It Happened One Wedding (22 page)

THURSDAY EVENING, VAUGHN
met with Huxley and the rest of his backup unit to run through the plan for his meeting later that night with Pritchett’s crew. He kept things short and sweet—this would be his fourth meeting with the cops, and everyone knew what to expect.

That is, until they got a call from the special operations team that was tailing the suspects.

“We have a situation,” said Agent Romero, the team leader of the SOG. “There’s a new guy joining the party.”

“What do we know?” Vaughn asked.

“He showed up at the cops’ rendezvous spot before they got in the vans to drive to Indianapolis. We ran his plate. Name is Mike Mahoney—
Officer
Mike Mahoney, brother of Officer James Mahoney. Just joined CPD last year.”

Two dirty cops in one family—how touching. “So James decided to cut his brother in on the action,” Vaughn said.

“Looks that way. Although it also looks as though he didn’t run that by Pritchett first,” Romero said. “There was some kind of argument between Pritchett and the brothers when they first showed up. From the way he got in Pritchett’s face, Mike Mahoney seems to be a bit of a hothead. Maybe Pritchett is worried he’s going to be bad for business.”

“What’s Mahoney carrying?”

“Just his pistol, like the others.”

“Did you alert Lyons yet?” Vaughn asked, referring to the undercover agent posing as his gun seller in Indianapolis.

“Not yet. We wanted to tell you first.”

“Let’s patch him in.” Vaughn made the call to Lyons and brought him up to speed. Romero said he would keep them posted on any unusual activity as his team tailed the suspects to Indianapolis, and Lyons agreed to check in as soon as he’d handed the guns off to Pritchett’s crew.

After hanging up with them, Vaughn filled in Huxley and the rest of the backup team.

“Do you think this new guy is going to be a problem?” Huxley asked.

“I think we need to be prepared for that possibility.” Granted, it was entirely possible that the only thing going on was that Mike Mahoney had heard about his brother making some cash on the side and had decided that he wanted in on the smuggling business. But regardless, Vaughn wanted to be ready for anything.

He opened one of his desk drawers and unlocked the metal case where he stored his Kimber 1911, the handgun he’d chosen to carry during this sting operation since Glocks were known for being law enforcement guns. He loaded the magazine and slid it into place.

 • • • 

LATER, WHEN VAUGHN
was at home and changing into one of “Mark Sullivan’s” designer suits, Lyons checked in.

“They just left with the guns,” the other agent said.

“How’s the new guy?” Vaughn asked.

“Young. Built. Big ego. I gave Pritchett crap about bringing in a new guy, and Mahoney didn’t care for that much,” Lyons said.

“He’ll be hearing the same song on my end,” Vaughn said. After hanging up with Lyons, he called Romero, who was in one of the cars tailing the cops back to Chicago. “How are we looking?”

“Business as usual,” Romero reported. “I’m tailing the van that the Mahoney brothers are in, and they’re following the standard route.”

“Just wanted to make sure our new guy doesn’t get any bright ideas about making off with my guns.”

“If that happens, and my team has to rein these jackasses in, please let me be the one to tell them the guns don’t even work,” Romero said.

“Not a chance. I’m saving that tidbit for when I arrest Pritchett.” Vaughn ended the call and put on the Rolex that had been given to him by Stagehand, the internal FBI group that provided the props used in undercover operations. Leaving his own cell phone on the kitchen counter, he slid into his suit-jacket the phone he used while undercover as Sullivan.

It was showtime.

 • • • 

FROM INSIDE THE
Hummer, Vaughn saw the headlights of the two vans approaching. He stepped out of the SUV and waited as the vehicles came to a stop in front of him.

Vaughn sized up Mike Mahoney as the young cop exited the second van. Twenty-three or twenty-four years old and built like a tank, he wore his T-shirt tucked into a pair of cargo pants so that his handgun was clearly on display.

Poor form.

“Who the fuck is this?” Vaughn asked Pritchett, nodding in Mike’s direction and acting the part of a gun buyer whose smugglers had just showed up with an uninvited guest.

“I’m the fucking muscle, that’s who I am,” Mike Mahoney shot back.

Clearly, the younger of the Mahoney brothers was going to be a real charmer.

Pritchett, the businessman of the group, was quick to diffuse any potential fireworks. “He’s James’s brother, Mike. Another cop. James told him about the operation we’re running, and he wanted to check it out. I figured with the amount of guns we’ve been smuggling into the city, it’s not a bad idea to have some extra manpower, you know? Just to be safe.”

Vaughn knew that Pritchett was lying—according to Romero’s intel, the cop was anything but thrilled that Mike had tagged along tonight. But he gave the guy credit for being a fairly decent bullshitter. “Sounds like James needs to work on keeping his mouth shut.” Vaughn stepped closer to Pritchett, his tone low. “Next time you think you need extra manpower for a job, you run it by me first. Understood?”

