Hidden Agenda (26 page)

“He was able to clarify a few questions we had.” Michael weighed his options. If everything Felipe said was true, then the man's life was in danger. And it was only going to be a matter of time before he was tracked down.

“I want the two of you to stand guard here until Avery can set something up,” Michael said.

“Avery told us to stay with you—”

“I know what Avery said, but Felipe is a key witness in
bringing down the cartel, and his life has already been threatened at least once.” Michael slipped his hand into his pants pocket and grabbed the key. “We'll go straight back to the hotel room. I promise. But he's going to need round-the-clock protection until we can get to the bottom of this. I also want a formal confession taken as soon as it can be arranged.”

“You got it.”

Michael took Olivia's hand as they started down the hall toward the elevator, taking in everything around him. A man talked with one of the nurses at the nurse's station, wearing jeans with a turtleneck and jacket, holding a gray cable-knit hat. An elderly couple sat next to each other in a small waiting room. The woman cried quietly beside her husband. Michael's mother's image flashed before him, how she must have cried the day she'd been told her son was dead.

As they stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage a minute later, a chill swept over him. He shook it off. Their footsteps echoed across the concrete. Past rows of cars and concrete columns.

Michael looked behind him, unable to shake the feeling they were being followed.

“What's wrong, Michael?” If someone knew they had the key . . .

“I don't think we're the only ones here to visit Felipe.”

Michael grabbed Olivia's hand and pulled her behind a cement pillar, then pressed his finger to his lips. He was tired of all the games. Tired of constantly feeling one step behind.

Michael reacted the second the man in the gray cap walked by. He grabbed for the man's gun, spun him around, and pinned him against the pillar.

M
ichael held the gun against the man's chest. “Don't move.”

“Whoa!” The man held up his hands, obviously terrified. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Why are you following us?”

“Following you . . . why would I do that?” His voice cracked. “I'm here to see my grandmother. She was admitted last night for heart problems, and—”

“Enough,” Michael said. While he didn't believe his story, the guy seemed far too green to be cartel. “I don't have time to play games, and since you were clearly not on the cardiac wing to see Grandma, I'm going to assume I'm right. So I'll ask you for an answer nicely one more time, and after that I'll consider using this.” He pressed the barrel of the gun firmly against the man's chest. “Why are you following us?”

“I wasn't—”

“What did I just tell you?”

The man's jaw tensed. “Fine. I'm a PI. But I have a license and a permit to carry.”

Michael glanced at Olivia. “I don't know about you, but I always carry heat while visiting my grandmother.”

“There are no gun restrictions in a hospital—”

“Who hired you?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

“He's not at liberty to say.” Michael looked at Olivia again and rolled his eyes, before turning back to Atlanta's own Barney Fife. “You need to understand something. I've had a very, very bad beginning to my day, and so far, it has yet to get any better. I've been shot at and side-swiped, and if that isn't enough, there's a hit out on me by the cartel and the cops want to arrest me, so if you think I'm playing games—”

“No, please. If I'd have known you were involved with the cartel . . . What do you want? I'll give you money. There's an ATM around the corner. I've got a couple hundred dollars in my account, which I know isn't much, but it's all yours.”

“I don't want your money,” Michael said. “I want to know who hired you.”

It took all of five seconds for the man to cave. “Rebecca Pearce.”

“Now that wasn't so hard, was it?” Michael asked, smiling for the first time. “Now tell me why she hired you.”

“She wanted me to follow you.”

“So you're not involved in the cartel?”

“Me? Involved with the cartel? Are you crazy?” He pointed to his jacket pocket. “I'm just an investigator. If you'll just let me show you, I've got my license. I wasn't lying.”

Michael took a step back. What in the world was a green detective doing involved in a cartel investigation?

Fumbling, the man pulled the card out of his wallet and held it up. “See. My name's David Coleman.”

“Coleman Investigations,” Michael read.

“That's my father, actually.” He pulled out another card. “Here's my driver's license. It's all legal. And my—”

“I believe you. Put those away. How long have you been working as a PI?”

“I've had my license for three months.”

Michael held up the man's handgun. “Have you ever fired this before?”

“Yes . . . well . . . at the firing range.”

“Have you ever had to aim it at a person?”

“No . . . I . . .” He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I spend most of my time locating records or . . . or divorce filings. Stuff like that.”

“Locating records and divorce filings . . . sounds like fun.” Michael aimed the gun at the ground, ejected the clip, then turned on the safety. He dropped the clip into his jacket pocket and handed the man back his weapon. “Let's go back to the original question. Why are you following us?”

“Rebecca's a friend of mine from high school. I've done a few jobs on the side for her, though normally she has me digging through someone's trash . . . or doing various kinds of research.”

“Where is Rebecca now?”

“I'm not sure, exactly. She told me she'd talk to me later after I found out where you were going.”

“I think it's time we gave Rebecca another call. Where's your cell phone?”

Mr. Coleman pulled it out of his jacket pocket.

“Perfect. Now, call her and have her meet you here immediately. Tell her it's important.”

“I don't usually tell her where to meet me—”

“Just call her.”

A minute later, he hung up the call, the message passed on. “Can I leave now?”

“Are you kidding, Mr. Coleman? The fun's just beginning.”

“For you, maybe. If she finds out I blew my cover—”

“Relax. Trust me. Rebecca's the least of your worries.”

Ten minutes later, Olivia watched Rebecca pull into the parking garage and stop her vehicle where they waited, blocking a row of parked cars in the process.

“Your little charade is up, Ms. Pearce,” Michael said as she exited the car.

Her glare shot arrows right through him, but she wasn't the only one ticked.

