation?” the attorney asked coolly.

“United States Code eighteen, section one-five-nine-one clearly states that it’s a federal crime to pay for sexual intercourse with a minor under the age of eighteen,” Lucy said.

“I didn’t,” Everett said.

“Elise is sixteen,” Lucy said.

“Bullshit,” Everett said.

“James.” His attorney placed a hand on his shoulder. Everett looked at his hands folded on his desk. Shaw said, “If you’re going to go through with this travesty, I’ll bring my client down to be arraigned, but he will not be spending any time in jail.”

“Yes, he will,” Barry said. “Unless he cooperates.”

“I’ll file charges of harassment.”

“Go ahead,” Barry said. “I will remind you that it’s a crime to lie to a federal agent.”

Everett’s whole body sagged like air from a balloon. “This can’t be happening,” he said. “She said she was eighteen!”

Lucy said, “Her ID was a fake. Or did you even bother to check?”

“If my client is being blackmailed, then he’s the victim,” Shaw said.

“And we’re willing to drop all charges if he cooperates,” Barry said. “Who’s blackmailing you, Mr. Everett?”

“I don’t know!” he said with a half sob. “I haven’t even seen the pictures. I—I got a voice recording Monday night. My voice. They sent a note that said to wait for instructions, to tell no one. I—I—” He glanced at his attorney. “I’m already helping the FBI on another matter.”

Shaw stared at him, surprised. “
James
.”

“I couldn’t tell anyone—they told me I couldn’t, or they wouldn’t give me immunity,” Everett said. “But I told my FBI contact about the recording, and he didn’t think it was important. He said everything would soon be resolved, and if the blackmailer contacted me again to let him know.”

Lucy wondered if Logan Dunbar had that information before or after his meeting at the FBI office. If he had known, what else was he holding back from them? If he hadn’t known then, why hadn’t he informed Juan as soon as Everett told him? His lack of cooperation angered Lucy—she expected better from a colleague.

Barry said, “We know that you’re a confidential informant for the FBI in the investigation of Adeline Reyes-Worthington.”

Everett’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. “No one is supposed to know!”

“San Antonio is our jurisdiction,” Barry said, leaving it at that. “We need the voice recording. Now.”

Everett hesitated, then opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a microrecorder.

Barry put on gloves and picked it up. He pressed play.

“You’re late,” Everett’s voice said.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” It was a young female whom Lucy recognized as Elise. There were sounds of sex in the background—moaning and slapping—and it took a second for Lucy to recognize that Everett had a porn video on the television. Elise said, “You want me to do that to you?”

“I want a lot of things. How old are you?”

“How old do you want me to be?”

“Legal.”

“I’m legal.”

“You look younger.”

There was silence for a long minute, except for the porn in the background, then the sound of rustling, then a glass being put firmly down on a table.

“I picked this hotel because the walls are thick, and I want to hear you. Understand?” Everett said.

“Yes. I need the money first.”

Again, movement and noise. Paper. A drawer? Maybe not.

“What do you want me to call you?” Elise asked.

“Call me Daddy. And I’m going to spank you. Hard.”

“Spank me, Daddy.”

Lucy jumped when she heard the hard slap on flesh.

“All fours, little girl, I’m going to fuck you hard,” Everett said on the tape. The sound of his hand slapping her echoed. “Tell me you want it hard.”

“I want it hard, Daddy.”

Barry shut the tape off. Lucy couldn’t look at anyone. She felt dirty just listening to the tape. Memories threatened to flood her, violent memories. She couldn’t go there. She had to control her emotions, control her feelings. Be the ice princess she’d been in college. Be the rock she’d been when she and Barry left the car twenty minutes ago. She felt every shield slide back into place. She first caught the lawyer’s eye. Then Everett’s. Every muscle tightened and froze.

Lucy said, “What did they say they wanted from you, Mr. Everett?” Her voice was low and calm. Too calm. But that was the price to stave off the past.

“I don’t know! I swear! They said to wait and they’d tell me. It’s probably money. It’s always about money, right?”

“We’ll keep this. And if they contact you again, call me immediately,” Barry said.

“What if they’re keeping tabs on me? If they have my phone tapped? If it’s someone I know?”

Barry wrote a number on the back of a business card. “This is a generic number, can’t be traced to the FBI. Call it, and the switchboard will connect you with me wherever I am.”

Everett stared at the number. “What about my other arrangement? I was promised immunity.”

“Most FBI deals are for immunity for past crimes. Am I incorrect in assuming that extends to your arrangement?”

Everett didn’t say anything.

“Do
you
understand?” Barry asked.

“Yes,” Everett said quietly. “I understand completely.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Because Mona’s profession required her to work nights, she had the luxury of sleeping in every morning. Her bedroom had blackout curtains that blocked any sunshine that threatened to creep in and disturb her beauty sleep. But rarely did she sleep past eleven in the morning, and Wednesday was no exception.

She stretched and swung her feet over the edge of her bed. It was quarter to eleven, and she had a full day ahead of her. She saw a message on her cell phone. It was from Tobias’s contact, and she smiled.

We want it.

Of course they wanted the video. The woman was a federal agent. It was priceless, truly. From what she’d heard, Tobias’s people had been looking for someone in the FBI to cultivate. This seven minutes would take little Ms. Lucy Kincaid down a peg or ten.

She showered, drank a cup of tea, and sat down at her computer. She made a mental list of everything she needed to do. First was to assign her girls—and boys—for the evening. A good business couldn’t run on supplying only women for the particular needs of men. Some men liked men—and in conservative Texas, that meant discretion. The kind of discretion they paid handsomely for.

Her computer made an odd sound, like it was spinning, getting louder and louder. The screen was blue. Suddenly, white characters scrolled rapidly across the screen and smoke erupted from the hard drive. She jumped back. There was a spark and then the smell of burning metal.

Well, shit. She had everything on that computer, and it was only six months old. Thankfully, she had a complete backup, which saved her data wirelessly every night. She retrieved the backup drive from the closet and plugged it into her laptop in the kitchen.

First thing, order a new damn computer. That was under warranty, and if the dicks on the help desk thought they would make her pay, they had another think coming.

She turned on her laptop and at first nothing happened.

A cloud of suspicion washed over her. She reached over to pull the cable that connected her backup drive to the laptop, but smoke started coming from the laptop, and suddenly, the backup drive sparked and the plastic began to melt.

Someone was destroying her business.

“Don’t move,” a male voice said.

She turned and saw a man she didn’t recognize in the doorway of her kitchen. He was six one, maybe six foot two, lean, with dark hair and blue eyes.