Out of the Shadows (Hudson Security #1)

Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

G avin glanced around the conference room and embraced that familiar rush he got from getting shit done. Even though he was dead tired, pride bloomed in his chest from the great minds that surrounded him. Their team was beyond solid. Bean, Alvarez, and Xander were seated in various spots around the large rectangular table, and MacKay, Esme, and Tiny were joining their meeting via video call.

He was used to not getting a lot of sleep, but he and Bean had stayed up until the early hours of the morning. They’d gotten maybe three hours—easily the best sleep he’d had in years—and were back at the office by six. He wouldn’t change anything from last night for the world. Well, he’d definitely change the part where he’d been a complete dumbass and had nearly fucked things up. And the entire getting-shot thing. Actually, the more he thought about it, he probably should have woken her back up for round three. After all, they hadn’t tried?—

Bean cleared her throat loudly while shooting him a glare that was half annoyed and half amused. Her blue eyes widened as she jerked her head toward the large screen at the front of the room.

He startled. Oh shit.

The room was dead silent. All eyes were on him. Fuck . How long had he been lost in his thoughts? Clarification: lost in his wildly inappropriate thoughts?

Running a hand over his jaw, he dropped his gaze to the table and tried to refocus, tried to recall what the hell they’d been discussing.

Nothing. Not a damn thing. The only thing he could recall was how Bean had looked—all flushed and disheveled and beautiful—as she’d ridden him hard.

His dick twitched. Holy. Fuck. Focus!

Clearing his throat, he glanced at the faces staring back at him on the room’s giant Smartboard. “I’m sorry, Tiny, but could you repeat that last part?”

The other man nodded. “We’re fairly certain that the shooter that offed himself on the McClintock property yesterday was Damian Jacoby Otton. He’s a known gun for hire based out of Vancouver, BC.”

“Why only ‘fairly certain’?” Gavin frowned, air-quoting the last two words. Get your head back in the game, man.

“It looks like he had some work done on his face, so the facial-rec software couldn’t make an exact match,” Tiny said. “Since we don’t have access to his DNA, ‘fairly certain’ is the best we can do. However, if you take away the chin, nose, and forehead augmentations, it’s pretty close to a perfect match.”

“According to some chatter I picked up on the dark web, there was a failed assassination attempt on Otton about a year ago,” Bean said, glancing up from her computer. “Up until then, he was a fairly successful operative who worked predominately with a few different Russian bratva groups along the West Coast.”

As she spoke, more images of Otton popped up on the screen, some obviously older than others. The man had definitely once looked different than he did now. It was a wonder they were able to make a match at all. “There’s also speculation it was one of those groups that put the hit out on him. The big rumor is that the injuries Otton incurred really messed up his vision, rendering him ineffective. He was basically blackballed after that.”

Gavin could only stare at her in wonder. Brains, beauty, and a shit ton of sass. Who knew that was his type? Hell, she was his type. The woman was a damn marvel. A marvel who was giving him that annoyed-amused glare again.

He fake coughed into his hand and muttered, “Good intel, B.”

He fought a wince. Good intel ? Holy shit, he needed to get his head on straight. Immediately.

“Well,” Xander said, “the fact that both McClintock and Frazier are still standing lends credence to the vision-being-off thing.”

Gavin glanced at his friend in question, still not believing that he’d been the intended target.

Xander held his hands up. “What? Just because you don’t buy that theory doesn’t mean it isn’t an actual possibility.”

“So to add more fuel to that particular fire, I checked Otton’s bank accounts,” Bean said. “In his line of work, the man obviously had quite a few of them, and last Thursday, he received a deposit of fifty grand into one of his Cayman accounts. We did a dive into the deposit, and while it was a little convoluted with multiple shell companies, the money originated from Performance Exports LLC, a Washington state company that was formed last Wednesday.”

Alvarez let out a low whistle. “That’s not suspicious at all, is it? Please tell me you’ve got more info?”

Gavin could see the gleam in Alvarez’s eyes. The guy was a former detective and loved nothing more than fitting the proverbial puzzle pieces together.

