Best Laid Plans (37 page)

It wasn’t a message or phone call, it was his security system alerting him to movement in the pool house. His security alarm hadn’t gone off, but someone had broken in. He pressed a button for the camera angle, but it came up black.

Not good.

He glanced over at Lucy and considered waking her up, but she was finally sleeping soundly, and so far she hadn’t been disturbed by dreams. He slipped out of bed, grabbed his nine millimeter as well as a butterfly knife, and crept out of their bedroom.

He didn’t turn on any lights, but left by the side door, reengaging the system in case this was a trick to get him out of the house in order to get inside to Lucy. Some people might think his system was overkill, but considering Lucy’s job—and some of the people both Lucy and Sean had pissed off over the years—he wasn’t taking any chances.

He stayed in the shadows. The pool house lights weren’t on and the blinds were closed, so he couldn’t tell where the person was.

Sean walked up to the French doors and looked at the keypad that controlled entry. The alarm had been disabled. He typed in a code—if he didn’t disable the code in ninety seconds, SAPD and the FBI would be notified.

He opened the door and listened. Water ran in the bathroom. He crossed to the bathroom door just as the water turned off and the door opened. He stayed out of arms’ reach of whoever was in there.

“Move and I shoot,” he said to the dark figure.

“It’s me,” Kane said.

“Fuck, Kane!” Sean hit the light switch. Kane blinked in the brightness.

Furious, Sean walked out, disabled the code, and came back in. “Why didn’t you call me first?”

“You put in motion sensors. Smart.”

“Don’t fuck with my equipment again.”

Kane smirked and helped himself to a beer. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Instead, you risked being shot.”

“You’re too good to shoot blindly.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

Sean reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Royal Lochnagar and two glasses. He poured shots for both of them.

“Where the hell did you get this?” Kane asked, looking at the light amber Scotch.

The twelve-year-old single malt was rare and hard to come by, especially in the States. “Eden sent it to me for a housewarming present.”

Kane scowled and sipped. Liam and Eden Rogan, the twins, lived in Europe and weren’t on the good side of RCK right now. Sean tried to stay out of it—he still talked to them, while Kane and Duke had all but cut the two out of their lives.

Sean asked, “You just get in?”

“A couple hours ago. Paid Donnelly a visit first, then needed a place to crash.”

“What’s going on?”

Kane sat and downed the shot. Sean followed suit, poured them each another, and waited. Kane would talk only if he wanted to. It could be annoying, but Sean was used to it.

“Donnelly’s working a case that’s bigger than he knows.”

“You alerted him?”

“I don’t know enough to help, but not for lack of trying. Tobias is a fucking ghost. He is so far under the radar I wouldn’t even think he existed except that Lucy saw him and overheard his conversation with Trejo. And that’s what’s really bothering me.”

“He doesn’t know Lucy saw him.”

“But Donnelly had her look at photos. He’s kept it quiet, he put in the report that he had eyes on Tobias, but if they have yet another traitor inside, Lucy could be at risk.”

“I’ll protect her,” Sean said.

Kane didn’t say anything.

“You look worried,” Sean said. “You don’t get worried.”

“Worry is a useless emotion,” Kane said. “It fucks with logic. I’m
bothered
that I can’t get a line on this Tobias.”

“Is that why you broke into my house?”

“I didn’t break anything. And no. I was on an assignment in Colorado and after I got your message decided to stop here on my way back south.”

“Colorado? What sent you there?”

Kane didn’t like talking about his jobs, partly because what he did wasn’t always legal, but partly because he didn’t want people thinking he was a hero when he thought of himself as simply doing a job that needed doing. He said, “A buddy needed help getting his little sister out of some serious trouble.” He didn’t say anything more about it. “I’ll be out of here early in the morning to meet with a snitch down south.”

“Stay for breakfast.”

“You’re not letting Lucy cook, are you?”

Sean grinned. “I’m not going to tell her you said that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Lucy was surprised to find Kane eating breakfast with Sean when she came downstairs Wednesday morning. She kissed his cheek. “Nice surprise.”

