L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (72 page)

She glanced at the time again. Jordan should be there any minute. It was after ten and Alysa wasn’t home, either. And because Phoebe and Rose were on street duty, she didn’t have any way to go looking for the teenager even if she could. She’d left a call on Phoebe’s cell phone for them to keep an eye out for the teen. She felt helpless to do anything more and it irritated the hell out of her. Maybe Jordan would have some ideas.

She knew better than to call the police to report Alysa missing. They would get on it, but not immediately since she had a history of running. It was normal to think the kid had run again.

But Alysa was different from other troubled kids. The child longed for the security she’d never had, and Victory House had given her that. Maybe not in the way she wanted, but enough to get her back on track. That’s what bothered Laura the most. Alysa had to be in trouble. Something she couldn’t talk about with her counselor. But maybe with a friend?

Deciding that would be her approach when the teen returned, Laura flipped on the television set for company. Then the doorbell rang. Still on edge, she went to the door and peered between the curtains. The outside light gave the night an eerie yellow cast… Jordan and Alysa stood on the steps.

What the— She wrenched open the door. “Oh, my God, Alysa, where have you been?”

Jordan held up a hand. “Let’s sit. Alysa has something to tell you.”

Laura listened quietly as Alysa told her what she’d done. With every word out of the girl’s mouth, Laura rode a roller coaster of emotions…astonishment, disappointment, sadness—and the ultimate knowledge of betrayal. The raw truth twisted like a knife in Laura’s chest.

Was it always like this? Did everyone in the world disappoint you at some time or another? As a counselor, she knew the answer. People were flawed. People made mistakes. God knew she’d made enough of her own, and some of them would have consequences that lasted the rest of her life.

Alysa apologized through a flood of tears. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. At first I thought I was doing the right thing, and when I found out it wasn’t, it was too late.”

“It’s okay, Alysa.” Laura took the girl’s hand. “I’m glad you told me. Now we’ll just go on from here.”

Alysa’s head came up. “You don’t hate me? You’re not going to make me leave?”

“I’m surprised and…hurt. But I’d no more ask you to leave than leave myself. We’ve made it this far, we’ll get through the rest. Now, why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”

The girl looked at Laura in disbelief, then hugged her. “I can’t believe you don’t hate me.”

“I care about you, Alysa. I could never hate you, no matter what you do.”

Alysa looked as if her world had just been resurrected. She swallowed, dashed at the tears on her cheeks with the back of one hand and gave a wobbly smile. Then she turned and ran up the stairs.

Laura knew the power of forgiveness, how it had turned her own life around.

“I’m in awe,” Jordan said.

Laura glanced at him, her attention still on Alysa and the significance of what she’d revealed. “What?”

“I admire how you handled that.”

Laura looked away. “I was honest, that’s all. I care very much about Alysa and what she does with her life. I’m not going to throw away all we’ve done because she made a mistake.”

“A mistake? I’d say it was more than a mistake.”

She shrugged. “I don’t believe a person’s actions condemn them for life. We all have to own up to our mistakes and failings and deal with them. Alysa will have to deal with hers.”

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, puzzlement in his eyes. “The big question for me is how does Alysa’s contact with one of DeMatta’s men fit into my investigation?”

Thoughtful, Laura nibbled on her bottom lip. “I don’t know the answer. Why would anyone want to know about my finances? About any money I might have?”

“Tell me about the money. Where did you get it? Why are you hiding it?”

She pulled back. “I wasn’t hiding it. It’s the money Eddie’s uncle gave me after the funeral. I didn’t want to use his dirty money and, under the circumstances, I couldn’t give it back. So I put it away.”

Jordan frowned. “Which doesn’t get me any closer to an answer.” He stood, glanced at his watch. “I guess the only way to get that answer is to go to the source.”

“DeMatta?” She frowned.

“No. Stanton. He’s the one asking questions.”

A loud banging at the front door nearly brought down the house. Both Laura and Jordan rushed for the door, Jordan with his gun drawn.

