Easy Target (22 page)

So, she’d prove him wrong.

Like she’d done to every other naysayer in her life. Howard would want this story. Sassy was certain of it. And it could be the start of breaking down the walls to Trey’s release. She could do it on her own.

A voice in her head warned that she wasn’t supposed to go off all “half-­cocked,” as Bryan had said, but she ignored it. If she did nothing, Trey would spend the rest of his life in a Mexican jail. Besides, she wasn’t going off “half-­cocked.” In fact, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Bear was studying her with the wary expression of a sailor watching violent clouds gather on the horizon. Reminding herself that blowing up at her host would do nothing to help the situation, Sassy tamped down her frustration and tempered her smile.

“Can you bring up my research again that I was looking at last night?” She bent over to pat Lily and got an enthusiastic puppy kiss for her effort.

Bear nodded. “Sure, just give me a ­couple of minutes.” He looked decidedly relieved at the passing of Storm Sassy and began typing on his keyboard.

Sassy washed up before grabbing some coffee and a muffin the size of her hand from the kitchen. The warmth of the cup was a small comfort. She was cold all over, but it hadn’t registered before now. Feeling abandoned had that effect on her. After a ­couple of moments, Bear stood, turned the computer over to her, and walked upstairs.

Using her yellow legal pad, Sassy worked from her online notes and interviews, including the conversation with everyone last night. Pulling the story pieces together from Leland’s experience with Ford Johnson and the Colton bust, she looked up some old news stories and pulled quotes from Johnson himself at the civil trial that had taken place when Ellis Colton had sued the government for his wife’s injuries and his baby’s wrongful death.

Sassy laid out what she’d learned from Nick and Jennifer as well. She layered in what she’d discovered about the cartel involvement and the human trafficking situation that spread from Mexico to Africa, details she’d picked up while looking into Elizabeth’s disappearance. There were passages that could use more filling in, but that could be done later. The story was intricate, and would lend itself to being a multi-­piece series.

It was late afternoon when she finally stood up from the computer and stretched. She was done, or at least as close to done as she needed to be before talking to Howard to see how interested he really was and when he might be able to run a story like this. She typed out a quick message with just enough of an outline to whet Howard’s appetite: murder, drugs, government conspiracy, sex trafficking.

Given her communication limitations, she went in search of Bear. She found him outside, just off the patio with its stunning overlook. He was splitting wood and humming a James Taylor song as he worked. She knew the moment he heard her approach, because he abruptly quit doing both.

“Can you help me send an email without its being traced?” she asked.

“Absolutely. Whatcha got?”

They headed back into the cabin, where she showed him the message for Howard. He talked her through the steps of sending it so it wouldn’t be traceable. After thirty seconds, the telltale swoosh of an outgoing email tone sounded.

She looked up with a smile. “Excellent. Now how about some lunch? I make a mean omelet, and I’m starved.”

“Lunch? Woman, lunchtime was hours ago. I was about to throw a ­couple of steaks on the grill. How about some wine to go with them?”

Sassy didn’t hesitate. “Sounds great.”

Bear nodded, and she heard the distinctive pop of a cork being pulled as she went up to grab her shoes and put on another layer, since the sky was growing darker by the minute. The Cowboys sweatshirt made her think of Tilly and Otis. She remembered her clean clothes in Bear’s dryer and realized she could wear something else that didn’t make her feel so depressed.

She wondered briefly what Bryan was up to, but she forced herself to leave that sad topic alone as well. “Nothing but heartache all around,” she murmured to herself and headed back downstairs.

Bear was back at the computer when she came down. “Hey there, you have a reply already. Sorry, the window was open, and it popped up while I was sitting here.”

She wasn’t all that surprised at the speedy response. Howard was a workaholic. “What does it say?”

“ ‘Call me ASAP,’ ” read Bear.

She sighed and reached for the glass of wine he had poured for her. “Of course it does.”

“You
can
call him, you know. We’ll just use the data port instead of the phone. Want to do it now before we start cooking?”

“Yeah, let’s. Can I check my other email first? I didn’t do that earlier. I just sent the one to Howard.”