“Of course, I do.” Bean chuckled and met Gavin’s gaze. “You wanted a connection? How about this? The listed owner of Performance Exports is Elena Nabers. She’s a manager at a local auto repair shop in South Seattle. Nabers also happens to be the cousin of Bradley Smith.”

Bean’s eyes were sparkling, her expression indicating he should know the name. He didn’t. A quick glance around the room showed everyone else was also drawing a blank. The name tickled something in the back of his mind. It sounded so damn familiar, but he shook his head. “Throw me a bone, B.”

“Seriously?” She huffed out a disappointed sigh as her fingers flew over her keyboard.

Gavin shrugged. “Hey, it’s a generic enough name.”

Multiple photos appeared on the conference room screen. Otton’s picture, a driver’s license belonging to a woman he assumed was Nabers, and two others. Bean’s mouse hovered over the two. “Richard Penning and Bradley Smith. They were arrested last Tuesday at the warehouse for Anson McClintock’s kidnapping.”

Son of a bitch. That’s why the name was familiar. Damn, this was turning into one giant clusterfuck.

“Penning was fairly new to the family’s security detail,” Bean continued. “However, Smith is an extra giant piece of shit, because he was part of the McClintock security team when Anson was born.”

Esme, who’d been observing on the video feed, interjected, “My contacts at the FBI are saying that Penning doesn’t know much, that he was basically there to do the grunt work for a big payday. They believe Smith was the brains of the operation.”

Gavin rose and paced the length of the room, absorbing all the new information. “So Bradley Smith recruits Penning, and they kidnap and torture Anson hoping for a twenty-million-dollar ransom. But they fail and get arrested. Then the very next day, Smith’s cousin—Elena Nabers—files the paperwork for this export company, sets up a bank account, and hires a sniper all within twenty-four hours. But for what? To take out Edward McClintock?” Gavin shook his head. It didn’t make sense. “There’s no money in taking Edward out.”

“Well, before you go down that rabbit hole, there’s more,” Bean said. “This is the adding-fuel-to-the-fire bit I alluded to. Tiny ran Otton’s photos through his own facial-rec program”—she turned to Tiny on the video feed—“it’s a brilliant program, by the way, but we’ll talk more about that later.” She faced Gavin again. “We also gave Tiny the security footage of the man running by the McClintocks’ property last week. According to Tiny’s kick-ass program, there’s a high statistical probability that it’s the same person. Granted, without DNA, there’s no way to know for sure, but I’d like to peek at the medical examiner’s report on Otton, which”—her eyes narrowed as she scanned her laptop monitor—“they haven’t entered into their system yet. But if Otton has a two-day-old bullet wound in his shoulder, or even a graze of some sort, it’s likely he’s also the shooter from our car chase Saturday night.”

Gavin’s frown deepened. Not because Bean had just obviously hacked into the King County Medical Examiner’s system—he had every confidence she’d cover her tracks—but because he wasn’t connecting the dots. He held up a hand when it looked like she was going to say more. “Wait. What exactly are you saying, Bean? Spell it out for me like I’m five.” He’d heard her words, but they weren’t processing.

“What Bean’s saying,” Alvarez cut in as he leaned back in his seat, “is that there’s a high chance that you , Frazier, were the target yesterday and not Edward McClintock.”

He took a moment to let Alvarez’s words sink in and then shook his head. “What about the earlier shooting at the McClintock house? I wasn’t there for that, so there’s no way I was the intended target.”

“True, you weren’t there for the earlier shooting,” Alvarez said. “But that first shooting got you out there, didn’t it?”

Gavin shook his head again, unsure if he truly didn’t believe it or if he was merely playing devil’s advocate. “Whoever was behind this wouldn’t have known that I would go out to the McClintocks’ after that first shooting.”

“This place is like Fort Knox, man,” Alvarez said, waving a hand at the room. “Every inch of this facility is monitored. You need to get through security to even get on the property. Then you need multiple steps of escalating clearance to get into the building. Shit, even your house is secure. The second anyone crosses your property line, notifications are sent out. If I’m a bad guy, I need you off-property to take a shot at you.”