“Who’s there?” Jordan shouted.

“FBI. Open up.”

Jordan nodded to Laura but kept his gun leveled chest high. She’d only opened the door a fraction of an inch when it burst open. Four men rushed in waving badges. “Drop the gun!” The rest of the men moved in.

Jordan set down his gun and one of the men shoved him to the floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

HER HEART RACING
, Laura turned to look down the hall to see if Cait had heard. Apparently not. Thank God her daughter slept like the dead. Within seconds, all the other girls were huddled on the stairs, fear etched on their sleepy faces.

“What’s going on?” Brandy asked from over the railing.

“I’m Special Agent Martinez,” the guy in front said. “Are you Laura Gianni?”

Numb with shock, she nodded.

“We have a warrant to search the house.”

“For what?” Jordan growled as the other guy started to handcuff him. “And if you look in my pocket you’ll find a badge. LAPD.”

The guy holding Jordan down found the badge and quickly let him go.

The special agent handed Laura some papers. Jordan brushed off his clothes and read the warrant over her shoulder. “It’s legit,” he said.

“This is ridiculous, that’s what it is.” She tossed the papers back at the man.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Please step aside.” The agent motioned to his men. “You two start upstairs, the rest of you down here.”

Standing directly in front of them, Laura blocked their path. “My seven-year-old daughter is sleeping and you’ll scare her to death if you start going through the house.”

Martinez asked, “Which room?”

“Downstairs, the room on the left at the end of the hall.”

He nodded at the men. “Be quiet and do the kid’s room last.” He faced Laura again. “You may want to wake her up and take her someplace else for a couple hours.”

Laura looked to Jordan, no clue what was going on? Why on earth would the FBI have a search warrant? “What should we do?” she asked Jordan.

“Let them do their job. You can go to my place and wait there if you want.”

Confused as she was, Laura had no intention of leaving and letting anyone ransack her house without further explanation. “I want to know what’s going on,” she said to the man called Martinez. “I have a right to know what you’re looking for.”

When one agent came out of her bedroom with her ledgers and a brown paper package, her stomach dropped. “It’s not what you think.”

The man’s lips thinned. “I don’t think anything. But it’s my job to find out the facts. Ma’am, I’d like you to come to headquarters with us to answer some questions.”

“Headquarters?” She edged back a step.

“The FBI field office headquarters,” the agent added.

“She’s not going anywhere, unless you’re arresting her, and I’m pretty sure you might need an arrest warrant. And she’ll want to call an attorney. Otherwise she can talk here.”

The agent shrugged. “Okay. But it’s just a matter of time then.”

As if gathering strength from Jordan’s words, Laura held her head high. “When you’re ready to go into my daughter’s room, please let me know.” Because she’d have to wake Cait and explain.

If she could.

***

Jordan left Laura only after the feds had gone and he knew the women would be okay. Laura had given Cait an explanation that the child apparently understood and she’d gone right back to sleep in Laura’s room. The men he’d hired to guard Laura had backed off when the FBI came, and he couldn’t blame them for that. He’d called them back and felt certain everybody at the shelter would be okay now.

As he hit the ramp and accelerated onto the freeway, he punched in Luke’s number. When he didn’t answer, he called the captain at home and asked to meet him at an all-night diner at a halfway point. While he hadn’t gotten a full explanation from the agents, he had enough information to know the FBI had some kind of sting going with DeMatta and somehow they figured Laura was involved.

What he didn’t know was if the LAPD was also in on the undercover sting and he’d been left out of the loop.

Sifting through every fact he could remember about the Kolnikov and Gianni cases, he was reminded how surprised DeMatta had seemed when Jordan told him one of his thugs had come looking for him. Were Stanton and Dutch involved in a takeover of DeMatta’s so-called empire and had they set up their boss for the feds?

But that wouldn’t explain why Stanton had chosen Alysa to get him Laura’s financial information. Unless Stanton, like the feds, thought Laura was involved with DeMatta, too.