“As long as you only download plain text and don’t click on any attachments,” explained Bear.

She nodded and came back to swap places. He headed for the kitchen to give her privacy. Sassy was grateful she was sitting down when she read her messages. One required immediate attention. She glanced up, debating whether or not to share the contents with Bear. He was making some kind of exotic-­looking salad, while Lily wandered over and flopped down in her dog bed near the desk.

Her reporter’s instinct kicked in.
Nope. Not happening.
Sassy wasn’t sharing until she had more information. She took a deep breath and dashed off a reply, carefully following the earlier instructions for sending an untraceable email.

Now
she was ready to talk to her editor.

Bear directed her from across the room. She slipped on the headphones and dialed the phone the way he instructed. Moments later, she could hear it ringing on Howard’s end. He answered on the first ring.

“It’s me, Howard.”

“Sassy? Where the fucking hell are you?” Her editor’s language was colorful even when things were going his way. When he was stressed, it became even more so.

“You know I can’t tell you that. Can you use the story?” she asked.

“Depends. When can I see the copy? How reliable are your sources? I warn you, you’re going to need thorough corroboration, because the DEA and the FBI will be all up my ass as soon as this goes live.”

“You want my sources?” She heard her own voice squeak on the question.

“If you weren’t wanted for murder yourself, it wouldn’t be an issue. But I have to know that this is legitimate information. Do you have anyone who’s not wanted by the FBI or the DEA who can corroborate?”

Sassy sighed. “I’m going to have to think about it.”

Howard’s muttered epithet was one of his more anatomically creative. “You do that. I want the story as soon as you’re finished. And I’ll need at least one witness who is not an alleged criminal.”

“What about Ellis Colton?”

“The guy whose wife and kid died in that botched drug raid?”

“Right. I’m not sure I can get an interview with him at this point, given the circumstances. Perhaps he would talk to you?” she suggested.

By now she imagined Howard was leaning back in his office chair, staring at the ceiling and chewing on the tip end of his red Bic pen.

“I remember the Colton mess. It was quite the juicy story when that DEA officer, Leland whoosits, testified against his own team. Colton was explicit about not wanting to talk with the media after that. But for the right reasons, he might be willing to break his silence. Like maybe to apprehend the man responsible?”

Sassy gulped a silent breath of air. Howard was buying in. This was good. “How long do you suppose this will take? We don’t have a lot of time here for my brother.”

“We’ve got to get it right, Sassy. You can’t go off half-­cocked.”

She struggled not to grind her teeth on hearing that term again. Why was everyone calling her on being impulsive?

Howard’s voice brought her back to the conversation at hand. “And we’re ignoring the elephant in the living room. The warrant out for your arrest.”

“Bryan and I didn’t kill that ­couple.”

“I assumed so. But it looks bad.”

Sassy leaned back in her own chair. “Use that to make the story current. Relevant.” She had to give Howard an angle to get this story out there in time to help Trey.

“I suppose that could possibly work. I’ll see what I can do and be in touch. If you find a legitimate corroborating source, let me know.”

And that was as much of a promise as she was going to get from him.

“Alright. Thanks, Howard. I appreciate it. I’ll keep working it for you.”

“You do that. Without a credible source, this will only be seen as a tabloid piece.”

“Right.” She hung up and turned to Bear, thankful that she’d been on the headphones and had had a semiprivate conversation.

She would have to get the more compelling evidence herself. Howard wasn’t going to do it for her, at least not within a time frame that was going to suit her. But she’d keep that to herself. At least she had options. Suddenly the email from earlier took on an even greater importance, and she was glad she hadn’t said anything about it to Bear.

She slipped the headphones off to talk to him. “Hmmm. Not sure this is all the way over the goal line, but it’s as far as I can take it this evening.” That wasn’t exactly a bald-­faced lie. “So where are those steaks you promised?”

“Right this way, ma’am.”

She checked her email one last time. Not surprisingly, a new reply had arrived while she’d been speaking to Howard. The content had her hesitating only a beat before she answered Bear. “I’m right behind you.”