“Passing through.”

“Almost got himself shot last night,” Sean said.

Kane snorted and sipped black coffee.

Lucy poured herself a cup of coffee and added sugar. Sean dished up a plate of scrambled eggs, ham, and cheese for her. She sat down at the island and said, “Are you here because of the shooting Brad is investigating?” She liberally sprinkled hot sauce on her eggs and ignored Sean’s distressed expression. She liked spicy.

“Partly,” he said.

She waited for more, but Kane didn’t add to his answer. She’d grown accustomed to his brief communication style. “Ryan Quiroz has been working with him on it, he’s kept me up to speed.”

“Good.” Kane stood, drained his coffee, and said, “I need to head out. Thanks for the room and board.”

“Next time, don’t touch my security.”

Kane turned to Lucy with a half smile. “Sean hates that I’m as good as he is.”

“You’re not,” Sean said.

“You did nail me with the motion detectors. They weren’t in the pool house two months ago.”

Lucy watched the exchange, intrigued about what had happened last night while she was sleeping. “I’m heading to headquarters,” she said. “Do you need a ride?”

“No, thanks. I borrowed a truck.” He glanced at Sean, then said to Lucy, “Watch your back.”

She didn’t like his serious tone. “Okay. Any specific reason why?”

“Sean will fill you in.” Kane walked out.

“Sean?” She looked at him.

“He’s concerned that you’re the only one who’s seen Tobias.”

“Me and Michael.”

“But you’re the one who looked at photos.”

“So? No one knows I was there.”

“Kane’s being cautious. He always is, but this time I think he’s justified.”

There had to be more to it than Kane’s natural vigilance. “Why?”

“Because Kane came here last night.”

“And?”

“And I don’t need another reason. You don’t know Kane like I do. He doesn’t just stop by to talk. He went to see Brad Donnelly as well. Kane likes federal agents less than I do. A call would have sufficed, but he wanted to be here. I don’t think he’s going far. What do you know about this gang hit the other day?”

“Only what Brad told us the other night. Ryan said they’d ID’d one of the shooters as belonging to a different gang, possibly a rival of Trejo. I’ll be careful, I always am. And I’m partnered up with Barry. He’s good.”

“I’d rather you were with Nate or Ryan or MacKenzie.”

“Why? Because Nate and Kenzie were in the military and Ryan was a street cop?”

“Partly. But mostly because I know them. I don’t know Barry Crawford from Adam, and I didn’t like him when I met him.”

Lucy understood Sean’s protectiveness, but this was going a bit far. “Then trust me. Barry’s a smart guy. Yes, a little by the book and a stickler for protocol, but he’s good.”

“Of course I trust you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“It’s Brad who needs to be careful. He’s DEA. He’s the one they wanted dead.”

“But Brad didn’t see Tobias.”

“And Tobias doesn’t know I saw him.” They were going around and around on this and would never come to an agreement. “Sean. Please. I know you worry, but I’m a trained federal agent. Better, Jack trained me before I even joined the FBI. I take precautions. I’m not even working with Brad anymore. I’m working an old-fashioned murder investigation.”

“There’s nothing simple about this murder investigation.”

“That we can agree on.” She leaned up and kissed him. “I love you. I’ll see you tonight, if not sooner.”

*   *   *

As soon as Lucy left, Sean went to his office and took his special laptop out of the safe. Overkill, perhaps, but this laptop could get him into a lot of trouble.

He booted it up using his own secure server and ran a program to search out the worm he’d installed yesterday in Mona Hill’s computer. His cell phone rang a minute later and for a split second he thought he’d screwed up and this was Nate telling him that the FBI was on their way to arrest him.

Of course it wasn’t. First, he didn’t screw up. Second, the FBI didn’t work that fast.

It was his old friend, PI Renee Mackey.

“You’re fast and wonderful, as usual,” Sean said when he picked up his cell phone.

