The Puppeteer (2 page)

As she moved about the room meeting the other detectives, he noted that her language, both verbal and body, was subtly different than other federal agents who had visited the department in his six-year tenure. Ty frowned. She was here to give the obligatory, one-big-happy-family-that-is-law-enforcement talk like most feds. Or in other words, she and her team intended to play nice only as long as everyone played
their
game by
their
rules.

And there was nothing unusual about the approach. What was different was that she didn't seem to care much one way or the other as she made her way around the room. The feds were usually either very clear about wanting vice out or very clear about what they needed from the locals. In the former instance, they didn't bother meeting the team. In the latter, they tended to go overboard.

Dani wasn't doing either. She was making the rounds and taking the time to meet and greet everyone. Her sincerity each time she smiled at someone was the easy kind—the kind a person uses when making promises they know they'll never have to deliver on. And if Ty had to guess, since collaboration of any sort didn't seem to be on her mind, he'd bet she was going to share some information, make them feel like they were part of the investigation, then walk away as soon as she had reason to.

Watching her shake hands with yet another detective, it occurred to him that she probably even hoped they wouldn't play along. If they didn't, it would be easier to sever the tie between the two agencies. And she could place any claims of lack of cooperation squarely on their shoulders. It made Ty wonder what would happen if they cooperated, if no one ever gave her a reason to sever the tie.

He watched her move down the line, toward the last of the detectives from his department. Whatever the DEA was up to, they'd been up to it long enough to believe they had all the information they needed—or had the resources to get it. And
whatever it was, he would know soon enough. Or, he conceded to himself, he would know at least what she wanted them to know.

“Now that you've met everyone, why don't we get started?” Captain Jefferies directed, as he stepped aside and let Dani move to the front and center of the room.

She moved into place without a single hint of unease or self-consciousness. She faced six of Portland's top vice detectives, all of whom were men, and many of whom were ex-military of some sort, himself included, without batting a single one of her long eyelashes. It was more than most men accomplished. And she did it with style.

“Thank you, Captain,” she began. “Thank you all for meeting with me this morning.” She continued the pleasantries with a businesslike nod to the men. He could feel the tension creeping up in the room and he could sense, if not see, that all eyes were focused on Agent Williamson. He wondered if they were fooling Dani but he doubted it. Yes, they were interested in what she had to say but, these alpha males were much more interested given the messenger—a five foot eleven blonde who carried a gun. Her conservative black suit and slicked-back hair did nothing to hide the fact that she looked like she'd stepped straight off of the set of
Faster, Pussy Cat! Kill! Kill!
She had all the curves and confidence that made a man look a time, or three. Sexist? Yes, but true. His men would listen a whole lot closer to words coming out of a mouth like hers. Whether or not they would hear anything was up for grabs, but they would listen. Hell, he was no different. Yes, he was as interested as the rest of his men—probably more so—in what came out of that beautiful, familiar mouth.

*   *   *

Dani had almost laughed out loud when she walked into the non-descript briefing room—and it wouldn't have been the good kind. The room itself was the approximate temperature of the Antarctic, and about as gray and somber. But Dani was pretty sure
that, despite the dreary environment, someone somewhere was yukking it up, and at her expense—someone with a twisted enough sense of humor to throw a man like Ty Fuller at her on this case.

After shaking hands with him, she slipped into autopilot, going through the mechanics of introductions, as she had hundreds of times before, with the rest of the team. Knowing she knew her stuff well enough that no one would suspect a thing, she let her mind linger on Ty, wondering what he thought about this turn of events. He must have been surprised at meeting her here, in this room, in this role. She certainly was. But he was good at hiding his reaction. Almost as good as she was.

Her thoughts ventured to the night before, even as she made her way down the line of vice detectives. A couple of games of pool had taken her mind off of things for a short while. But then Ty had walked in. Dark hair, strong jaw, and a way of moving that had caught her eye. And so the night had unfolded in a very different stress-reducing way. She would give credit where credit was due. Ty had done the job and done it well. Never before had she spent the night with a man she'd just met. And never, in all her adult years, had she wanted to. But when the bartender, an acquaintance of hers, had vouched for him, she had gone where her hormones had urged her to go since the first moment she'd laid eyes on him. No last names, no shop talk or small talk, and no expectations of seeing each other ever again. It had seemed so easy, so perfect. And now, thanks to the preceding hours, she was relaxed, with her body still lingering in the memory of their night together.

Maybe the twinge of regret she'd felt when she'd left his place in the early hours of the morning—regret at thinking she would never see him again, would never really know him—was enough to tempt the fates. Whatever it was, he was here, in Technicolor, and they were now officially working together. For the moment anyway—as soon as her appointed liaison gave her cause, she would drop the pretense of collaboration.

Dani pulled out a half dozen folders from her briefcase, then handed them to Ty in the front row to pass around. She caught his eye for a split second. Irritation lurked there but she chose to ignore it. She could see his point. Given what had happened between them,
he had a right to at least be acknowledged. And she regretted she couldn't, she really did. The problem was she couldn't do that without the rest of the room jumping to conclusions. That they would be the right conclusions didn't matter. If it were a different situation, maybe she wouldn't mind as much. But not now, not with this case.

“These folders contain information on the investigation that brings us to your fair city,” Dani began the presentation. “Ramon Getz, resident of Portland, is the primary focus. The first page has his photo and general stats.” She called up his image on a projector the captain had prepared for her at her request. The face looking back at them was that of a forty-five-year-old man in a well-cut suit and silk tie. His first name was Hispanic, but Getz's features, like most Americans, were mixed enough that it was impossible to tell his heritage.

