Blind Trust (Jane Cannon #1)

Prologue

Something was wrong.

Simmons felt it in his bones. And if the agent in charge of the task force hadn’t been such a pompous bureaucrat, he would have called it in.

Unfortunately, he needed more than a gut feeling when dealing with Supervisory Special Agent Scott.

Simmons’ breath misted in the chilly night air. Seattle never failed to disappoint when it came to a cold, wet December. The streets glistened with ice over cracked, black tarmac. But aside from the occasional vagrant, no one walked this particular block.

Not since the Mazzuca family had claimed the lot as theirs fourteen months ago.

His time spent working undercover for the crime organization had unveiled its share of human trafficking, drugs, and the occasional illegal weapons transaction. Hence the new combined operation with the FBI. Though DEA, Simmons appreciated his new team—minus their annoying supervisor.

Shuffling down the street toward him, an older man muttered to himself as he approached.

Simmons tensed, but the older man drew closer and smiled, exposing stained teeth. His ragged clothes and faded knit ski cap emanated the scent of something sour.

Simmons blew into his hands and gave a short nod back, one homeless man to another, his own ski cap appropriately soiled, his face dirty to mask his features.

He should have waited for backup to look into this, but something about the entire operation bothered him. The puzzle pieces weren’t fitting. He could feel it. One of his new FBI counterparts could too. They’d discussed it earlier today, both bothered by that feeling of wrongness.

But then, Jane was uncanny when it came to investigations. Part blood-hound, part she-wolf, the woman had a reputation for solving cases. Though only a junior agent, her close rate put her on everyone’s radar, even his own boss’s.

Rumor had it Jane had some odd family connection as well. But no matter how hard Simmons dug, he couldn’t find it.

A crime family, someone military, maybe a government contact? Simmons didn’t know, but with Jane, he wouldn’t be surprised at anything he learned.

The rumble of a truck along the road alerted him to focus on the task at hand, so he continued to ignore the cameras mounted to the large warehouse and mumbled to himself as he slowly ambled down the sidewalk, in the shadows, staying in character while the truck passed.

One more nobody the city pretended didn’t exist.

The streetlights in this area had been out for months, but the task force’s limited surveillance predicted movement in the warehouse as well as the marina behind it. Boats had been coming and going with regularity for the past week, particularly at night.

Yet no one had seen anything specific since the covered dock masked any sight of passengers or transactions on the water. Despite the crimes Simmons had already uncovered, they needed more. Enough to send the Mazzucas away for a long time.

He moved as if drunk past the edge of the warehouse then darted under a broken chain-link fence into a narrow space between the warehouse and the rundown, two-story office building next to it.

He’d previously cut through the chain link fence on his last pass two nights ago, allowing him entry to the one spot where the cameras on the adjacent buildings didn’t overlap.

A slender person could fit in the narrow space without too much bruising, but Simmons had to angle himself nearly sideways to make his way without getting stuck.

He remained quiet as he moved, stepping over split concrete as he hurried toward the end of the buildings. He rolled his ski cap down, utilizing the mask to better hide his features, and studied the empty lot between the warehouse and the dock.

He saw no one. Not Leo Mazzuca Senior, Junior, or their men. No security. Not even a guard dog.

Odd.

Mazzuca had to be making a move tonight.

I should call this in.

Yet Simmons had no evidence beyond a poorly guarded and apparently empty dock and his gut. He needed something concrete to share with the team, especially with Supervisor Follow-My-Rules-or-Else.

He wanted to text Jane but didn’t want her involved unless he had real confirmation of wrongdoing. Though he knew she trusted his instincts, he didn’t want to cause her trouble for joining him without Scott’s go-ahead.

Thoughts of their supervisor’s smug smile, expensive wardrobe, and constant jockeying for power made him grit his teeth.

The guy would love nothing more than to fire Simmons from the team for insubordination.

He’d already warned Simmons not to go to the warehouse after hours without his say-so, afraid Simmons would screw up their surveillance and blow his cover, even though Simmons had been doing it for a month.

From what Simmons knew, Scott’s advancement was riding on this huge bust, and he didn’t like sharing the limelight.

Whatever. Simmons trusted his gut. He’d get the evidence to incriminate the Mazzucas. Better forgiveness for moving early than waiting for permission that would come too late. After checking around the corner, he paused while the warehouse’s back cameras panned away from the back door.

Once clear, he raced toward the darkened doorway where he typically entered for a day’s work after being buzzed in by security.

With the code he’d stolen from Leo’s secretary earlier in the day, he let himself inside.

He remained on his guard. Who knew who might be there despite the tomblike silence all around?

The front lobby and adjoining administrative wing lay empty. No desks or filing cabinets. No papers or computers anywhere. Not even any storage boxes.

Impossible. Surveillance would have seen this and reported it in.

The entire organization had vanished. What the hell?

Screw it.

He texted Jane. At warehouse. Empty. Something wrong.

His finger hovered over the send icon. The DEA had been surveilling the Mazzucas for the eight months before they’d expanded the team to include the FBI’s task force, while the syndicate had been steadily scaling up. Why would they leave now? There’d been no warning of a withdrawal.

An even worse idea surfaced. Were the rumors true? Had the Mazzucas infiltrated the FBI after all?

Uneasy, he sent off the message to Jane and crept down the hallway toward the main office. Leo’s private space, off limits to everyone unless the big man invited you.

Case in point, the secretary and cleaning guy who’d interrupted an important phone call two weeks ago had already disappeared. Rumor had it they’d annoyed the boss with all their “sneaking around.” They’d vanished. No one had seen or heard from them since.

Simmons paused and cocked his head, listening hard to the silence.

He doubted Leo would be in the office this late at night. And Junior typically spent his nights down at the strip club with the bruisers on staff. A safe bet Leo’s office would be empty too, though it was likely locked.

Simmons found the door cracked open.

Wary, he palmed his pistol, an undercover “spare” he’d taken from the armory.

Easing inside the dimly lit office, he found it, too, empty. No furniture and no bodies. Overheating, he rolled up the ski mask to serve as a hat again and slowly lowered his weapon, not sure what to think.

Until he turned around and saw a dark figure step out of the shadowy corner pointing a gun at his face. He hadn’t expected this, but it made so much sense.

“Drop it.”

Simmons had no chance of getting off a shot before being killed. He slowly knelt and put the gun down, then shoved it away. His heart raced, and dread filled his throat.

The person watching him smiled. “I’m glad you’re here. We have so much to talk about.”

It took him a long time to die. He just wished he could have given Jane a little bit more to work with before a bullet eventually shattered his skull and tore through his brain.