“That’s fair.” There was no questioning the security of their facilities on the island, but the theory that he was the target didn’t quite sit right. “That still doesn’t account for them knowing I’d go out to the McClintocks’ yesterday.”

“Sure it does,” Xander said. “Anyone who knows your reputation knows that you get shit done. Yeah, most people have no clue we led the McClintock kid’s rescue, but there’s a handful of people who do. It’s also no secret that Hudson Security is working in some capacity with Edward and Rita McClintock. Then someone shoots up the home of two fucking billionaires ? Of course you’re going to do a house call to check out shit for yourself.”

Fine. That made sense. But... “That’s a lot of what-ifs.”

Xander shrugged. “What Alvarez said is true though. If I’m trying to take you out, I need you off Hudson Security property.”

Christ. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. But why , though? He turned to Bean. “What do you think?”

“I think we can follow the money some more. We linked the shooter to Smith via his cousin, Nabers. Like I’d said, the woman’s a manager at an auto shop. If you know what you’re doing, it’s not difficult to form a company in the state and get everything set up. It’s very possible that kind of thing is within her wheelhouse. However, fifty grand is a lot. I did a brief check of Nabers’s personal banking accounts. The woman’s living paycheck to paycheck, and while she’s single and makes decent money, most of it goes to rent and her car payment. I’m guessing if we can figure out where the fifty grand came from—because it sure as hell didn’t come from any of Nabers’s personal accounts—we’ll find not only who’s looking to take you out, but also maybe who was behind Anson’s kidnapping in the first place.”

“You don’t think the kidnapping was just Smith and Penning? Just two disgruntled employees looking for money?” Alvarez asked.

Gavin knew his colleague didn’t buy that—hell, the more they looked at it, he didn’t either—but he was curious to hear Bean’s opinion.

She shook her head and took a swig of her energy drink. “From everything I found, the McClintocks paid Smith and the rest of their security staff well. That warehouse you all rescued Anson from looked like a rundown POS building, but it had elaborate security. That type of setup was well above Smith’s pay grade. I don’t think this is some disgruntled employee trying to stick it to his former boss to get a payday. No. I think Smith is just a cog in a bigger wheel.”

Alvarez nodded. “I agree. There’s someone much bigger pulling the strings. I think following the money is the best bet.”

Gavin continued to pace the length of the conference room, working all the pieces in his mind. “Esme, after Smith and Penning were arrested, was anyone else questioned?”

“Penning has very loose ties to the Vancouver bratva.”

Esme’s response had Gavin’s eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline.

“Nothing usable, though,” Esme said, shaking her head. “It was his mother’s college roommate’s brother, or some kind of shit like that. Regardless, the FBI made some soft inquiries in Vancouver and, of course, no one knows anything.”

Gavin frowned. “Usable or not, it’s too much of a coincidence with Otton’s ties to both Vancouver and the bratva.”

“I took a look again at the intel we initially pulled on Smith and Penning,” Bean chimed in. “The emails and ransom videos they sent to the McClintocks, the financial transactions... Everything points to them.”

“Which is also pretty convenient,” Alvarez said.

“Valid.” Bean shrugged. “Like I said, I think Smith was a cog in a much bigger wheel. Otton, too, because why else would a freaking seasoned mercenary put a bullet in his own head?”

Wilson’s words from last night echoed in Gavin’s head. “Maybe the shooter was more scared of who hired him?”

“My two cents?” Xander chimed in. “I think Frazier stepped in a whole bunch of shit when we rescued the kid. You messed up this person’s plan, and now they’re gunning for you.”

Gavin sank back into his chair. It made perfect sense on one level, but... “It seems excessive, don’t you think?”

Bean scoffed. “Seriously, boss man? I can give you twenty million reasons why it isn’t excessive.”

“Well, fuck, when you put it that way...” He rubbed a hand over his chin and smiled at the sparkle in her blue eyes. “Now we have more damn questions.”

“Yeah,” Xander said, “but we also have a pretty damn good link between the kidnapping, Frazier foiling it, and someone trying to off him.”

