Complicity in Heels (14 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
he Denali sped through the Compound’s gate and came to a screeching halt in front of the portico. Cordoza jumped out of the SUV, opened the rear door, and dragged Nikki out by the hair. She screamed as he marched her into the lobby.

“You’re hurting me,” she squealed.

Cordoza shoved her up against the wall, hard. A stone-cold expression etched itself across his face. “Did you blow the deal?” he asked, pointing Spence’s gun at her.

“Spence is on the pavement, bleeding out, and you’re wondering if I blew the deal. Did
you
blow the deal?”

Cordoza laughed. “I’ve spent the last six months putting us in a position to get a deal, so I don’t think I’m a leading contender here.”

Nikki shook her head in disbelief. “Listen to yourself. Do you hear what you’re saying?”

Cordoza pressed the barrel of Spence’s gun against Nikki’s head. “I’m not going to ask you again. Did you sell us out?”

Nikki felt the pressure of the cold steel against her temple but didn’t react. Their eyes locked. “Gem,” she said softly, “I didn’t do it, I swear.”

He moved his face to within inches of hers. “I don’t believe you.” His breath was hot and smelled of cigars.

Nikki let out a deep breath. “Damn it, you wouldn’t have a deal if I hadn’t swayed Vicente to do business with us.”

“True, but only four people on our crew knew about the meet: Spence, Willard, you, and me. Spence is gone, and Willard’s whereabouts can be accounted for, so that leaves just you.”

“You know me, Gem. You can trust me.” Nikki hoped she sounded convincing.

“You just did three and a half years in prison. You come; you go. How do I know you’re not whispering sweet songs about my operation into your parole officer’s ear?”

Nikki laughed at the implication. “You invite me back, tell me how desperately you need my help, and now I’m your Judas?”

Cordoza nodded. “It adds up for me.”

“I get it—you’re spooked. I’m spooked too, so I’ll forgive you for not thinking straight, but you’re overlooking something.”

Cordoza loosened his hold a little but still kept her pinned against the wall. “And what’s that?”

“Your math.”

Cordoza gave her a disgruntled look.

“Spence, Willard, and I weren’t the only ones who knew that deal was going down.”

“What do you mean?”

Nikki took a deep breath and gained her composure. “Lacey—she was in the room too. You want to talk about somebody coming and going…where is she right now?”

“Yoga class,” he snapped.

“You sure about that?”

Cordoza hesitated. “Okay, maybe at the herbalist. I get that new age bullshit mixed up all the time.”

Cordoza released his hold on her, took a step back, and lowered the weapon.

“Thank you,” she said, grateful to be free. He didn’t reply. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be up in my room, scanning the local channels for news coverage about the raid.”

Cordoza shook his head. “Let me know the minute you find something.”

Nikki bolted for the elevators. Once she was back in her room, she turned on the TV but kept the volume on mute while she dialed the lifeline from her cell phone.

“Touch of Style Salon,” a rosy voice announced. “How can I help you?”

Nikki rushed through the agent verification process in a whisper and waited for confirmation.

“Cousin Nikki, how are you?”

“Not too good. Could be better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What’s up?”

Shaken up, Nikki took a deep breath. “Janice…”

“Yes, honey.”

Nikki paused. With Cordoza’s suspicion aroused, she considered the possibility that he was eavesdropping on her just beyond the door.

“Cousin Nikki,” Janice called out.

“I’m here.”

“Go ahead, girl.”

“I need to cancel breakfast,” Nikki stated, using the code phrase to request an emergency meeting.

“No problem. I’ll get back to you as soon as I figure out when we can hook up again.”

“Thanks.” Nikki hung up.

Several hours later, following directions Janice had given her, Nikki found herself in front of an out-of-the-way seamstress shop. She walked inside. A frumpy, gray-haired woman, wearing a smock with a tape measure draped around her neck, greeted her and escorted her to the back room. Inside, Harlan stood holding a plush roll of fabric several feet away from Special Agent Bolston while she pretended to stitch it.

“We got raided,” Nikki announced.

Harlan set the textile roll down and turned toward her. “I know…I was there.”

“I specifically requested a surveillance team to observe the exchange from the top of the adjacent parking deck, nothing more.”

Kameko looked up from behind the industrial sewing machine.

Nikki waved. “So why’d you raid us, Harlan?”

His face drew a blank. “Raid you? I didn’t authorize that bust. We were busy taking photos and gathering intelligence like we were supposed to.”

“Cordoza’s spooked,” Nikki said. “Thinks I sold him out. Damn near tried to kill me.”

Harlan’s eyes widened. “Not good.”

“Well, if you didn’t raid us, who did?”

“That’s something I need to look into and get back to you on.”

“Start with the DEA and go from there,” Nikki said. “What about Spence Taylor?”

Harlan took a deep breath then looked directly at her. “Dead.”

Nikki gasped.

Harlan hesitated for a moment. “By the time we got down there…he was gone.”