She closed the window to her email account and followed him out to the patio, taking smaller sips of the cabernet than she would have normally. Her evening was just getting started.

Chapter Twenty-two

December 29

Late evening

F
OUR HOURS LATER
, Sassy was alone in Bear’s truck, bumping along the dark road out of the Francis Marion National Forest. A friend of his had stopped by after dinner to return the vehicle. She’d waited until Bear had gone up to shower before she’d snuck out.

Bear hadn’t even wanted to leave her alone downstairs, but she’d insisted and finally prevailed in convincing him to take a shower and a nap before taking the evening watch. She claimed that since she’d had such a good night’s rest the night before, she’d be staying up a while to work anyway.

He’d reluctantly agreed, showing her how the alarms and surveillance cameras worked before he went upstairs. She’d sent another email, and as soon as she’d heard the shower kick on, she’d disarmed the system and snuck out of the house to—­basically—­steal his truck.

Yes, a horrible way to repay his kindness. But she’d do that and worse if it meant saving Trey. Besides, she planned to return the vehicle. But tonight, she needed it for a little while.

The email message she’d received before dinner was too tantalizing to resist.

I need to talk with you. Alone. You name the time and place. Near Charleston, perhaps? I can be there within the hour. It concerns your brother’s welfare and his possible early release from Mexican incarceration.

She’d known the sender was serious, addressed as it had been from Tomas Rivera. He was assuming, just as law enforcement was, that she and Bryan had holed up in the area after the train wreck.

She’d emailed Rivera back, telling him to meet her at The Hot Pot, the same diner where Bear had picked her and Bryan up the day before. She’d almost said something to Bear over dinner, but he would never have agreed to this.

With the truck’s GPS, she assumed she could find the diner easier than anything else in the area. But she wasn’t sure how long it would take her to get there, so she’d given herself plenty of time and set the meeting for 2:30
AM
. If she’d been willing to wait until tomorrow night, she supposed Bryan could have come with her to the meeting. But she’d dismissed that idea out of hand.

Rivera had said to come alone. And Trey’s current timetable didn’t allow for her to wait on anything. Besides, she wasn’t all that convinced Bryan was coming back. No matter what Bear said.

She wondered what Bear would think when he realized she was gone. Hopefully he’d come out of his shower and go straight to bed for a while to rest, but she doubted it. Realistically, she had a twenty-­minute head start.

But Bear didn’t know where she was going, so she comforted herself with that. She got lost twice but pulled into The Hot Pot with thirty minutes to spare.

She remembered to park the truck out of sight of the surveillance cameras that they had avoided yesterday, then made her way to the door of the diner. She could see truckers and waitresses through the foggy windows and thought she could use a cup of coffee herself.

She was stepping onto the sidewalk when she heard the door open on a Lincoln Town Car beside her. The windows were so heavily tinted, she couldn’t see inside.

“Miss Smith?”

She turned.

A young man stood beside the back passenger door. At first it didn’t register who this could be. The man was too young to be Rivera.

“Mr. Rivera would like to see you, now. Get in, please.”

She stopped. Her foot felt leaden on the sidewalk. The door to the diner was right there. She could reach out to open it and be safely inside. “I told him I would meet him in the restaurant.”

“That’s not how he wants to do this, ma’am. Please come with me.”

His polite demeanor surprised her. Under the circumstances, she should be grateful the man said please and wasn’t manhandling her into the car. She’d known all along how crazy stupid and incredibly dangerous it was for her to be here alone; that fact was amplified for her now. But this was the price she would pay to help Trey. She’d go with this man to meet whoever she had to in order to save her brother.

She ducked and slid into the backseat through the open door. The sound of it slamming behind her further rattled her unsteady nerves. The scent of expensive cologne and extravagant tobacco clung to the air.

Sassy wasn’t alone in the backseat.

December 30

Midnight

Atlanta

B
RYAN SAT WITH
his back to the glass-­paneled wall highlighting a dramatic skyline view in the dark bar filled with last call patrons, smoke, and the throb of club music. They were starting the meeting late because Risa’s flight had been significantly delayed. She’d been picked up at the airport by her contact rather than Bryan because there wasn’t enough room on his bike and the concern over his being identified. So Risa and Bryan had had no time to talk privately beforehand.

