Sins That Haunt (24 page)

“Thanks.” She reached out and took it from him.

“If there's anything else I can get you, I'll be at my desk.” He offered her another ridiculous grin.

When he left Noah broke out laughing. “I think he likes you.”

Shannon's face showed not an ounce of humor. “And that's funny how?”

“Well, for starters, he's a little young for you.” He did
not
just say that. “I mean, he's, you know, young and goofy.”
Nice save, dickhead
.

“Young and goofy.” She bobbed her head. “And I'm not . . . goofy.”

“I just meant he's a kid. Anyone can see he's a rookie.”

“Yes, I know, and for the last several months he's been Horace's personal punching bag. He'd been put in charge of keeping an eye on Maggie and had allowed her to slip through his fingers. Knowing Maggie the way I do, I was sympathetic. He'd have had to clone himself ten times to keep her in line. That's why he's being nice. The
kid
doesn't want in my pants. Now, about my being old . . .”

“Here you are.” Cooper walked in, saving his sorry ass.

“Anything new?” Noah asked, mentally kicking himself for his stupidity.

“No. Hi, Shannon.”

“Hey. So what, he's not confessing?”

“I'm sorry, no.” Cooper scratched the back of his neck. “He's adamant he had nothing to do with this.”

“I want to see him,” she said and stood.

“You know I can't let you do that.”

“Through the mirrors.”

Cooper started to argue. “Shannon—”

“I might know him. Those lists aren't a hundred percent complete. I was a kid. I didn't know everyone's name.”

“But why go after the file if his name isn't on it?” It didn't make any sense.

“True, but he's somehow associated with JJ. He has to be.”

“I hate to admit it, but she has a point,” Noah said, coming to her defense. “Just treat this like a lineup.”

“He's not the driver of that car. We know that. But all right. Let's go.” Cooper led the way out and into the viewing room, Shannon sandwiched between them.

Hyatt now sat alone at the small table.

“We haven't charged him yet. We're waiting for the DA.”

Shannon stepped forward, inches from the two-way glass, as she observed the man, who had taken to fixing his tie, unable, it would seem, to get it right. The men remained silent, gave her time to process the fidgety man next door. If he was so innocent, why had he sweated through his gray shirt? Shannon walked from one end of the mirror to the other, her gaze glued to Hyatt.

Noah saw her shoulders rise and fall on a soft exhalation.

“I don't know him.”

“Are you sure?” Cooper asked. “Like you said, you were a kid.”

“I know, but he's got pretty distinct features. I wouldn't forget eyebrows like those. They look like two caterpillars camping out on his forehead. And that chin cleft would put What's-his-face to shame. You know.” She snapped her fingers. “The old actor . . . Kirk Douglas. He's got one of those faces that's hard to forget.”

“Kirk Douglas?” Cooper asked.

Shannon clucked her tongue. “Everyone's a comedian today. So tell me what you have on him.”

“It's simple really. An account in his name transferred money into the account of the driver who hit you.”

“It's not enough,” she said. “The DA can't press charges. Anyone could have transferred that money. Hackers these days are smarter, faster, and usually one step ahead. His lawyers will tear your case apart unless he confesses. And something tells me it's not an option for this guy.”

“The deposit into Hyatt's account was cash, then it was transferred over. So far we don't know who made the cash deposit and Hyatt claims to have been out of town.”

There was a one-knuckle rap on the door. Cooper went to answer. Shannon focused her attention back on Hyatt. What was going through her mind?

Noah was taking a few steps toward her when he heard, “His lawyer's here.”

“What do we do now?” Shannon turned away from the mirror. “If you don't charge him, you can't keep him long.”

“We won't be able to keep him at all. His lawyer has a reputation for playing hardball. All we have is the money transfer that he claims is an old, forgotten account. We pulled the records. He was telling the truth. He hasn't used it in nearly three years.”

“No way is this a coincidence,” Shannon said, reading Noah's thoughts. “That guy is working for Santos. So was JJ. And technically, so was I.”

“I think I'm with you, but for now we can't hold him.” Cooper gave Shannon a rueful smile and left to deal with Hyatt's attorney.

“Okay, what are we missing?”

“I wish I knew, Shannon. Christian headed over to his office. He's going to see if Monty's snagged any new information from your files. Let's get out of here.” He wanted to be long gone by the time Hyatt was released.