“Don’t forget it, sugar,” Renee said. “I just sent you a report, with pictures, but thought I’d call and give you the four-one-one.”

He put his secure laptop aside and pulled up his email on his primary computer. As Renee spoke, he flipped through the pictures of an upper-middle-class home on a large parcel just outside of the city. There were also pictures of a woman and a boy. The woman was pretty in a simple way—long dark hair, balanced face, good bone structure. She was young—mid to late twenties.

“The woman is Darlene Hatcher, twenty-six. The boy is hers, Bobby. He’ll be eight this summer. No father in the picture—no marriage license, no court-ordered child support, no custody agreement on record. I sent you his birth certificate. No father was listed. But, I did a little digging. The residence Darlene put on the birth certificate doesn’t exist.”

“She’s in hiding.”

“Possibly.”

“But look at the certificate.”

Sean scrolled through the documents. Renee had taken a picture of the birth certificate. Name, address, mother’s maiden name …

“Jefferson.”

“Bingo.”

Darlene hadn’t put her father down on the birth certificate, either. Was she Mona’s younger sister? It made sense in a strange way.

He looked back at Darlene’s picture. She was Caucasian, like Mona’s mother. But as he studied the bone structure, he saw that even though Mona was of mixed race, they had the same basic facial shape and the same green eyes.

“What does Darlene do for a living?”

“She’s a teacher. Went to college a little late, graduated last year with a master’s in early childhood education. Teaches kindergarten.”

Sean tried to process all the information. Mona had a half sister. She was paying for her to live well, while Mona, a former porn star, ran a prostitution ring in San Antonio. There had to be more to it.

“And I know exactly what you’re thinking, Sean. So I went there.”

“Went where?”

“To the school. Sniffed around. I can act the sweet little ole granny when I need to.”

He laughed. “I’d like to see that.”

“You’ll have to pay me extra. Well, there’s more to this story. Darlene listed on her employment forms that she has no family, that her parents are deceased and she has no living siblings. I then thought … how did Ramona Jefferson just disappear?”

“Mona stopped using her real identity and created a new one.”

“Yes—but eight years ago, a month before the house was purchased, Ramona Jefferson died.”

Sean’s heart skipped a beat. “For real?”

“No. On paper only. I swear, you owe me big-time because I could have lost my PI license.”

“You’re retired.”

“Well, I still have my license. It doesn’t expire until the end of the year.”

“So?”

“There’s a death certificate filed in Los Angeles County, California, for Ramona Jefferson. But it’s a forgery.”

It took Sean a minute to process that. “You mean that Mona inserted a death certificate into the system? How the hell?”

“Oh, I’m sure you could find a way.”

“That’s me.”

“If someone pulled it, it wouldn’t hold scrutiny. There was no body, no police report, no burial. But on the surface, it seems legit. So I went to Darlene’s neighborhood this morning, after she left with her son, and through one of her nosy neighbors I learned that Darlene’s older sister died and left her a trust, which paid for the house and her college education.”

Very interesting.

“There’s one more thing you should know.”

“I’m still processing everything you’ve already told me.”

“Everything you told me about Mona’s family was true—her mother was a drug addict, petty theft, drug sales. A real waste case. In and out of prison. The kids, Ramona and Darlene, were often left on their own for days or weeks, but when their mother went to prison for three years, when Darlene was four, Darlene was put into foster care and had a rough time. Records are closed, but I have my ways. Ramona, then thirteen, disappeared. The mom got out, reclaimed Darlene, and proceeded to go down the same path. Ramona may or may not have been around—I’d have to dig a little more. But a friend of mine, a retired cop who worked that beat, said the mom was a piece of work. Used the kid as a mule. The mom overdosed a couple years later—and it was nasty, from what the reports show. I can’t get you a copy because my contact at HPD was squeamish about sharing. But Darlene was then sent back to foster care. Lucky for her, she got in with a good family, the Hatchers. She legally changed her name when she was eighteen.”