Cut and Run 09 Crash & Burn (17 page)

He was so close to faking an illness and leaving the field office in the very capable hands of his second-in-charge. The only thing keeping him there was the knowledge that differing from his routine would alert the mole to something going on, and that was just one problem they did not need to be dealing with right now. So here he sat, useless and distracted and thoroughly exhausted.

A knock at his door had him straightening in anticipation yet again. “Enter,” he called, and he almost deflated in relief when Perrimore stuck his head in.

“Got a second?”

“Yeah.” Zane waved him in.

Perrimore looked apologetic, though. Not a good sign. “I hit a dead end on those accounts.”

“What kind?” Zane asked, trying to keep his expression neutral.

“The government kind. My clearance isn’t high enough.”

“Which branch flagged it?”

“Us.” Perrimore flopped a thin file on Zane’s desk. “The Bureau flagged every single one of those accounts. I couldn’t touch them without alerting someone.”

Zane opened the file to the single paper inside. Perrimore had handwritten it, apparently not trusting the wireless printer in the office. Zane glanced up at him with a hint of admiration and appreciation.

Perrimore shrugged. “I know off the books when I see it. I wrote down the ID number of the agent who flagged those accounts. Figured that might help.”

“Thanks, Freddy. I owe you big for this.”

Perrimore clucked his tongue. “Offer’s open, Garrett. You into something? You need help?”

Zane looked up guardedly, meeting Perrimore’s eyes and holding his gaze. He considered himself pretty good at reading people. He didn’t see anything but concern in Perrimore’s eyes, but could he trust the man?

“I’m good, Freddy. Promise.”

Perrimore lifted one eyebrow and nodded. “Okay. You on for Alston’s party tomorrow night?”

“Party?”

“Yeah, his girl’s doing some Valentine’s Day shit.”

“Oh fuck.” Zane smacked his forehead with an open palm. “Oh God, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah,” Perrimore drawled, his deep voice finding a whole new tenor as he began to laugh. He turned to see himself out. “Good luck with that, newlywed.”

Zane waited until the door was closed, then had a brief moment to panic over having forgotten Valentine’s Day. He and Ty had once been surprised when they couldn’t find a restaurant on Valentine’s Day, because they’d both forgotten what day it was. And they’d gotten married the week before the most romantic holiday of the year without realizing it. With Ty going through a little Sidewinder-induced crisis, Zane was pretty sure he didn’t even know what month it was anymore.

Still, it was their first Valentine’s Day as a married couple, so Zane needed to figure out something.

He set that aside as a problem to deal with soon, and instead examined the piece of paper again. There was no name attached, just a number. He didn’t dare look up that number on his own computer; he’d have to find another way to access it. But the implications of an FBI agent blocking this information were pretty hefty, and it seemed to support what Nick had been trying to get at: that Burns had been up to something dirty. And who knew how far the corruption went into the Bureau? Zane had to tread more carefully and keep his head down.

If Burns wasn’t the one who was dirty—and Zane was still on the fence about that—
someone
involved in the cartel operation had been. Someone who had worked that case with Zane had been stealing cartel money and orchestrating dozens of deaths. Jesus Christ. And whoever belonged to this ID number was either guilty, or had some information Zane was pretty sure Ty would want for Valentine’s Day far more than a box of chocolates.

He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and dropped the file in there, then closed it and made sure it was locked again before going back to the report he’d been trying to read.

Since when did doing his job get in the way of the things he needed to be doing? He really was turning into Ty.

Another knock at his door had him tensing up all over again. “Enter,” he called out, trying not to sound like he was terrified of whatever was coming next. He was the boss; he was not supposed to be afraid when people knocked on his door, they were supposed to be afraid of him.

The door opened, and Digger poked his head in. Zane sat up straighter, alarm streaking through him.

“What are you doing here?” he blurted. “How’d you get past security?”

Digger made an effort to look hurt, but he was still smiling when he pushed into the office. Owen followed after him, his expression a little less mischievous, and he closed the door behind them.

“Everything okay?” Zane asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Digger threw himself into one of the chairs across from Zane’s desk. “The others all headed down to DC for some sightseeing. But we missed you, so we decided to stay behind.”

“Missed me?” Zane repeated, sinking back into his chair as if it could protect him from whatever plan Sidewinder had concocted while he wasn’t there to supervise. “The office is clean, there’s no bug here.”

“Oh!” Digger grinned at Owen. “That makes this easier.”

Owen huffed and sat beside him, remaining on the edge of his seat while Digger lounged with one leg tossed over an arm of his chair. Owen gave Zane a tired smile. “Six and the Doc are heading for Richard Burns’s office. Irish and Bell went for his house. They’ve got six hours to check in before we follow if there’s trouble. Until then, we’re here to do a little digging on your vermin problem.”

Zane raised an eyebrow at that. “What do you propose?”

Owen smirked and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a badge that he placed in front of Zane. Zane picked it up, meeting Owen’s eyes with more than a hint of suspicion. “Caliburn Technologies. This is where you work?”

“Yeah. Weapons systems, government contracts. Stuff. We poach a lot of federal agents for security, and since I started out scouting talent, this wouldn’t be the first time I snooped around an FBI office asking questions.”

“You sneaky son of a bitch,” Zane said with a smirk, pushing Owen’s badge back toward him.

Owen grinned and gave Zane a wink as he stood. “It’ll help sell it if you give it about an hour, then toss us out. Loudly.”

Zane chuckled, biting his lip as he took in the utter glee on both their faces. “Toss you out on your asses. Got it.”

Nick parked their stolen sedan in a shady spot along the sidewalk of a tree-lined residential street. The stately houses were situated on sprawling lots, with massive oaks dotting the landscape and overly obvious security systems with signs announcing their presence for good measure.