Despite the SkyLounge’s lush surroundings and plush cushioned sofas, or perhaps because of them, Bryan was struggling to relax. With the dim lighting, someone would practically need night-­vision goggles to recognize him, but he still felt exposed. And he wasn’t exactly dressed for clubbing.

Earlier, in the bathroom downstairs, he’d managed to peel off some of the thermal layers and run his fingers through his hair so he didn’t look so out of place in his black leather jacket and pants. After driving Bear’s bike like a wild man to get here, he’d had more than three cups of coffee while he’d waited for Marissa and company to arrive. The waiter offered Bryan another refill when he dropped off drinks for Risa and her contact, but Bryan shook his head. He was wired enough already.

Risa’s guy wasn’t exactly an ass, but he was an intense fellow. Bryan had the distinct feeling they were not going to get along. The man’s name was David Nightshade, and from his initial conversation Bryan assumed the guy had been working in the Justice Department for a long time. It was obvious that David and Risa had a past, but neither had enlightened Bryan as to what that past entailed.

As the waiter walked away, Nightshade leaned into Bryan’s personal space and gave what Bryan guessed was his threatening stare. Bryan ignored it. He’d disarmed that kind of mind-­game shit years ago. And while he was willing to put up with Nightshade’s intimidation tactics and more to get help, it didn’t stop him from fantasizing about punching the guy in the nose.

Nightshade frowned at Bryan’s lack of response before he started talking. “What I’m about to tell you is classified, and I’ll have your ass in jail if you breathe a word of it to the press or to anyone else.”

Bryan nodded and fought to push aside his frustration at the melodramatic tone. He supposed Nightshade could be menacing looking in the right setting. But there wasn’t much that scared him anymore, particularly when his friends’ lives were on the line. At the moment, Bryan just felt an extreme sense of irritated impatience brought on by too much caffeine and worry over what was happening with Nick and Leland, their women, and the boy.

“For God’s sake, David. Will you zip it and put the tape measure away? Bryan’s not going to call CNN. He knows you’re putting your job on the line by talking with us. Speak.” Risa’s tone was glacial. She’d never been one to waste time with posturing.

Well, we’re not calling CNN yet,
thought Bryan.
But there are no guarantees.
He wondered how Sassy’s “story” was coming. He’d been dismissive of her idea last night, and that had been a mistake. He’d been thinking of her all day.

He should have woken her and said goodbye this morning, another huge error on his part. He wanted to talk with her, but calling to apologize wasn’t an option, given the tracing issue. He’d have to wait until he got back to Bear’s and give his apology in person. And that was enough thinking on that, or he’d forget the whole reason he was here.

Bryan focused on Risa instead, silently cheering her handling of Nightshade. The man was quiet for the first time since they’d arrived, simply staring at her. And even if Bryan didn’t like the guy, he couldn’t blame the man for that.

Risa had the timeless beauty and carefully coiffed look of a woman who could be anywhere between thirty and forty-­five. Her history with Gavin had him assuming she was at least thirty-­five, but beyond that, her age was a mystery.

What was not a mystery was how scathing she could be when angered. Bryan had been on the receiving end of Risa’s wrath before. It wasn’t fun. To have her sharpen her claws on your pride hurt.

Nightshade didn’t seem too bothered. “You know I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you, Risa.”

“I do, and I so appreciate it.” Her words should have sounded trite or dismissive, but Risa’s tone was completely sincere.

Nightshade smiled at her before turning back to Bryan. “Ford Johnson is most likely your man. Currently he is under investigation by the internal affairs arm of the DEA.”

Bryan exhaled, relieved to have the suspicions confirmed by someone else besides AEGIS. “What’s Ford Johnson being investigated for?”

“Multiple offenses ranging back over the past decade. Most recent was unauthorized approvals for the use of an experimental drone system in Mexico. Johnson helped himself to several test drone programs, both large and small. The one that bit him in the ass was the swarm quadrotor system. Those drones are smaller than a kid’s mini remote-­controlled helicopter and have very targeted firepower. When used in multiples, a swarm of the nano quadrotors can take out a specific person in a vehicle of a convoy or even in a specific room of a building. It gives a new definition to the term
surgical strike
.”