Bright lights glared in his rearview mirror, the car behind suddenly closer than it should be. Jordan changed lanes and kept watching. A few seconds later, the other vehicle changed lanes. His adrenaline surged. He was being tailed, but the lights were so bright, he couldn’t identify the make. When he exited on Rosencranz, the car didn’t follow.

Odd as hell. He found the diner, parked and got out. The captain’s car was already there. Inside, the acrid scent of grease assaulted his senses. The overweight cook was frying something in a big vat, while across the room, the captain lounged in a booth looking as if he’d just rolled from bed.

“Yo, boss,” Jordan said, walking over.

Carlyle leaned forward with both elbows on the table. “This better be good, St. James.”

“It is.” Jordan slid into the booth. “You know if the feds are involved in a sting with DeMatta?”

Carlyle’s head came up. But just then, the cook came over. “What can I get you?”

“I’d like a shot of booze,” the captain said. “But I’ll have a bowl of vanilla ice cream instead.”

“Nothing for me.” Jordan smiled and leaned back. When the cook left, he said, “I was at Laura Gianni’s tonight and the suits came banging on the door with a search warrant. I thought you might know something.”

“Not a thing.” A muscle jumped near the captain’s right eye. Carlyle hated when other agencies impinged on his turf. To say he was territorial about his department was an understatement. “What’s your assessment?”

After the cook dropped the ice cream in front of the captain, Jordan told him about Alysa and Stanton and everything leading up to this moment.

“So you think the feds have been working on this for a while?”

“Yeah. How else would they know about the money DeMatta gave Laura? It was three years ago.”

“Marked money,” Carlyle said sharply. “Damn it, I’m not going to let the stupid feds take credit for this. DeMatta is our collar.” He shoveled nearly half a bowl of ice cream into his mouth.

“It’s gotta be something out of our jurisdiction.”

“Did you ask?”

“I thought I’d leave that up to you, boss.”

“Shit. Do we have enough to arrest DeMatta first?”

“I think so. I talked to Rico—he’s tracked down Delores Matthews through her ex-husband in Hawaii. She’s ripe to testify against DeMatta on Kolnikov’s murder. But she’s scared. I’ve also got a witness placing him at the scene of Eddie Gianni’s murder. We get a warrant for DeMatta’s place and snag him at the same time.”

“He’ll lawyer up before we get the cuffs on him.”

“We’ll have enough on him to stay bail. I can have both warrants in a couple hours.”

“Who do you want on it with you?”

“Coltrane and Houston, for sure.”

“Santini’s back. How about him, Watson and McIntyre?”

Watson and Mac were the greenest detectives in the RHD, but he had no choice. “Okay. This needs to be done now, or we’ll be blowing wind after the feds clean up.”

“I’ll set it up,” Carlyle said. “We’ll be on it by midnight.”

They parted company and Jordan drove to headquarters, called Laura to see if Cait could do an official photo ID and said he’d bring the photos to her. A half hour later he was at Laura’s with the book. When they finished and Cait had easily identified DeMatta as the man at the house the night her father died, he headed back to headquarters while Luke went for the warrants.

At the RHD, the rest of the crew drifted in within the hour. Luke was last to come with the papers. Just as Jordan was about to brief everyone, Carlyle shouldered through the door.

“Go ahead,” the captain said. “I’m in, too.”

Jordan outlined the plan, which wasn’t complicated. He and Luke would go in with the arrest warrant while the others covered the team from various angles. Once they had DeMatta secured, Jordan and Rico would take him in while the others did the search.

“Piece of cake,” Mac said.

Jordan stared at the new detective. “No matter how simple an OP seems, it’s never a piece of cake. Lives are at stake.”

Mac, a good-looking kid in his late twenties, lowered his gaze.

Jordan knew he’d embarrassed him, but nothing could be taken for granted. He threw a jacket on over his Kevlar vest. “Any questions?”

It was so quiet one could almost hear the collective hearts pounding, hear the men breathe. Jordan’s nerves danced under his skin. He took a breath to ease the tightness in his chest.

