Sins That Haunt (25 page)

“Gentlemen, I am Alejandro Casales. But you already know that. This is my nephew,” he indicated their escort, “Felipe. My brother's boy.” The young man inclined his head.

Yes, Noah could see the family resemblance now.

“Can he get you gentlemen anything before he leaves? Coffee? Water?”

Lopez and Diaz stayed several steps behind. Noah withdrew his warrant and tossed it over the unbroken balls. “This isn't a social call.”

“But nor does it have to turn nasty. Felipe, go keep your sister company until I am finished here. Then you can go to that concert.”

So the woman was his niece. He'd had an entourage when he'd flown to Reno for a wedding, but there'd been no mention of family traveling with him. Why bring them here?

“Kids,” Casales said. “They have no taste in music these days. Or clothes.”

“You know who we are?” Noah asked.

Casales didn't give the warrant a second look. “The two gentlemen behind you have been following me for quite some time now. You? I've only just learned of you, Agent Noah Monroe. So one of my attorneys tells me.”

Noah's heartbeat kicked up a notch. Somehow, some way, he'd been spotted in the police station. Santos was on to them.

“We're tracking an agent's mobile GPS. Want to guess where it led us to?”

“Ah, yes.” He called out, “Felipe.” The younger man returned with a phone.

Damon's?

“Your associate left this here last night.”

Felipe handed the phone to Noah.

He had Damon. Of that he was certain. “Thank you,” he said, forcing his jaw to form the words. What kind of game was Casales playing?

“If you don't mind, gentlemen,” he said, addressing Lopez and Diaz, “may I talk to Agent Monroe alone?”

It would seem they were going to find out.

It was Lopez who spoke. “We'll be in the hall,” he said, giving Noah a blank stare. This was it.

“Are you sure I can't get you anything?” Casales asked once they'd left.

“Yes,” Noah answered. “Agent Fox.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Let's not play games. Where is he?” Was Damon even still alive?

“Who? Agent Fox? How would I know? But perhaps we can help each other.”

Here it was. The trade-off. “For just one second let's forget that Fox is a federal agent and no law officer, anywhere in the world, takes kindly to one of their own being held against their will.” He wanted him to know there was nowhere for him to hide. “So when I say this, please don't take it as my agreeing. How can I help you? And can we please cut to the chase?”

“A man of few words. Good, I like that. Fine; you want Miguel Santos behind bars. I need him to be taught a lesson. Do your job and put him away,” he said, as if discussing the weather.

“Oh, is that all?” Where the fuck was Damon?

“A trade, Mr. Monroe. A favor for a favor.” Casales swirled his drink.

“I deal with Santos, you give me Fox?”

Casales laughed. “He is not mine to give. No, but I can certainly find out where he is.”

He admitted nothing, and when this was over Noah would have no way to nail the son of a bitch. Would his boss have his ass if this case went south? Without a doubt. Would this cost him his promotion? He could almost hear the toilet flushing on that. Did he give a shit? He wanted Damon back, alive and in one piece. And he'd do anything to make that happen.

“I need evidence.”

“I would think your arsenal was full by now? But no matter; I understand there are rules to be followed. What would you say if I told you where to find matching ledgers linking Santos to the Madrid bust? Would that be to your liking?”

Taking down Santos meant a major collaborative effort between the US and international police organizations. Depending on what was written, those ledgers could prove enough illicit activity to put Santos away for life on two continents.

But Noah didn't understand. “Why not take out your own garbage?”

“And what would happen to the evidence you've piled up against him? All those years of hard work—for nothing?”

He knew. Noah would prefer to think they'd fucked up and somehow tipped off Casales to their investigation. That's what he'd prefer, because the more likely scenario left a repulsive, foul taste in his smile. They had a mole. Question was, who? The phone in his pocket vibrated. He ignored it. “If there was such an investigation, one would assume its failure would please you.”

“Then someone would assume wrong.”

“Again, why not take him out yourself?”

“Oh, Mr. Monroe, you watch too many bad American movies. I am a legitimate businessman. A family man.”

“
You
want Santos to do time?” People didn't fuck with this guy for a reason. It was a one-way ticket to Never-never Land, and not the kind that made you want to kick off your shoes and stay a while. Piss him off and you disappeared.

“Monroe, have you ever owned your own business?”

“No.” He wasn't really going to compare drug trafficking and a slew of other supposed illicit and illegal activities to a legitimate business, was he?

“To be successful it requires a certain amount of ruthlessness. This is not one of those times,” he said, clearly disappointed.

So what was it? Why did he prefer the FBI take out Santos instead of doing it himself?