Risa was drinking her wine and watching the room as Nightshade talked. She’d obviously heard some of this before.

“The DEA’s Office of Professional Responsibility discovered discrepancies in the approval system on a routine report audit a ­couple of weeks ago. They’re still unwinding everything, but I understand the inspector general of the Justice Department is involved now. They’re planning to file charges.” Nightshade leaned back and lit a cigarette.

“Are they sure Johnson used those drones?” Bryan sat up straighter in the booth. “Ernesto Vega swore that the clinic where Cesar Vega died and the home where Tomas Rivera’s wife died were both hit by drones. Could Ford Johnson have been behind that?” But Bryan already knew the answer.

“It sure as hell wasn’t sanctioned by the U.S. government,” said Nightshade. “The drones in our program are experimental, to be used strictly for observation.”

“Even those quadrotors?” asked Bryan.

“Their use is classified. But I assure you that program was not tasked with anything having to do with Ernesto Vega or Tomas Rivera.” Nightshade already sounded like he was testifying before a subcommittee.

“Does Johnson know that he’s about to be busted?” asked Marissa.

Nightshade shrugged and tapped the ash off his cigarette. “He shouldn’t, but if his network is as good as I think it is, he might. I have no way of knowing for certain. The guy has a sixth sense about some of this stuff.”

Bryan was itching to ask how certain Nightshade was of the intel, but that wasn’t why Marissa had invited him to this meeting. If she trusted the man’s information, Bryan was going to have to trust it, too. That bombshell about the drone investigation was proof enough that Ford Johnson was their guy. And if an inspector general was involved, this wasn’t some harebrained theory.

“What do you know about Johnson’s past? How long he’s been with the DEA?” asked Bryan.

Nightshade sipped his overpriced IPA and shifted in his seat. “Johnson was there when I got to the Justice Department ten years ago. He’s done a little of everything stateside and more recently overseas in Afghanistan.”

“Afghanistan?” The sense of foreboding was so overwhelming that Bryan almost missed what Nightshade said next.

“Johnson’s been running an investigation into cartel involvement with the chieftains living in the central and southeastern provinces for several years now. When I started, he was one of those fair-­haired boys from the DEA heading up a joint task force in California. I remember because lots of heads rolled in both agencies when their case against a suspected cartel kingpin fell apart after the main informant died unexpectedly in a car crash. It was some attorney.”

Bryan was reeling from the possible Afghanistan connection, but as he looked into his cooling cup of coffee, several things fell into place.

He decided to start with the one that would initially keep his blood pressure lower. “Was the dead attorney’s name Reese Donovan?”

Nightshade cocked an eyebrow and crushed out his cigarette. “Yeah. Turned out the lawyer had been laundering money for the cartel and embezzling from his clients at the same time. DEA bet on the wrong horse in that investigation.”

Marissa looked stricken. “How did you know about that, Bryan?”

“When Leland, Nick, and I talked online last night, we put some pieces together. That was the one that we couldn’t make fit. It makes sense now.” He turned to Nightshade. “Reese Donovan was murdered. Juan Santos confessed to Nick Donovan in Africa last week that he did it on ‘orders’ from someone else.”

“You’re sure?” asked Nightshade.

“Positive.”

Nightshade nodded. “I’ll let my office know. We’ve suspected for a while that Gavin and AEGIS were being set up, but there’s no way to stop the investigation without tipping off Johnson. We’ve got him under observation. They should have him in custody soon.”

Bryan clutched his hands around the cup to keep from reaching across the table.

“Your office has known we were being set up and did nothing?” Marissa’s voice took on a dangerous tone as she asked the question, and Bryan could sense the storm coming. Any sane man would. But apparently Nightshade did not have the proper radar. Bryan was in no mood to throw the idiot a lifeline.

“If what you are saying is true, Ford Johnson has been dirty for over ten years, and no one ever caught him.” Marissa’s scathing tone could have flayed skin.