“Over the years, he's been making his way up the drug distributor food chain.” Dani clicked to the next slide showing a picture of younger Getz standing on the tarmac of an airstrip in Colombia. “He got his start over thirty years ago as a transporter for one of the South American cartels. He made enough contacts and enough money that he went into business for himself about ten years ago.” The slide she clicked to next showed a map of the United States with cities color coded to dates.

“At first his influence was pretty much limited to the Portland area but in the last year or so, through various avenues of information, we've been hearing his name crop up in places like Miami, Seattle, and LA.” She paused, studying the map. “He's getting big and we'd like to make sure he doesn't get any bigger.”

“His cartel buddies just let him go into business for himself?” one of the vice detectives asked, not bothering to hide his cynicism.

Dani smiled to herself, it had been her first reaction too, when she heard about Getz. Drug cartels tended to hold tight to their markets and their members. Getz was an enigma in more ways than one. “They were—lucky for Getz—short sighted,” she explained, turning back toward the room. “Portland just wasn't on their radar. The cartel was focused on the big cities: New York, LA, Miami. Maine was too remote, not wealthy enough, you name it.”

She pulled out the third page from the folder and held it up. “The intelligence we've collected suggests that Getz made a deal with them. He'd stay out of their territories and they would leave him alone. In exchange, he would do a certain percent of his business with them. At the time, it was a standard high-risk investment for him. He took on all the risk of obtaining and distributing the drugs in newer, untested markets while there was only an upside for the cartel.

“By the time they realized how short sighted the deal was, Getz had already built himself quite an empire and it was easier and less costly to keep the status quo than for the cartel to try to change the arrangement.”

“Convenient for Getz,” Ty interjected.

She glanced at him and saw a hint of amusement flash across his features. It almost made her smile. Almost, but not quite.

“He's a nasty son of a bitch. But, unfortunately for all of us, he's not dumb,” Dani responded in acknowledgement. “He has no formal education beyond tenth grade, but he grew up in South Boston in one of the toughest neighborhoods on the Eastern Seaboard. He knows how to move drugs through a community—he lived it firsthand. He learned what drugs can do to people and he's used this knowledge to pit people against each other in ways that leave him on top. He manipulated his former employer in a way that would almost be admirable, if it weren't so dirty.”

“So now that he's a big dog, the DEA is sweeping in to clean up the mess?” Detective Warren asked.

Dani saw Ty slide his partner a look. It was a subtle show of support that was both surprising and welcome. Warren's comment echoed the cries of local agencies all over the US—that the DEA didn't really care about the drug situation until it got big enough that resolving the problem would earn them congressional kudos, and more budget, of course. In the meantime, the locals were left to do all the dirty work.

She couldn't blame Warren for thinking the way he did—hell, she'd thought that way more than once herself. But the reality was, Getz was much more than just a kingpin.

“I wish that were the case, Detective,” Dani started, surprising the man with her acceptance of his implied criticism. “But the truth
is, Ramon Getz is involved in a lot more than drugs and
that's
why we're here.”

“That begs the question then…” Ty met her gaze straight on. It wasn't a lascivious comment, but somehow, for a moment, they were back in his loft, just the two of them.

He was the first to break eye contact as he looked back down at the file. “If it's about more than the drugs, why are you here and why are you involving vice?”

When he looked back up she kept her expression neutral, careful not to give him or anyone else in the room any reason to suspect the truth about what she was thinking—about Ty or the investigation.

“Because the drugs are the start of the trail,” she leveled her eyes on Ty. “We're coordinating with other agencies, but this is where it starts. This is why we're here. Why we're involving you.”

And once this briefing was over, she expected to have minimal contact with them. She just needed to get through it without giving any of them a reason to think this was anything other than what was in the files, not that it wasn't enough.

“Where what starts?” Ty pushed. It was a question she expected and was prepared for, and it gave her a reason to turn away from him.

“Turn to page four and have a look for yourself.” Other than the rustling of paper, the room was silent for a long moment. Then someone let out a low whistle.

“Terrorists?” one of the younger detectives from the back row commented.

Dani couldn't help but offer a jaded half smile. “Cliché, I know,” she acquiesced with a shrug. “But in this case, it does look like Getz is going to be buying his next big shipment of drugs from a group of folks who aren't very fond of our government. And he's not paying in cash.”

“So for once, TV advertising isn't lying. Drugs really do put money in the hands of terrorists,” the young detective grinned.

“That's what our intelligence is saying,” she confirmed. “The difference is that the ads like to imply it's foreign terrorists.”

“And these are homegrown,” the same detective commented, flipping through the papers in his folder.

“Born and bred in the good ol' US of A,” Dani nodded.

Ty raised his head, even as his eyes stayed fixed on the pages he was skimming. “So this militia group, a group that claims to want to protect the American people from its own government, doesn't see a problem with selling drugs to a man who will distribute them to the very people they claim to want to protect?”

“If you ever come across a rational militia group, let me know, Detective. I'd be fascinated.”

Ty's focus went from the file to her. His eyes searched hers, and then his lips quirked with a hint of a smile. “So who else are you coordinating with?”

“FBI, ATF, Homeland Security. All the usual suspects,” she answered. “For the purposes of your involvement in the case, you only need to liaise with us. We'll handle distribution of information to and from.”

Ty studied her for a long moment. She sensed he wasn't satisfied with her answers and was grateful when he nodded, glanced at the folder again and then closed it.