“I am, however, an impatient man. I can understand that the FBI required time to gather information, but with what you have and what I am prepared to give you, it should be sufficient to take care of Miguel Santos. And Monroe, I want the charges to stick.”

“I'll need to call my team. First, Fox?”

“My sources say he's alive and unharmed. But who can you trust these days?”

Noah forced his expression to stay neutral, working overtime to relax his arms. No way would he give this piece of shit the satisfaction of knowing how much he'd like to wrap his hands around the man's neck. “I'll be in touch. The ledgers?”

“They're in his condo in Miami. When he travels he trusts no one. You'll find them in a safe. When you notify me that you have your search warrant, I will send you the combination. Tell your men there is a false bottom. Beneath it you will find the ledgers. You have forty-eight hours.”

“And then?” He wanted Damon returned and in one piece, but it took a lot of man-hours to coordinate a bust this size, even if it was a sure thing. If they had to do it in two days, he'd make sure it happened.

“Then I tell Santos about two federal agents. One way or another, I win.”

Dick wad. Noah turned to leave.

“And Monroe? If you need another reason to meet my deadline, Santos has a thing for blondes. I'd take care of Ms. Joyce if I were you.”

Noah jammed his hand into his pockets, forced air into his lungs. “Who?” he asked over his shoulder.

Casales offered him a lopsided grin. “The beautiful attorney who caught his attention.”

Several thoughts went through Noah's mind at once. First, punch the asshole. But in case he wasn't threatening Shannon that wouldn't be his best move, no matter how good it would feel. Second, if Casales knew, did Santos? Was he warning him or threatening him? “
She
is to be left out of this.”

“I agree. What better reason to put Santos away quickly and efficiently than to protect a beautiful woman? In the meantime, I would keep a close eye on her. He has men searching for her.”

Not that he could trust Casales, but he had to ask. “Does he know who she is?”

“Not yet, but it's only a matter of time.”

“Before you tell him?”

He tsked. “I don't involve innocent women. It's not
my
style.”

He was insinuating it was Noah's. Guess the jerkoff had him there.

“One could argue he has an obsession, an
addiction
, if you will, to blond women. Like an addict, he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And he wants her. And Monroe, the women who fascinate him don't generally last long.”

It stuck in his throat, but again it had to be said. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Now I suggest you leave quickly. I'm having Miguel move here to the Wynn. I wouldn't want the two of you to accidentally bump into each other. Nail the
cabron
, for my sake, yours . . . and hers. Call me when your team has decided to accept my offer.”

N
oah hadn't returned to the house. The ass had called Christian—not Shannon—with instructions that she was not to leave the house for the next two days. No ifs, ands, or sorry asses about it. She was on lockdown. Santos didn't know who she was but was on the prowl. And while it made her want to scrub every inch of her body with scalding water, it was ridiculous to think the man would go through that much trouble for her. What was his problem?

Weeks ago, Maggie and Christian had planned a vacation to Tahoe for this week. After assuring them she wouldn't allow anyone onto the property—she wouldn't make that mistake again—she told Christian and Maggie not to change their plans. She could handle time by herself. But after one day, all that was absent was the long tail and whiskers for her to feel like a mouse trapped in a cage. And for that reason she couldn't hit the Reply button fast enough when Noah's number came up on her phone. It had nothing to do with missing him. “Hello,” she said in a tone she hoped said
I'm bored and screw you and I'm not happy you called
, all at the same time.

“I'm just checking in. Seeing if you're all right.”

“Why wouldn't I be?” She had to admit, in the grand scheme of things, he was the one risking his life. All she had to do was sit on her butt for two days.

“Because you don't like being left out of decisions that affect your life.”

“Show me one person who does.”

“Again, sorry. We could've had this conversation face-to-face, but I was given forty-eight hours to put Santos away. That's not a lot of time to coordinate everyone. Please believe me. If there had been any way to deliver the news myself, I would've. I just want you to be safe. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“That's not nice.” Playing on her guilt.

“What, my not wanting you to get hurt?”

“No, you're guilting me into doing what you want.
I'll never forgive myself
,” she said in a baritone, “
do you want that haunting you forever
? You're trying to make me feel bad by using how I left things between us the first time.”

“I am not. When are you going to believe I'm over it? I said my piece and now it's done. What kind of person would I be if I held a grudge? If something happened to me, wouldn't you feel bad? Or do I mean that little to you?”

“Stop it. It's not the same thing.” And it wasn't. He could die in the line of duty. Then this stupid conversation was what she'd truly regret. “You're right. I'm sorry. Christian's not here for me to pick a fight with, so I'm antsy.”