Nikki’s stomach churned. She placed her hand over her mouth then shook her head. Overwhelmed by a hollow emptiness inside, she allowed so many pleasant memories of him to slip into her mind and fill the void: training Spence in the craft of ATM skimming, playing late-night games of chess to decompress after long hours of planning financially rewarding crimes, and shopping together for clothes at outlet stores uptown. Soon those thoughts dissipated, replaced by a bitter one: Spence shoving her to the ground to gain a sizable lead and avoid arrest by pursuing cops. The image of him offering her up as a sacrificial lamb still burned. Tears ran down Nikki’s cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’re forgiven,” she whispered. “I release you from that wrong.”

Concerned, Harlan moved closer to her and touched her forearm lightly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She looked away.

“Nicole, if there’s anything I can—”

“Get to the bottom of this,” she replied, wiping the tears from her face.

“Will do.”

She reached into her purse and removed a bundled stack of cash.

Harlan’s eyebrows rose. “What do we have here?”

“Five grand.”

“For?”

Nikki handed the money to him. “Evidence.”

Harlan nodded slowly. “I see.”

“And don’t think I wasn’t tempted either,” Nikki added. “Five grand could easily pay for a month’s worth of Marty’s care.”

Harlan motioned for Kameko to come over. She emerged from behind the sewing machine and approached him. He handed the cash to her. “Log it.”

Kameko flipped through the bills to get a count.

“Is that all, Nicole?” Harlan asked.

“No, a fifteen-hundred-dollar check for IT consulting, courtesy of the Cordoza crew.”

Harlan held out his hand. Nikki dug into her purse again and pulled out a business envelope. She stared at it for a moment, hesitating to hand it over.
Take it before I spend it
, she thought.

Harlan motioned for the check. Nikki quickly gave it to him. He opened the envelope and glanced over the bank draft. “Seems legit,” he said, holding it out for Kameko to exam.

“It’s real,” she confirmed.

Harlan did a double take. “That was quick, Bolston.”

“The numbers in the upper-right-hand corner match the last few digits on the MICR line. A consistent font runs throughout the check, and there’s a perforated edge on the back as well as a bright bank logo that’s difficult to duplicate.”

“All righty then.”

“Secret Service, Harlan,” Kameko teased. “It’s part of what we do: identify, track, and put a stop to counterfeiting.”

A smug expression slid over Harlan’s face. He pulled the check back, took out his cell phone, and snapped a picture of the draft. Then he placed the check back in the envelope. “Here,” he said, handing it to Nikki.

She took it and placed it in her purse.

Harlan wiggled the side of his glasses. “Cash it.”

Nikki’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay.”

“Cordoza’s already suspicious of you. He’s gonna be looking for this check to clear, so let’s not play into his paranoia by not cashing it.”

“Will do.”

Kameko reached into her tweed jacket and removed a USB flash drive from her pocket. “My top guys took a look at this,” she told Nikki. “It took a lot of brainstorming, but they managed to solve your problem by leveraging the key-holder index system.”

Nikki cast a blank look Kameko’s way. “Key-holder index system?”

“Yes, you’re familiar with the Title Three restrictions of the Patriot Act, right?”

Nikki nodded. “Ten-thousand-dollar cap on all financial transactions. Anything above that must be reported to the government.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true.”

Nikki squinched her face up in surprise.

“Within the US financial system, there are a group of individuals, twenty-six in all, who have the government’s ‘blessing’ to move large amounts of currency unencumbered. These people are known as key holders.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of having a Title Three section of the Patriot Act?” Harlan asked.

“Not necessarily,” Kameko said. “All the key holders are highly vetted. Some of them even hold positions in the upper echelons of government.”

“You mean the deep, dark corners nobody dares to go looking in.”

Kameko frowned at Harlan for making the insinuation. “Yes.”

“Pretty much explains the infinite number of CIA slush funds and the nine lives they seem to have.”

Nikki interrupted their banter. “How does this key-holder index system get my money-laundering program to work?”

“We took reserve digital authorization codes from the index, placed them in a self-modulating matrix, then embedded it within a reverse shell,” Kameko explained. “Once banking security application software has been breached, the DNS settings will be altered and set to a primary server the Secret Service controls. From there, we can monitor the program as it taps into the ACH Network, providing recognized digital override codes. If we encounter any hiccups, we can course-correct with direct commands from the home office. It’s smooth sailing from there.”

Nikki smiled. “Kinda of like an E-Z pass for road tolls.”

“Hardly,” Kameko scoffed. “More like carte blanche at Saks Fifth Avenue. You’ll be able to manipulate currency amounts, denominations, number of accounts, and the location of funds.”

“Amazing.”

Kameko handed Nikki the flash drive. “And now I present to you the Spectral Drive,” she said, with a flourish of her hand.

A curious look spread across Nikki’s face. “As in a ghost or phantom?”

“Yep, this thing is so smooth it’s virtually undetectable. My guys did an excellent job. The best part is that once the digital override codes have been activated, we’ll be able to track the money no matter where it ends up. We’ve basically created a digital beacon that attaches itself to the funds being laundered.”

“Brilliant. Sounds like we have a winner here.”

“I’d like to think so,” Kameko said, grinning. “This will allow us to see the overall big picture, who’s doing business with who, and alert us to new players in the game. The possibilities are endless.”