“Why did you have Mr. Coleman here follow us?” he asked when she didn't respond.

Rebecca let out a sharp huff. “I figured Olivia might be on to something. And if I had you followed, I might be able to find out what it was.”

“What, exactly, did you think she was on to?” Michael asked.

“For starters, I know that you're the son of the former police captain, and you've been presumed dead. And now you've shown up after spending eight months working for the cartel. But you already know that.” Her smile widened as she turned to Olivia. “For you, it took a bit more digging into your background, but I came up with something I'd somehow missed all these years.”

“That my father is Antonio Valez, leader of the Cártel de Rey?” Olivia asked.

“Exactly.” Rebecca didn't try to mask the suspicion in her eyes. “Kind of makes one wonder which side you both are working on.”

“A question that should be cleared up soon,” Michael shot back. “What exactly are you looking for, Rebecca?”

“Proof to back up the story I've been working on.”

“What story might that be?”

“Forget it,” Rebecca said. “That's where this conversation stops—”

“I don't think so.” Olivia moved across the pavement in front of Rebecca. “Not this time. I'm guessing that you stumbled
across something far bigger than you can actually handle. And considering the direction our day has gone, I have pretty good reason to believe you're about to find yourself in a lot of trouble.”

“Especially if it has anything to do with government officials and a story involving the Canary List,” Michael added.

“The Canary List?” Rebecca's face paled. “How do you know about that?”

“I'm guessing your source keeps you supplied with small tidbits of information that work to his advantage, while you wait for the promise of a big payoff. But somehow you found out about that list,” Michael said. “And that list is the story you want. Am I on the right track? A list that has the potential to switch the balance of power between cartel leaders?”

“You're correct.” Mr. Coleman pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Atlanta is a key territory for the northeast as well as in parts of Europe, so whoever holds this territory stands to gain tremendously in profits. And that list will ensure whoever has it continues to dominate the drug market in this area.”

“David—”

“Sorry, Rebecca.” Apparently, Mr. Coleman was tired of feeling unappreciated. “But I've been doing my own research.”

Rebecca headed back to her car. “I have nothing more to say.”

“Please, Rebecca, stop!” Olivia ran toward her, not willing to give up. The woman knew something. Maybe it was time to appeal to whatever sliver of humanity she had left. “They've taken my brother, Rebecca. Ivan has nothing to do with the cartel, or the Canary List, or any of this. Whoever took him thinks they can use him as a pawn because of who his father is.”

“Don't even try a guilt trip on me.” Rebecca walked back toward Olivia. “That stopped working a long time ago.”

“I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, I'm trying to show
you that there are lives at stake. They're planning to set off a bomb. People are going to die.”

“Rebecca!” Olivia turned to see Michael staring at the entrance as a car came into the parking garage. He yelled her name again. “Rebecca, were you followed? If your informant knows you're talking to us . . .”

“I don't think so. I—”

Olivia jumped at the sharp crack of a gun going off.

“Everybody get down.” Michael grabbed Olivia's hand and jerked her behind Rebecca's car.

Olivia pulled Rebecca down with her as the driver slammed into the side of Rebecca's car.

Michael eased out from behind the trunk of the vehicle and fired back. The car continued up the ramp past them.

“They're going to circle back.” He ran around to the driver's side. “Give me the keys to your car.”

Rebecca stared at the keys, her hands shaking.

“The keys, Rebecca.”

Olivia grabbed the keys out of Rebecca's hand and tossed them to Michael.

Michael opened the back door and shoved Rebecca into the car. He yelled at the others as he jumped into the driver's seat. “Get in the car and get down.”

Tires squealed as the other car started back toward them.

The windshield shattered as Olivia crawled into the backseat after Rebecca and David.

“Go . . . go . . . go . . .”

Michael stomped the accelerator and headed toward the exit of the parking garage, while the occupant of the other car continued firing shots at them. The tires screeched as Michael broke through the arm gate and onto the street.

“They shot me.” David leaned back against the seat, looking as if he were about to pass out.

Olivia pulled off the man's coat, struggling to keep her balance, while Michael tried to lose the shooters.

“How bad is it?” Michael took another sharp left turn.

She ripped off David's sleeve at the shoulder and found a half-inch shard of glass sticking out of his arm.

“Am I going to die?” he asked.

“It's not a bullet, it's a piece of glass, and it's barely a scratch. You're going to live.”

“Are you sure?” He held up the coat and showed her the patch of blood from the injury. “I've lost a lot of blood.”

“It's a piece of glass, David,” Rebecca said. “I'm pretty sure you're not going to bleed to death.”

“Hold on,” Michael said, making another sharp turn.

“You were followed,” Olivia said.

Rebecca gripped the handle above her. “I'm sorry.”

“Who's your source, Rebecca?” Michael asked.

“I can't tell you.”

“This isn't just a story you're chasing,” he continued. “People's lives are at stake.”

“I think I sort of figured that out. They were shooting at us,” she yelled back.

“Who is it?”

Rebecca blew out a sharp blast of air. “His name is Javier. He's a member of the Cártel de Rey.”

“Can you get ahold of him?”

“Probably.”

“Was that so hard?” Michael asked. “I'll have my sister try to pick him up, but in the meantime, I'll make sure I've lost these jokers, then head back to the hospital and drop you both off at the emergency room, where Coleman can have his arm patched up.”

“No way,” David said. “I'm not getting out of this car until
we've put as much distance as possible between us and those shooters.”

“He has a point,” Olivia said.

“Fine, I'll even make sure you're both protected until this is over, but in the meantime, I think it's time to find out who's on the Canary List.”