Pritchett swallowed nervously, for once not acting smug. “You’re the boss.”

“Damn right.” Vaughn gestured in the direction of the vans. “Let’s see what you’ve got for me.”

Seemingly relieved to have things back on track, Pritchett hustled over to his van and opened up the trunk. Vaughn walked over and saw two large duffle bags, just like the previous two trips. A check of the bags revealed ten AR-15 semiautomatic rifles, which Vaughn once again examined in front of the cops so that it was clear they knew what they were smuggling.

Once he’d accounted for all the rifles, he headed over to the second van. Inside were two more duffle bags, each filled with twenty-five handguns.

“Looks good,” Vaughn said. “Let’s load them up.”

He and the cops grabbed the duffle bags out of the vans and carried them over to his SUV. While loading them inside, he looked back and saw the Mahoney brothers and Howard standing by the back of the second van, where the fourth duffle bag of guns remained. The three men were huddled close together as they spoke.

And that was the moment Vaughn began to suspect that trouble loomed on the horizon.

“Something going on that I need to know about?” he asked Pritchett.

“There’d better not be,” Pritchett grumbled.

Buying time, Vaughn kept his pace unhurried as he walked over. Assuming that something was indeed afoot, he scrolled through the various possibilities. He doubted the Mahoney brothers and Howard were planning to steal his guns because three of the duffle bags were already in his SUV. More likely, they planned to shake him down for more money.

Unless they planned to kill him and make off with both the guns
and
the money.

Surrounding the area was Vaughn’s backup squad and the eight guys on the special operations team, all of whom were listening in and watching this unfold. Like Vaughn, those twelve men had just identified the Mahoney brothers and Howard as potential problems—problems who were armed, no less. Which meant they all were on high alert right then.

When Vaughn had nearly reached the van, Mike Mahoney stepped forward, blocking the duffle bag. He folded his beefy arms over his chest. “Before you take that bag, Sullivan, I think we need to talk.”

Staying in character, Vaughn dismissed this without consideration. “No, we don’t. I don’t even know you.” He stepped forward to grab the bag.

Whether out of anger, bravado, or sheer stupidity, Mahoney reached for his gun.

Fuck
. Instinct kicked in and Vaughn immediately grabbed for his own pistol. He had the Kimber out and trained directly on Mike before the cop got his gun out of its holster.

“Easy there, Mahoney,” Vaughn said calmly.

Unfortunately, not everyone else stayed quite so calm. The other cops instantly drew their weapons, reacting to the sight of a shady gun buyer pointing a pistol at one of their own.

In the blink of an eye, Vaughn found himself staring down the barrels of five loaded guns.

“Don’t fucking move, Sullivan,” James Mahoney warned in a low voice.

As Vaughn stood in that dark, sketchy alley surrounded by a group of dirty cops holding him at gunpoint, he knew that trouble no longer loomed on the horizon.

It had arrived.

VAUGHN’S HEART THUDDED
in his chest.

He had mere moments to diffuse the situation before all hell broke loose. First, there was the not-so-small problem of the five guns pointed at his head. But he had another problem to contend with: the FBI backup unit and special operations team who had the area surrounded, unbeknownst to everyone else.

He knew exactly what was happening at that moment. Backup, including Huxley, had seen the cops draw their guns on him and had moved into position to intervene. The SOG snipers were already glassing the six targets, and they had their fingers on the triggers, ready to fire.

As was standard protocol in all undercover operations, Vaughn had a code phrase—in this case, “I don’t need this shit today”—that served as a signal to the other agents that he believed he couldn’t control the situation and thus needed the cops to be taken down.

He didn’t say it. Not yet.

“I’d think carefully about your next move, Pritchett,” Vaughn said, purposely addressing the leader of the group.

Mike Mahoney answered instead, his arrogant tone an indication that he believed he had Vaughn right where he wanted him. “Looks like we’re going to have that talk after all, Sullivan. My brother says you’re only paying fifteen thousand per run.” His eyes fell on Vaughn’s Rolex. “I think you can afford more.”

“That’s your big plan? To shake me down tonight for more money?” Vaughn asked.

“Yep, that about sums it up.”

“You might want to think of a new plan,” Vaughn advised.

“Why’s that?” Mahoney sneered.

“Because I only brought fifteen grand with me, shithead.”

That wiped the smile off Mahoney’s face right quick.

Having neutralized the idea that the cops could gain from this course of action, Vaughn went back to addressing the leader of the group. “We have a good thing going here, Pritchett. You make nearly four thousand apiece for one night’s work. Don’t screw it up by listening to this asshole.”

“He’s bluffing,” Mike Mahoney interjected.