“You want me to put a man on the house?”

She refrained from laughing at his sudden concern. She wasn't some kid, but he didn't need another thing to worry about. “I'm bored, not scared. Santos doesn't know I'm here and this place has tighter security than some casinos. I'm not going anywhere. You go do whatever it is you need to do and don't worry about me. It'll be over soon, right?”

“Things are moving along. I can't tell you the details, but everything is coming together nicely.”

“Good.” Across the line, she heard someone call him; this conversation was, sadly, about to end.

“I gotta go. I love you.”

“Be safe.” She hung up.

Did she regret not telling him she loved him too? She almost called him back. But maybe it was better that she hadn't.
Love you
meant forever, and they didn't have forever.

* * *

Dinner was a salad and leftover salmon all by her lonesome. It was quiet and unexciting. Shannon was unloading the dishwasher when her phone rang. She was pathetically disappointed to see it wasn't Noah. “Hello.”

“Ms. Joyce?” asked a woman whose voice she didn't recognize.

“I'm sorry, who is this?” Occasionally, as she did with the young woman at the station, she gave out her card, but with all the bullshit going on, she wasn't about to confirm who she was.

“I'm Shelley Hobbs, an old friend of your father's. I don't think you and I ever met.”

Warning bells told Shannon to hang up. She could tell the woman she had the wrong person, making a mental note to change her number immediately.

But the woman went on. “I'm here on vacation and, funny thing, I bumped into Arnie. I haven't seen him in years. We got to talking and he mentioned JJ was dead.”

Arnie? Arnold West. She
had not
left him her card so he could give it out to JJ's buddies. What the hell had she been thinking? She hadn't been. She'd allowed her concern about her sister to cloud her better judgment. She'd pulled a Maggie.

“I can't blame you for being skittish,” the woman said, filling in the silence. “JJ could be a real SOB. That man was a lousy father.”

Funny; it hadn't looked to Shannon like any of JJ's friends had noticed what an asswipe JJ was. So she had her doubts as to this woman's sincerity. She snatched the cutlery rack out of the dishwasher and set it on the counter with a loud clatter.

“Ms. Joyce? I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to, but I can assure you I'm not the same person I was all those years ago. Plus, I think I know who has your little sister.”

“You know about my sister?”

“There you are. Yes, I knew he had another kid. Look, I'm sorry. I imagine you're not interested in talking to anyone who knew JJ. You and he didn't end things well, and rightly so. To him you were another pawn in his games. But you should know, after you left he was never the same.”

She didn't give a shit what he was or wasn't. “My sister?”

“Right. Well, I think her mother has her.”

“That's not possible. She's dead.” Her instincts had told her not to talk to this woman. She should've listened. She began putting the cutlery away, her hands needing something to do.

“Who told you that?” Shelley said.

Shannon dropped a sharp knife, jumping as it nearly caught her toe. “She's not dead?”

“Not that I know of. I don't have all the details, but their breakup was nasty. JJ snatched the kid and ran.”

“Why didn't the woman file a report?” She picked up the fallen knife and set it in the sink to be washed.

“Maybe she did. JJ had a buddy on the force. It's possible he made it all disappear. He was adamant about keeping her away from his kid.”

“Why?” JJ never gave a shit about anyone but himself.

“He said she was abusive, an unfit mother. Dangerous even.”

Weren't all abusive parents dangerous on some level? “And you know this because you and he remained friends?”

“Not really. We'd see each other from time to time. But like I told you, I turned over a new leaf. Anyway, I have her address if you want it. That is, if she's still living there.”

Of course she wanted it. “You have my number; can you text it to me?”

“Sorry, I'm calling you from a landline in the lobby and my husband is waiting for me.”

“Okay.” Shannon looked for paper and found a pen and pad near Maggie's kitchen phone. “Go ahead.”

As she jotted the address down, she debated what to do. “Thank you, Shelley.”

“No problem. I've got to go. I've kept my husband waiting and he doesn't like to be kept waiting. Good luck.”

“Wait, what's the woman's name?”

But it was too late. Shelley had hung up. Shannon pressed the code for last number redial but reached guest services at the Wynn. She glanced down at the Maine address. She'd have to fly out. But did she trust this woman? She hadn't been able to come up with an alternative reason for JJ hiding his daughter, other than he was protecting her from someone. What if that someone was an abusive mother? She had no way to prove that. Or anything else this Hobbs woman had told her, if she'd told the truth. They'd checked out Arnold West and he hadn't lied.

Noah was busy with his case and wouldn't be able to leave, and she wasn't about to have Maggie and Christian return home. And maybe getting out of town would be a good way to avoid Santos finding her.