“Okay. It’s showtime.”

By midnight, after they’d disabled the electrical alarm system and satisfied DeMatta’s guard dogs with raw meat with tranquilizers in it, they had the exterior of the Bel Air mansion nailed down. Jordan and Luke banged on the door three times before the inside lights went on downstairs.

One of DeMatta’s men appeared at the door, and it wasn’t the butler. Jordan recognized him from police records as a former wrestler who towered over his own six foot two. From the looks of his mashed nose, he’d been in one too many fights.

He held up the papers. “We’d like to see Mr. DeMatta.”

“He’s busy.”

“Tell him to get unbusy.” But just then, DeMatta appeared at the top of the stairs still dressed in a suit and tie.

“Gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

“We’d like to talk to you. Either you come down or we come up.”

DeMatta waited a moment, then started down the stairs. When he reached bottom, he crossed the room to Jordan. DeMatta clenched his hands, the gesture belying his otherwise cool-and-calm demeanor.

DeMatta gave a nod to his man at the door, then turned to Jordan. “What’s this about?”

“We’ve got a warrant for your arrest, Mr. DeMatta. For suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain—”

Suddenly the lights dimmed, then everything went dark. Jordan lunged for DeMatta and jammed his gun against his neck. “Don’t move or you’re dead.” If DeMatta’s men wanted a shoot-out, their boss would be first to go.

“I’ve got your back,” Luke called out.

Somewhere glass shattered, then they heard a loud crash, as if someone was kicking down the front door, followed by shouting and spotlights crisscrossing the room. Jordan held his position with DeMatta as his hostage. “Call your goons off,” Jordan ordered.

“Not my men,” DeMatta croaked out.

Then the lights came on and a dozen men with masks and heavy-duty assault rifles surrounded them. A SWAT team. Jordan didn’t move but kept holding DeMatta as a shield.

“Drop it!” one of the men shouted at Jordan. “FBI.”

As the irony hit him, Jordan shouted back, “LAPD!” He tipped his head to Luke, who held out his shield.

The guy claiming to be FBI let out a string of curses. “The freaking LAPD is here!” he shouted to someone outside.

A short, stocky man in a bad suit sauntered inside. Damn. Phil Ledbetter. Jordan recognized the agent immediately from another case they’d worked on. Phil was the special agent in charge. “Hey, Phil,” Jordan said, glad his own department had arrived first. “We seem to be in each other’s way here.”

“My jurisdiction,” Ledbetter said. “Prostitution over state lines. Money laundering and extortion of a public official.”

“Whoa. That beats my two tiny homicides all to hell, doesn’t it.”

“I want a lawyer,” DeMatta snarled. “You got nothin’ on me.”

Jordan tightened his grip around the mobster’s neck. “I think an eyewitness who saw you at Eddie Gianni’s place the night he died is good enough to take you downtown. And we’ve also got another witness who implicates you in Anna Kolnikov’s murder. Does the name Delores Matthews ring a bell?”

“You got nothing. Mathews is a whore. Kolnikov was a whore.”

Jordan’s stomach churned. He squeezed harder. “She was a human being,” he said through gritted teeth. He sucked in some air, willing away his fear, squelching his pride…to finally admit the truth. “And she was my mother.”

Jordan’s body shook with the admission. He glanced at Ledbetter, then shoved DeMatta toward the agent. “You take him. I’m getting filth on my clothes.”

In seconds, Ledbetter’s men cuffed DeMatta, read him his rights and hustled him toward the door. On his way out, DeMatta cursed. “You’re filth then, too! You ever think about who your father is?”

Jordan swallowed hard, his throat squeezed tight. Yeah, he’d thought about it. A lot. And if he hadn’t known the answer before, he did now. He stepped forward, his face directly in DeMatta’s. “The man who raised me is my father. A sperm donor doesn’t count.” He glanced at his men, who, after hearing his great revelation, seemed frozen in place.

“All right!” Jordan yelled out. “We’ve got a search warrant here. Let’s get this show on the road.”