“Holy crap, can we please stop talking about Gavin getting killed?” Bean grumbled as she pointed at him. “The guy has a bullet hole in his arm.”

Xander snorted. “It’s just a fucking graze.”

Bean leveled Xander with a fierce glare that had Gavin wincing. Hell, a quick glance around the room showed everyone was wincing.

“Care to repeat that, Xander Bonetti?” Bean asked.

Wisely, the man shook his head. “No, ma’am, I don’t. I was just trying to be funny.”

“Well, you’re not. So enough with the talk about Gavin dying.” Her chin lifted ever so slightly, as if she were silently challenging Xander. And damn if that little gesture didn’t warm everything inside him. “Understood?”

Xander saluted her, looking properly chastised. “Yes, ma’am.”

“All right, children, settle down.” Gavin chuckled. Yeah, the woman was a damn marvel. “Thanks for having my back, B. Next steps?”

Bean flashed a sweet grin that socked him right in the chest before she turned to the Smartboard. “Tiny, I’ll send you what I have so far on Smith’s and Penning’s financials. I’d like a fresh set of eyes on it. Feel free to dig deeper if something catches your attention. I’d also like you to look into the warehouse where we found Anson. Find out who owns the property, because there has to be a reason they brought him there specifically. Feel free to pull Abbot and Oliphant in to help if you need it.” She turned back to Gavin. “I’ll tap into the ME’s system to see if Otton had a shoulder injury that would be a match to something our shooter from the car chase might have. I’ll also add all the photos of McClintocks’ security—both past and present—into the facial-rec tracking system I have that monitors the island. Just as a precaution. That way, if any of them step foot on Hudson Island, we’ll be notified. I’ll also have cyber go over the video surveillance footage from the car chase and both shootings again. Alvarez?”

“I’ll touch base with my SPD contacts and see what they found at the McClintocks’ yesterday. See what intel they passed on to the FBI, if they’re keeping anything under wraps, and if they have anything new on or from Polanski’s team.” He turned to the Smartboard. “Esme, you and I can touch base and compare notes as well.”

“I’ll check in with Teams Two and Three,” Xander said. “Make sure everything’s kosher with the McClintocks at the safe house.”

“If they need anything, let me know,” Esme said from the video feed. “I can have whatever they need brought to them within a couple hours.”

“Well, damn,” Gavin said, leaning back in his chair and looking at his teammates. “Looks like you guys have it all handled.”

“Damn straight, boss. You just sit there and look pretty,” Bean said with a wink as his colleagues chuckled.

“Besides, man,” Xander said, “fairly sure you’re on lockdown now.”

Gavin frowned.

“You know the saying third time’s a charm?” Xander asked. “Well, there won’t be a third time for anyone to shoot at you again. Do us all a favor and stay on-property—either here or at your place—until we figure out what’s going on. With Team Two, Three, and Tash at the safe house, we’re stretched thin. ”

“Also,” Bean added, “the driver is still unaccounted for.”

His gaze swung to hers. “What?”

“We’re almost certain that Otton was not only the jogger going past the McClintocks’, but also the shooter from after the charity gala. But what about the driver from the car chase? We have zero footage of that person. It could be anyone. So I agree with Xander. Until we figure out more, you’re on lockdown.”

Part of him scoffed. Lockdown? Yeah, right.

He opened his mouth to say so but hesitated when he met Bean’s gaze. There was a silent plea in her blue eyes, and damn if he wouldn’t do just about anything for her. “Okay. Though lockdown sounds a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

His heart squeezed at the relief that flashed over her face. Sticking close to Hudson Security was a minor inconvenience, one that in the grand scheme of things didn’t matter. The last thing he wanted was her worrying. She had enough on her plate.

“All right,” Gavin said, addressing the group. “We have our assignments. Well, I don’t, so let me know if I can help?—”

A quick rap on the conference room door had him turning.

Mel stood in the doorway with a frown on her face. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. Gavin, we have an issue at the security gate.”

Alarm surged through him as their receptionist stepped fully into the room, her brow furrowed. “What’s going on, Mel?”