They left the room, the once quiet station now hopping with activity. Two officers escorted a handcuffed perp, slapping his ass, none too gently, in a chair. Smelling like he'd spent the night in a garbage bin, the guy was making a lot of noise. Not five feet away, another had hauled in what looked like a very irate hooker and handed her to Stinson for processing. As he and Shannon passed, Noah realized the hooker was just a kid and was about to do something both she and Officer Stinson would regret. If she'd been older he wouldn't much care, but she was far too young to be on the streets and adding assault on an officer to her charges wouldn't do her any good. Noah snagged her wrist as she took a swing at the unsuspecting Stinson.

“Not a great idea.” He shook his head at the girl.

“I wasn't going to do it,” she argued, trying to free her arm.

He let her go. “Good, because Officer Stinson likes his pretty nose the way it is.” He'd been busy filling out forms and hadn't noticed she'd been getting ready to pop him.

“Thanks. Maybe I should handcuff her,” Stinson said with a menacing glare at the girl that made Noah want to laugh.

The rookie was in the wrong line of work with that baby face. But it seemed to do the trick. The girl gave him a tight smile but sat where Stinson pointed without a fuss.

A few steps ahead, Shannon turned to see what was going on. On seeing the young prostitute, her face dropped. She reached into her purse and came out with a small card.

“Do you mind?” she asked Stinson.

“Knock yourself out. And you,” he said to the girl, “that butt stays glued to the chair. If you make me come looking for you, I'll toss your ass in the tank. Are we clear?”

Noah had to give it to him. He could be assertive when he wanted to.

“I won't be long,” Shannon said, giving him a smile that made Noah's gut ache.

He told himself she wasn't flirting. And made himself believe it—almost. Stupid.

Stinson left his desk, but not before warning the girl again what would happen should her ass not be in the chair she presently occupied when he returned.

Shannon handed her the card which, surprisingly, the little troublemaker took.

“My friends and I, we like to help. You know . . . where we can. If you get into trouble, more trouble, you can call me. If I can't give you what you need, my friends can.”

The girl glanced down at the card. “You're a lawyer?”

“Civil, not criminal. But like I said, I have friends. If you ever want to make a change in your life, I can help with that too. Ask around, see if any of your buddies have heard about Maggie.”

The girl's eyes widened, making her appear astonishingly innocent. “The woman with the strip club? She was all over the papers this summer.” She shook her head. “Not my scene.” She'd sounded almost. . . disappointed as she tried to return Shannon's business card.

“Keep it. And it doesn't need to be. I'd give you some profound words of wisdom, but you'd think it was all bullshit anyway. So here's the truth: If you feel like your life is shit”—she tapped the card with an index finger—“call, before calling is too late. If everything is cool and you like spending time with the cops, I hope you have a great life. But just remember, they're not all as cute as Stinson over there.” She nodded to the rookie, who was now standing behind them. “Think about it. This,” she said, “is all on you.”

Spoken, he thought, by a woman who would know. She'd said she wasn't going to give the kid words of wisdom. And yet she had. The decision to change had to come from the person.

“The next time you decide to question my client,” Noah heard from behind him, “make sure his lawyer is present.”

Noah grabbed Shannon by the elbow. “Gotta go.” He rushed them both out of the station and didn't stop until they were in the car. He'd have driven off but his parking spot gave a good vantage point. He saw Hyatt coming out but was far enough away they couldn't see him.

“Are those his lawyers?” Shannon asked.

“Yeah. You recognize them?”

“No, sorry. Guys like that don't travel in my circles. You think they saw you?”

“No, my back was to them.” He waited until everyone left the parking lot, then started the car and headed to Maggie's. “The kid back there; you do that often?”

“No, that's Mother Maggie's department. She gets them off the streets and then as a group we do what we can.”

“You handle the legal end?”

“Like I told you in Tweedsmuir, I trade for services out of my specialty. But the shelters know all four of us, so if it's a girl not working for Maggie, we can chip in.”

“That's . . . great . . . really great. You're all to be commended.” Most didn't care or cared but didn't want to get personally involved. “How did all this start?”

“Maggie. She was a street counselor, and when our careers took off—Alice's, Wendy's, and mine—we decided to do our part.”

“Maggie, yes, now it makes sense.” She'd been like that at school too. Always trying to help others.

“Maggie, yes, but not me, right?” she said, oddly defensive.

Shannon had never cared about anyone in the community except for the Polanskis, Maggie, and him. “I didn't say that. It's just that Maggie was always doing charitable work.”

“It's okay. I don't do it to be charitable.”

“Why then? Redemption?”

“Sure.” She turned to look out the window “Let's go with that. So what's our next move?”