“So basically we’ll be fishing digitally,” Harlan commented.

Kameko nodded.

“Using Cordoza as a proxy,” Nikki said. “He brings in Quinn; Quinn leads us to Vicente, and so forth and so on.”

“Exactly. That’s why it’s important for us to find out why this deal went sour and salvage it. If we can fulfill the brokering contract by completing the transaction, law-enforcement agencies everywhere could reap the benefits for years to come from our work here today.”

The frumpy, gray-haired woman who had escorted Nikki to the back room returned. She was accompanied by a slender Latina woman dressed in corporate gray and clutching a leather business portfolio.

All eyes shifted to her. She stepped forward and extended her hand toward Nikki. “Nicole Frank? Melinda Procter, legal clerk for the office of US Attorney GW Strickland.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Nikki said, shaking her hand.
I hope this is about Marty
, she thought.

“Likewise.”

“What can I do for you?”

Melinda opened up the zippered folder and removed a digital audio recorder. “I’m here to take your sworn statement on the alleged abuses currently under investigation at the Madelyn P. Shaw Women’s Correctional Facility.”

“Sure,” Nikki said, trying to mask her disappointment.

“For your protection, Ms. Frank, we’ll list you as a reliable confidential informant on all documentation presented to the grand jury for review.”

Nikki nodded that she understood.

“Raise your right hand,” Melinda said, pressing “record” on the voice recorder. “And repeat after me.”

Nikki raised her hand.

“I, Nicole Marie Frank…”

“I, Nicole Marie Frank…”

“Do solemnly swear…”

“Do solemnly—”

Nikki’s phone rang. “Sorry. I have to take this,” she said, assuming it was Cordoza. “Give me a second.”

Melinda shut off the recorder. Nikki opened her purse and fished out her phone. “Hello?”

“Nikki?”

“Yes,” she replied tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Emma from Paris Oaks.”

“Hey, I—”

“It’s about Marty.”

Nikki’s face crumpled up. “What is it?”

“He’s missing.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

V
ictor stepped off the elevator, stopped in front of his suite, and called Quinn. The phone rang several times before he answered it.

“Patrone here,” Victor said.

“What is it?”

“We’ve been hit.”

“Shit,” Quinn hollered. “When?”

“About thirty minutes ago.”

“By who?”

“DEA.”

“And the money?”

“Gone.”

Quinn sighed. “All of it?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding, Patrone.”

Victor didn’t respond.

“Where are you now?”

“En route to the yacht,” he lied.

“Good. I’ll see you when you get here.”

Victor hung up and swiped his key card through the door reader. A green light appeared, disengaging the lock. He turned the handle and entered the suite. Inside, Onyx, Topaz, and Jasper sat in a semicircle around two open duffel bags.

Topaz reached down into one, grabbed a few bundles of cash, and held them up for Victor to see. “We hit the mother lode,
esé
.”

Victor smiled. “We certainly did.”

“Now these are the muthafucking jobs you need to be contracting us fo’,” Onyx added. “Not that penny-pinching shit for Q.”

Victor turned to Jasper. “Did you get rid of the van?”

“Firebombed it in some back alley.”

The cartel lieutenant raised an eyebrow, prompting Jasper to elaborate.

“Molotov cocktails. When they do find it, there won’t be much left.”

“And the DEA jackets?”

“Tossed.”

“What about the champagne?”

Jasper grinned. “On ice in the guest bathroom.”

Victor gave the trio an approving nod. “Outstanding.”

“Just like you muthafucking requested,” Onyx chimed in.

“Well, if y’all will excuse me, I’ll fetch the bubbly.” Victor headed down the hallway and stepped into the bathroom.

The tub was filled with ice. Several bottles of Möet & Chandon Imperial were dispersed throughout the basin. Victor shut the door, pulled out his phone, and hit speed dial. Lacey picked up.

“I’m…” Victor hesitated for a second. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Lacey didn’t respond.

“That wasn’t me. Honest, sweetheart. It’s just…sometimes you can be—”

“What?” Lacey demanded. “I can be what?”

Victor sighed. “Cold.”

“That doesn’t give you the right—”

“I know, I know.”

Lacey let out a heavy sigh. “What you did disgusts me.”

“Do you remember the place we first met?” Victor asked.

“Yeah.”

“We need to meet there now.”

“What for? What’s the point?”

“So I can make it up to you…in a big way. I promise.”

There was a long pause.

“Sweetheart?”

“I’m here.”

“Well?”

“Fine,” Lacey said. “I’ll meet with you.”

Victor hung up, then placed the phone on the vanity counter top. He withdrew his Beretta from the holster underneath his arm and reloaded the weapon. When he finished, he affixed a sound suppressor to the barrel, walked back into the living room, and pointed the semiautomatic at the group. A wide-eyed look of surprise leapt from one man’s face to another.

“
Esé
,” Topaz pleaded.

“Gentlemen, thank you for your service,” Victor said, ignoring the appeal, “but this is where we part ways.”

“Muthafucker!” Onyx yelled.

Victor flashed a sly grin then opened fire. “Good help is so hard to find.”