Wringing her hands together, she let out a sigh. “I have a woman at the security gate demanding entry to meet with you. She’s not on your calendar and I told her that we can’t let her in without an appointment. She threw a fit and is now refusing to move her car. She’s blocking the gate and says she’s not leaving until she sees you. I’m so sorry. ”

He shook his head. “Nothing for you to be sorry for. Did she give her name?”

“Constance Whitman.” Mel’s frown deepened. “Or maybe it was?—”

“Whitcomb?” When the young woman nodded, Gavin didn’t bother biting back a groan.

“I’m pulling up the security gate feed now,” Bean said, her fingers tapping on her keyboard.

Within seconds, the live video feed from the security gate was up on the Smartboard. Sure enough, there was Constance Whitcomb in her Mercedes-Maybach with her arms crossed over her chest and a pinched expression on her face.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“What do you want to do, boss?” Bean waved at the screen. “I can turn on the gate speaker from here if you want.”

“No.” This was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He glanced at Alvarez and Xander, both of whom were shaking their heads.

“Don’t look at me,” Xander said and pointed to Alvarez. “He’s met her before, too, bring him.”

“Nope,” Gavin said. “She only knows Alvarez from the SPD, not here. Frankly, the less contact she has with Hudson Security people, the better. You’re up, Xan.”

“Motherfucking hell,” he muttered.

“Mel,” Gavin said as he moved to stand behind Bean. He bent at the waist to peer over her shoulder at her laptop screen. Constance Whitcomb was seething. “When you get back to your desk, you can go ahead and let her through the gate. Let her know where to park. Xander, wait for her outside and escort her in, then wait with her in the Fishbowl until I get there.” The small, glass-walled six-seat conference room was off the lobby and was used for meetings with people who weren’t cleared to enter their inner sanctum.

“Yeah,” Xander said with a groan, rising from his chair. “The last thing we want is that woman wandering around the lobby.”

“But the lobby’s secure,” Mel said, confusion echoing in her voice.

“Trust me,” Xander said. “If you’d met her, the last thing you’d want is her milling about. The woman’s atrocious.”

“Isn’t that the damn truth,” Mel muttered.

Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “She yell at you?”

Mel waved at Constance’s image, which was still up on the Smartboard. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said she threw a hissy fit. But honestly, her insults were pretty basic. I’ve heard better and way more creative from my little high school cousins.”

Gavin blew out his breath. It had been apparently too much to think his interactions with Constance Whitcomb were over. Piece of fucking work. “Thanks, Mel. And I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“No worries.” She shrugged. “It’s all part of the job.”

“It’s actually not, but thank you for coming to get us.” He shook his head as Mel left the room. “Xan,” he called out, stopping his friend at the door. “Make sure Constance doesn’t fuck with Mel. She doesn’t even get to look at her.”

Mel was the youngest employee they had on staff. Only twenty-two. Not only was she like everyone’s baby sister, but she was the actual little sister of Hanniger on Team Three.

Xander lifted his chin. “You don’t even have to ask, brother.”

Heaving out a loud sigh, Gavin placed his hands on Bean’s shoulders. Touching her, even in this casual way, grounded him. He glanced at the Smartboard at his colleagues who were still on the video call. “MacKay, Esme, Tiny, let’s plan on catching up the same time tomorrow. But if any of you need anything before that, I’m available.”

After they said their goodbyes, Bean disconnected the video call.

“If you need help with Whitcomb, let me know,” Alvarez said from his seat across the conference room table. “I know the woman can be a lot, and all joking aside, I can help however you need.”

“Thanks. I may take you up on it depending on what she wants.” Gavin squeezed Bean’s shoulders. He looked down at her. “I know it goes without saying, but please make yourself scarce while Constance is on-site. She only knows you as my girlfriend from the charity gala and under a different name. I don’t want her connecting you to here.”

“Of course.” She patted his hands that were still on her shoulders, and her eyes darted to the video feed where Constance appeared to be yelling at the security gate speaker again. The corners of Bean’s lips lifted into a smirk. “Good luck with her, boss man. Something tells me you’re gonna need it.”