His intention hadn't been to insult her. But perhaps he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. “I didn't mean to suggest you aren't a good person.” It struck him that she wanted to change the subject. She'd never been one to avoid, well . . . anything. She practically lived for confrontation. He'd always assumed it was an outlet, a way to take control of her life.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm a blessed saint. So, our next move?”

Better he just drop it and make it up to her later. “Damon is looking into his background. Maybe we missed something.”

“Maybe,” she said, her fingers tapping a steady beat on the console between them. “What do you know about him?”

“He's originally from Maine. Has a wife, two kids; daughters, I believe. And he admitted to marital problems a few years back.”

“So not much?”

“We'll know more soon. I promise.” If Damon didn't come through for them, he was hoping Christian would.

“Maybe he changed his name?”

“No, it's the one he was born with.” He stopped at a red light and watched as a woman pushed a stroller. For the briefest of moments he saw Shannon with a baby. He blinked. Did she even want kids? For the first time he realized there were things about each other they didn't know, things he'd been willing to gloss over with blind faith in his love for her. “JJ's phone records were checked right after he was murdered. Damon ran Hyatt's number. It didn't come up.”

“Doesn't mean a thing. JJ knew he was being watched and that his phone was being monitored. He had a burner phone or you'd have known the moment he contacted me.”

“True, but it wasn't on him the night he was shot.”

“Maybe someone smarter than him figured they shouldn't leave it behind and took it. Or maybe he tossed it.”

She was right of course. The light turned green and he pushed aside all thoughts of Shannon and a baby stroller. The phone wasn't the only thing she was right about. They'd changed. But it didn't mean he didn't want to learn about the woman she'd become, not just the stuff he thought he knew. Perhaps he was just a sentimental fool, hanging on to what they'd once had. But he wanted to explore whatever was going on between them. He might end up discovering he didn't love the person she'd become. Or maybe he'd learn she was so ingrained in his psyche that ripping her out would tear him to pieces. Either way, he had to know.

“S
o where are we going exactly?” Shannon slipped on a pair of shades and tossed him a sassy look.

Noah had woken her up early that morning. He'd considered letting her sleep in. He'd considered a lot of things he hadn't followed through on. Yesterday Santos had called him to the dealership and introduced him to another of his friends, who'd wanted a used Escalade. He overpaid by ten thousand.

When he returned to Maggie's Shannon hadn't received news about her sister and was talking about flying back to Boston to look for the girl herself. He'd talked her out of it, but it put her in a mood. He'd
considered
leaving her alone; however, a moody Shannon didn't make him happy. So he did what any good man would do. He'd made love to her all afternoon and would've continued to do so all night if he hadn't received yet another call from Santos. Or rather, from an associate. He'd debated giving that one to Damon but imagined Shannon probably needed a nap. He left her thoroughly exhausted. Santos's buddy also bought a car and overpaid for it. Both had been cash purchases. When he returned he figured she required more cheering up. So after he fed her, he went out of his way to try to keep her smiling all night long. And for the most part he'd succeeded, but worrying about her sister was inevitable.

“I called Damon this morning with no answer. The team arranged an early morning Skype call. Chief Marsh is a little pissed Damon didn't dial in. He's been putting in long hours and probably just slept through his alarm. So we're headed to the town house we rented to wake up his sorry ass. And because I can't stay at Maggie's forever I'd like you to see the place.”

“How long do you think you're going to be in Vegas?”

At the rate Santos was bringing them clients, not long enough. “I'm not sure.” Had he detected hope in her question? “How long would you like me to stay?”

“It's not up to me, is it?”

Unfortunately, it wasn't up to him either. At least not yet.

He parked in visitors' and from across the lot he could see Damon's car. At the door he rang the bell. He had his own key, but in case he wasn't alone Noah wasn't keen on catching his buddy doing something that would make him jab his eyes out. There were limits to what he wanted to watch his friend do. No one answered. He rang again. Well, at least he tried. He fit his key into the lock and it turned easily. “It wasn't locked.” The hair on the back of his neck stood to attention.

“He probably forgot to lock it.”

“Maybe. Shannon, do me a favor and go back to the car.” If there was trouble, he didn't want her anywhere near it.

“Noah?”

“Just in case, okay? Please don't argue. I need to get in there.”

“Yeah . . . sure. But please, be careful,” she said and did as he asked.

He drew his gun.