Nick didn’t know a lot about DC or the surrounding suburbs, but this was obviously an upscale neighborhood. Hell, Richard Burns had probably put out more per month for his mortgage than Nick earned in a year.

Liam let out a low whistle. “Nice digs.”

Nick nodded as he scanned the surroundings. “Richard Burns liked nice things.”

“Says the man who lives on a yacht.”

Nick shrugged. “At least it’s not built on blood.”

“I didn’t know the man, but he was a piece of work, hmm? Anyone who can wrap Tyler around his finger must be.”

Nick didn’t respond. He was watching a vehicle parked facing them, roughly a block up. “Shit.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Cops.” Nick nodded in the direction of the car, then ducked his head to look at his lap as if he were studying a map.

“Why would they be watching this house?” Liam asked. “Are you sure they’re cops and not cartel?”

“Positive. Look up police reports for the last week. And grab me a map or something from the glove compartment.”

Liam dug around and found a plastic folding map in one of the door panels. He set it on Nick’s knee, then brought out his laptop and began typing. Nick watched the two shadows in the police vehicle, going over in his head how he would explain their presence if they were approached. Getting lost would be a viable excuse, because as soon as he started bickering with Liam as if they’d been stuck in the car for hours going the wrong way—something Liam was singularly good at—it would sell the story.

“Okay, here we go,” Liam finally said, and Nick realized he’d been holding his breath as he waited. “They responded to a robbery at this address two nights ago.”

“Robbery? Why the hell are they still sitting here, then?”

“No clue.” Liam snapped his laptop shut. “This might fuck both operations right up the arse if security has been heightened. How the hell are we going to get into that house right under their noses? We don’t have time for this shit; we have to be back to Baltimore by sundown.”

“You got my shield on you?” Nick asked.

Liam didn’t ask questions as he rummaged in the bags in the backseat. He handed Nick his badge.

Nick slid it onto his belt where it belonged. “Okay, I want you to walk right up to the front door and stand there watching me like you’re impatient, okay?”

Liam nodded and popped the handle on his door, lurching out of the car and slamming the door without even offering a smart-ass comment. Nick got out and strolled toward the police sedan, one hand in his pocket so it pushed his jacket back and displayed his badge. He could only hope the shape and make of the Boston shield was similar to that of Great Falls. He had no idea what theirs looked like.

When he got closer to the two cops, he took his hand out of his pocket and waved, covering the blatant Boston PD written on his badge with his jacket.

The driver rolled his window down as Nick slowed. “Can we help you, Detective?”

“Detective Sullivan, how you doing?” Nick bent so he was at eye level with both men. The two men looked at each other, then back at Nick.

“New in town, Detective?” the driver asked.

“First week here,” Nick said with a wide grin. “Moved down from Boston Robbery/Homicide. New everything, still getting lost at every turn.”

Both cops gave him knowing smiles. The passenger, though, turned his head to watch Liam, who had stomped up the walkway to the Burns residence and was observing Nick with his hands on his hips. He had a badge on his belt, though Nick had no idea where he’d gotten it. Nick looked over at him and sighed.

“Still . . . working out the kinks on the partner too.”

That got more genuine laughs from both men, and Nick breathed a little easier.

“We got tossed this one this morning, I saw you sitting here, wanted to come touch base, make sure we’re not stepping on any toes. This your case?”

The driver groaned and rubbed his eyes. “There’s nothing here to investigate, sir. Owner’s a widow. Husband was some big shit in the FBI, got himself killed last year. We’re babysitting, here. Sergeant’s orders. Round the clock ’til the lady feels safe.”

“Understood. We won’t be long. I’ll see what I can do about some coffee, huh?”

“You got my vote, Detective,” the driver said, grinning.

Nick pounded his fist on the roof of their car, giving them both a wink before he sauntered away.

“What the hell, mate?” Liam said under his breath as soon as Nick came close.

Nick shrugged. “You said it yourself, we couldn’t sneak past them.”

“Brazen idiot.” There was a hint of pride in Liam’s voice as he spoke, though. “Are they legit?”

“I think so, yeah. Just the department looking after the widow of a high-profile politician.” Nick eyed Liam up and down, then pushed his coat aside to get a look at his badge. It was plastic. “Junior firefighter?”

“No one ever looks at a badge, come on,” Liam huffed, then knocked on the door.

When a woman answered, peering around the slit in the door, Nick held up his badge and then slid it back on his belt, keeping the words covered with his gloved fingers. “Mrs. Burns? Laura Burns?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Black, and this is my partner, Detective Decker. Do you have a few minutes, ma’am?”

“Of course. This is about the robbery?”

“Yes, ma’am, may we come in?” Liam asked. He had assumed an accent and was giving Nick a sideways glare.

She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and nodded, stepping to the side to usher them through the entry into a massive foyer. Nick stopped just inside, glancing around. There was a massive picture of Richard Burns, his wife, and two cocker spaniels above a table near the stairs. Nick stared at it, at the eyes of the man he’d killed, trying to find an ounce of regret in him.

He couldn’t manage it.

The click of the door brought his attention back to Laura, and the sound of those cocker spaniels yapping somewhere in the house had his hair standing on end. He put on the professional, sympathetic smile he’d perfected over his years on the job. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Nick thought he heard her sniff, but she kept a stoic expression. “I was out of town, but the neighbor saw the lights of a flashlight through the window and called the police.”

“What was stolen?” Liam asked.

“Nothing. The patrolmen came before they could get into it.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Into . . . what?”

“The safe. I’ll show you.” She turned and gestured for them to follow, leading them into the formal dining room, where the hardwood floors had been ripped up and a safe in the floor had been exposed.