Vaughn’s tone remained steady. “My seller knows who all of you are. If I go missing tonight—and these guns with me—the people I work with will know that you stole from them. I guarantee you don’t want that.” He paused to let this sink in. “So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to take my duffle bag, and then I’m going to walk backward until I get to my car. Once I’m inside, I’ll drop the cash on the ground and drive away.” He surveyed the group. “Anybody have any problems with that plan?”

The cops were all silent. Pritchett finally answered, looking directly at Mike Mahoney. “No.”

“Good.” Keeping his gun pointed at the younger Mahoney brother, Vaughn grabbed the handles of the duffle bag with his left hand and hoisted it over his shoulder. His body was tense and coiled, ready to act if anyone made a move.

He began backing up, away from the van, as all the cops kept their guns trained on him. Mike Mahoney’s jaw twitched, but other than that, everyone remained still. When Vaughn got to the Hummer, he dropped the duffle bag in the back and shut the trunk with his left hand. As soon as he climbed into the car, he started the engine and reached into the glove compartment.

He opened his window and unceremoniously dropped the envelope of money in the dust of his SUV.

He exhaled as he pulled away, knowing that was the moment the FBI snipers finally eased off the triggers of their rifles.

 • • • 

WHEN VAUGHN GOT
to the rendezvous spot, a parking lot a few miles away from the warehouse where he’d met Pritchett’s crew, Huxley and the rest of the backup squad were already waiting for him.

Huxley walked over to the Hummer, watching as Vaughn got out.

“So, I think we’ve established that the new guy
is
going to be a problem,” Vaughn said.

Shaking his head, Huxley stepped closer and held out his hand, his tone serious. “Well done.”

For once, Vaughn didn’t respond with a quip or a joke. “Thanks, Seth.”

The other squad mates gathered around them, and the SOG team pulled up in their SUVs. “Nice job not getting yourself killed out there,” Romero said as he climbed out of the driver’s seat.

The comment, Vaughn knew, was intentionally flippant. After the intensity of the situation, they were all coming down from serious adrenaline highs. A little levity was needed right then.

Everyone hung around for a while, the camaraderie thick as the agents rehashed the event from different points of view. After the group finally dispersed, Vaughn stopped at the office to swap out the Hummer for his own car. He and Huxley parted ways in the parking lot of the FBI building.

“So you’re good?” Huxley asked.

“I’m good.” At this point, Vaughn just wanted to go home so he could unwind and process everything.

“Something like this happens, it kind of gets you thinking, doesn’t it?”

Vaughn smiled slightly. Not the subtlest of points, but that didn’t make it any less valid. “I’ll see you on Monday, Hux.”

 • • • 

VAUGHN’S DRIVE HOME
was short; it was after two
A.M
., and there was little traffic on the streets. He let himself into his loft and kept most of the lights off, except for one dim lamp on his nightstand.

He sat on the edge of the bed and slowly exhaled. In his head, he relived the events of the evening several times, and each time he kept coming back to the same thing. There’d been a moment, right as everyone was grabbing for their guns and pointing them at him, when he’d thought,
This could be it
.

And in that moment, he’d thought of Sidney.

It had been just a split-second image, a quick flash of her smiling as she tugged his tie at the restaurant. He’d held back at the time, trying to play it cool, but now all he could think was that he should’ve said . . . something. Something, that is, other than
cheers
to going out with another guy.

He was a fucking idiot.

He ran his hand through his hair, feeling more restless than ever. He slid off his suit jacket, wanting to get out of his undercover clothes, and then he realized he still had Mark Sullivan’s cell phone in the inside pocket. Remembering that he’d left his own phone on the counter earlier, he walked into the kitchen.

He turned on a light and picked up his phone, noticing that someone had left him a voice mail message.

Sidney.

He immediately hit play.

“Hi, it’s me. I was going to wait to say this tomorrow at the rehearsal, but I just . . . wanted to call. I got the purse from Ginny, and she told me what you did. Vaughn, that is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. I’ve been thinking of you, and . . . I don’t know. I guess I wanted to say thank-you. Oh, and I heard you kicked ass in the triathlon and that you’re now planning to climb a mountain. Why does this not surprise me, Roberts?”

Vaughn smiled, his chest tightening as he listened to her voice.

“Anyway, thanks again for the purse—I can’t wait to show it to Isabelle. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”

The message ended after that. Vaughn set down his phone and stared at it for a long moment.

She should’ve been here with him.

After what undoubtedly qualified as a fucked-up day at work, she was the one person he wanted to see. She was the one person he
always
wanted to see.

He knew then what he had to do. No more bullshit. No more playing it cool. Maybe he was about to go down in flames, maybe telling Sidney how he felt wouldn’t make any difference.

But there was only one way to find out.