Inside, everything was quiet. Perhaps he simply
was
asleep. Regardless, he moved stealthily. He took the two steps up into the living room and froze, listened. The coffee table was on its side, an overturned wineglass leaving a nasty red stain on the carpet. He forced himself to be thorough but quick, checking the kitchen before hurrying to the bedrooms. One, his, was empty and unused. In the second, a suit lay draped over the queen-size bed, beside it Damon's badge and revolver. A rumpled towel sat on the floor. He must have showered. He headed back to the kitchen, his cell phone in hand.

“Cooper.”

Noah forced his voice to stay calm, professional. “Lieutenant, I need you to come to one-thirty-four West River. One of my team members is missing.”

“Agent?”

“Yes.” And a close friend.

“On my way. And Monroe, I know I don't need to tell you this but don't touch anything.”

Noah headed back into the kitchen. An empty pizza box sat on the counter, a clean dish beside it. He glanced into the oven, where Damon had put his dinner to reheat. The guy hated lukewarm delivery pizza. It had to be hot or he wouldn't eat it. But something must have distracted him. The bill was stapled to the box. He dialed the number and asked to speak to the manager.

“Tom here, how can I help you?”

He identified himself, hoping he wouldn't have to send someone to flash a badge. “You delivered a pizza to West River last night. I need to know exactly what time. I can send the police if you want to see an ID, but I'd really appreciate your cooperation.”

“No problem. I delivered that one myself. It was on my way home. I dropped it off at eight-thirty sharp. I know because my wife called to nag me about being late again. That harpy is relentless.”

“Thanks, Tom.”

He checked the locks again for a possible break-in but saw nothing. It was possible Damon hadn't thought to lock the door. As he didn't have any kits with him, Noah chose to wait outside to call the team rather than contaminate the area.

As expected, no one had heard from him. Where the fuck was he? He ran through worst-case scenarios. Each one made his gut hurt as he kept coming back to the only one that made sense: Santos was on to them. Two years in the making and if he was right, it was shot to hell. Which in all likelihood meant Damon was dead. And if the motherfucker had killed Damon, Noah wouldn't have to worry about doing this by the book. He'd hire Christian himself and make sure Santos got his due.

While he waited, he called his team again and told them to contact the tail they'd put on Santos. He wanted to know his whereabouts for the last twenty-four hours. In the meantime, Cooper and his men arrived on the doorstep within seven minutes. Federal agent or local, it didn't matter; law officer meant law officer, and one was missing. Shannon followed Cooper. To her credit, she remained quiet, a worried expression on her face as she shoved her hands into the back of her jeans pockets.

“What do we have?” Cooper asked, letting his men go ahead into the town house.

Noah explained what he'd seen. He tried to stay professional, but this was Damon and no way could he keep his personal feelings out of it.

“What's your theory?”

“I don't like my theory,” Noah said. “I was hoping you'd come up with one more to my liking.”

“You think your target has Agent Fox?”

Has . . . or had. “It's a strong possibility.” One he didn't like.

Shannon paled and still said nothing.

“Okay, let's see if we can pull any prints. Come on.” He put a hand on Noah's shoulder. “Let's stay positive.”

“You and I both know what kind of man Santos is. If he thought we were undercover, Damon is . . .” He didn't want to say it out loud, afraid that if he did, it would make it true. But there was no getting around it. “He's as good as dead.”

“Maybe, but why not kill him here?”

“Lieutenant,” one of Cooper's men shouted from inside the doorframe. “You should see this.”

Noah turned to Shannon as Cooper went inside.

“I know. Stay out here,” she said.

“I'm not crazy about you being alone. Come inside the door.”

“Go; I'll be fine. I'll scream if anyone comes near me. Go,” she repeated when he hesitated.

He tried to give her a reassuring smile, then hurried after Cooper, who was now in the living room.

“With the red wine it was hard to see, but we found blood. Not a lot of it, but enough to indicate some kind of a struggle.” One of his men pointed to the rug and the dark spots Noah hadn't noticed earlier.

“Get it to the lab as quickly as you can. Let's find out if it belongs to Agent Fox.” He put a hand on Noah's shoulder again. This guy was the touchy-feely type. “Have you contacted your team?”

He nodded. “Damon failed to report to a Skype meeting this morning and no one has heard from him since yesterday afternoon. Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don't even know where to begin looking.”

“Let's see if we can track him by his phone.”

“He'd just taken a shower and was sitting down to eat. It's possible it's not on him.” Every agent had an app that would allow him to track another agent. He only wished he'd thought to use it this morning.

“Lewinsky,” Cooper shouted to one of the CSIs in the kitchen now inspecting the pizza. “Did you find a phone?”

“Not yet. Anyone find a cell?” Lewinsky shouted to no one in particular.

Three replied, all negative.