She booked a flight and packed an overnight bag. She changed into yoga pants and a long comfy shirt and sent Maggie a text. If Shannon were making the wrong decision, Maggie would have until the Uber came to pick her up to tell her. While she waited she did a Google map search. From the satellite shot she could tell the neighborhood was very middle class, which surprised her. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't this. Who the hell was she? And was she hurting her sister while Shannon stood around waiting for her ride?

Again, she had to wonder why JJ had gone to all this trouble to hide Cecilia. Had he really believed his daughter was in some kind of danger? Given that the man was a selfish prick . . . There was something to all of this she just wasn't getting. But what?

The buzzer sounded. She checked the surveillance camera and saw the Uber sticker in the car waiting for her outside the gates. Maggie had yet to reply. “Coming,” she said into the monitor and headed down. At the end of the driveway she hesitated. Noah had told her not to leave the house. But was she risking her sister's life by hesitating? Damn, this was a Maggie move. She used the wrought-iron side door and made sure it was closed securely before she left. She had, after all, promised Maggie that she wouldn't allow anyone on the property. She was going to get flak for this, but at least she could say she hadn't lied.

The driver, a silver-haired fox probably doing this on the side, opened her door. “Thanks.” She tossed her bag into the far end of the backseat and got in. Perhaps because this wasn't her house, as she watched Maggie's place disappear, she didn't get that homesick feeling whenever she left Vegas. It didn't matter how many days she was gone; she always got the preempted pit-in-the-bottom-of-her-stomach reaction. Even on their beach vacations, a part of her hated leaving home. Maybe finding her sister was far more important than worrying about a silly thing like being homesick. Or maybe she was seeing it for what it was, just a city.

They'd driven about ten minutes when her phone rang. Could it be Maggie telling her to turn around? Her seat belt constricted her movements, but as they were stopped at a red light, she unclipped it. One minute she was reaching for her purse, the next, two men had hopped in and were sandwiching her between them. She shoved the man to her left, but the one to her right grabbed her ponytail and yanked. “Ow, you fucker.” Instinctively, she backhanded him in the face before the other managed to grab her wrists.

The one she'd nailed lifted his hand to return the favor. She flinched, turning her face away.

“Are you fucking crazy?” his pal shouted.

“I think she broke it,” he argued, touching the bridge of his nose, his eyes watering.

“Better a broken nose than dead.”

She drew closer to the second man as goon one bent down and growled in her face. It was then she recognized Tomás Santos.

“Yeah, yeah, you're a tough guy,” she told him, clearly having lost her mind, antagonizing him further. Her adrenaline now ebbing, her heart began to race. The driver did nothing, so he was one of them. “Want to let me go?” she said to the one manacling her wrists.

“Promise to be good?”

No, but he didn't have to know that. If she screamed, would anyone notice? Would she even get one note out before she was gagged? And why the hell hadn't she noticed the tinted windows before now? “Sure.”

He released her. She rubbed her hands trying to return her circulation, then seeing them shake clamped them shut. No way would she let these two see her fear. Doubting she would get an answer, she asked anyway. “What's going on?”

“We were ordered to pick you up.”

“Boss and his blondes,” Tomás muttered, wiping at the blood dripping down his nose.

Noah was going to kill her. If there was anything left of her to kill. She considered her options. She didn't have any. They were too big. She'd have to wait until they got out of the car. Headed in the direction of the Strip; that couldn't be too bad. This time of year the area overflowed with tourists. She'd taken this route a million times. Her condo wasn't far. When they stopped in the valet parking at the Wynn Towers, she was nothing short of stunned and pleased. Surely she could make her escape here?

“Don't get any ideas,” the one who wasn't bleeding said, showing her his gun inside his jacket.

She waited until they were out of the car and in plain sight of everyone before she opened her mouth. “You're not going to shoot me,” she said, daring him to argue.

“No? What makes you say that?”

“If he's not allowed to touch me”—she nodded toward Tomás—“what are the odds you are?”

“True. You got me there, beautiful. Wow, the boss found himself a smart one for a change. But here's the thing. How do you know I won't shoot your sister?”

The ground beneath Shannon moved and she had to clamp her knees to stop from falling. Santos had her sister? A million questions raced through her mind. Did she believe him or that woman, Shelley? Or had Shelley been working for Santos as a ruse to get her to leave the house? What had JJ told Santos about Cecilia? And worse, what if it was Santos who JJ was protecting Cecilia from? And if they were lying and they didn't have her? Grudgingly, she realized she had no choice but to go along with them.

She said nothing.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Tomás sneered.