Noah dared not hope. His own phone rang so he gave Cooper the number and the passcode to activate the tracker while he answered his call.

“This is Stevens. I'm the agent assigned to tailing Miguel Santos. He hasn't left the hotel since yesterday afternoon.”

“Are you sure?” Noah asked.

“Yes, sir. He ordered room service for two but came down later to play at the tables. He stayed until twelve-fifteen, then headed back to his suite. His two lap dogs didn't leave his side.”

“Thanks. Please let me know the
moment
he makes a move.” He hung up.

“Got it.” Cooper had a location. “This is weird. He's at the Wynn. Funny place to take a guy.”

“Santos hasn't left Caesar's, so I'm coming with you.” Precious seconds could mean life or death for Damon.

“You want to drive with me or take your car?”

“I'll follow. I have Shannon. Can you get the warrant?”

“Won't be a problem. And I can have one of my guys take her home.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Part of him wanted her with him, but it was best she be nowhere near the possibility of trouble brewing. And then, for the first time in years, he sent a silent prayer to God.

* * *

In the lobby of the tower suites at the Wynn they were met by two of Cooper's men and three federal agents.

“We got your message for backup.” The man extended his hand. “Agent Stephen Riley.”

He'd heard of Riley. Christian had warned him to remember the guy had a stick up his ass should he run into him while Noah was in Vegas. The other two were unknown to him. “I appreciate the cavalry, boys, but all we have is his phone.”

“That's not all we have. Let's talk in the elevator. Agent Lopez.” He too put out his hand. “This is my partner, Agent Diaz, Miami office. We've already sent two men up. They should be in the stairwells by now, but we'll wait for confirmation before we make our move.”

“They're in,” Diaz said, using his earpiece.

“Then let's go.” Riley led the way.

If Noah hadn't been focused on the two Miami agents, he'd have missed the look the two exchanged. It would seem Christian wasn't the only one who thought Riley was an ass.

He waited patiently until they were inside, didn't harass them to demand they tell him what the hell was going on. He wasn't going for polite, but he didn't want to tip off any of the hotel guests to the looming trouble. Once the doors swooshed closed, however . . .

“What's going on?”

“We were in the office when Fox's MIA came in. He's in one of the duplex suites. The room is registered to Alejandro Casales. We've been following him ever since he landed in Reno.”

“What the fuck? Why would he stick his neck out like this? If someone clued him in to our investigation and he wanted to protect Santos, why take out Damon? He had to have known we'd be all over his ass.”

“Right. We don't think he did. At least we're hoping he didn't. We think he wants your attention. And we'd appreciate you giving it to him.”

“Any idea why he wants my attention?”

“Rumor has it someone tipped him off to Santos setting up his own shop in Miami, and as you can imagine, he's not happy. Our guy couldn't tell us much, said Casales got a phone call last week from the States, and when he was done, he ordered a tail on Santos.”

“Does he know about the bust in Madrid?”

“That's what we think led to the US call. See what he wants. He isn't dumb enough to nab a federal agent and keep a traceable phone on him. He wants the FBI here.”

The doors opened to a luxurious hallway. Diaz pushed the Hold button and told a grudging Riley to cover the elevator.

“Two bedrooms on the top floor. Living, dining, pool room, and massage room on the first. You take the lead. Sound good?” Lopez asked.

He just wanted in. “Sounds good.”

“He's got nowhere to go. And before you ask, yes, he's there. Like I said, we've been tailing him since he flew in for that wedding,” Diaz said, and then he knocked.

It took five seconds for an athletic young Hispanic male to open the door. The kid had two small piercing holes, one below his bottom lip, the other over his right eyebrow. He stepped aside. “Come in.”

Lopez had been right. They'd been expected.

“Follow me.”

He led them through the living space where, for a split second, Noah thought the blonde sitting on the couch was Shannon. His heartbeat returned to normal when he realized he'd gotten it wrong. Legs crossed at the ankle, she glanced up from the magazine she was reading as they passed. She was beautiful. Casales had left his wife in Madrid.

They stopped in a room where floor-to-wall windows on two sides highlighted the cityscape. It spoke of money and lots of it. Noah wasn't impressed. Casales stood in the corner, looking out, a pool table between them. He turned. A glass filled with an amber liquid in his hand, he grinned like he'd just told a joke they'd been left out of. Fifty-five years old, his gray hair was slicked back into a long ponytail. Noah never got that. There was a point in a man's life when it was time to grow up. But he had to admit on this guy it looked suave, like he belonged on a cigar ad with beautiful, clingy women.