Chapter Eighteen
OUT OF TOWN
Early afternoon…
Several hours later found them standing inside Seattle SeaTac.
The fucking crowd was a nightmare.
Airports didn’t bother him. People who forgot anybody else existed did.
Tired parents chased children restless from the short flight while families reunited in walkways without a care in the world.
Yep.
Of course they stop in the middle.
Axel caught Whip’s arm and steered him around a couple rushing forward to hug an older pair who’d started waving the moment they stepped through the doors.
Boone grunted from beside them.
“Should be a van outside.”
Their boss stalked through the crowd.
Of course it parted for him.
Nobody sane blocked Boone.
The man was big and looked mean as hell. Who the fuck wouldn’t step out of the way when somebody who looked that lethal walked straight at them?
“You coming?”
His eyes found Whip a few steps ahead, already moving through the crowd without breaking his stride. Axel hitched his go bag higher, shifted the backpack on his shoulder, and glanced around for Knox.
The young marshal wasn’t hard to spot.
Of course, he’d dressed to the hilt and had his badge hanging out where everybody could see it.
They all carried badges.
Axel kept his under his jacket.
So did Whip.
Knox?
Nope.
The man was showboating.
“Knox.”
Axel didn’t even raise his voice, but Knox’s head snapped up, his attention immediately shifting to him.
“Where’s Beth?”
Knox stepped aside, revealing Beth’s petite frame behind him.
Axel jerked his head toward the exit.
“You coming or taking an Uber?”
“We’re coming!” Beth answered, grabbing Knox by the arm and pulling him away from his growing fan club.
The automatic doors slid open and cool October air hit him, carrying the faint smell of salt and jet fuel.
Crowded airport or empty forest, his eyes always found Whip first.
Always had.
The black government van waited at the curb, and within minutes, Boone had them loaded and headed downtown.
Forty minutes later…
They dropped their shit at the hotel and headed for the federal courthouse.
The van rolled into the secured garage beneath the building.
Axel climbed out, shrugged into his jacket, and followed Boone toward the elevators.
The doors opened onto a bullpen already in motion.
Phones rang.
Two prisoners shuffled past in waist chains.
Deputies moved around them without missing a step.
FBI agents disappeared through another doorway.
His eyes swept the area on instinct.
Exits.
Interview rooms.
Holding cells.
Elevators.
Nobody stood around watching somebody else work.
Axel appreciated that.
Their Lakeview office would’ve fit in a corner of this place.
Different building.
Same job.
Supervisory Deputy U.S. Marshal Clint Davis’s office overlooked downtown Seattle. The city stretched in every direction beyond the glass, the late afternoon sun catching the windows of the surrounding high-rises.
Axel smiled to himself. He’d always liked working cases in Seattle.
The coffee wasn’t bad either.
The deputy U.S. marshal wore a three-piece suit that made him want to roll his eyes.
Boone had warned them to dress accordingly. For Axel, that meant black slacks and a blue button-down dress shirt.
Whip had picked the shirt.
Said it matched his eyes.
He’d worn it without arguing.
Boone stepped forward first.
“Clint.”
Clint Davis crossed the room and shook Boone’s hand.
“Garrett.”
No small talk.
Just two deputy marshals who’d worked together long enough to skip everything in between.
Davis looked past Boone.
“Tauber. Bain.”
Axel nodded once.
“Good to see you again,” Whip said.
“You too.”
His gaze shifted to Beth.
“Beth.”
“Good to see you, sir.” She smiled.
Then his attention moved to Knox.
“You’re Granger.”
Knox straightened a little.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve heard good things.”
Knox looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“They’re all lies,” Axel said.
His big mouth earned him an elbow from Whip.
It worked.
For now.
When Knox scowled at Axel, Davis chuckled and motioned toward the conference table where satellite photos, city maps, and surveillance stills already covered half the surface.
The rest of his team was already seated.
“Before we get started…” He nodded toward a woman seated closest to the monitor.
“Most of you know Supervisory Deputy Garrett Boone from Oregon. They’re here to work alongside us,” Davis said, and then pointed to a woman in a black suit, white shirt, and tight bun.
“This is Supervisory Deputy Erin Wallace. She oversees our fugitive squad.”
Wallace gave Boone a nod. “Good to see you here, Boone.”
“Wallace.”
Davis continued. “That’s Deputy Mark Alvarez. Surveillance.”
Alvarez looked toward Whip.
“Been a while, Tauber.”
“Too long.” Whip grinned.
Here we go.
Axel fought a scowl.
Whip was a damn flirt magnet.
Didn’t seem to matter what state they were in.
“This is Deputy Jennifer Cho. Intelligence. She’s been glued to Cutter’s digital footprint for the last two weeks,” Davis continued.
An Asian woman wearing a cream-colored pantsuit offered a quick smile.
“Nice to finally meet the people who keep rewriting my board,” Cho said.
“Fill us in,” Davis told her.
“We confirmed Cutter arrived at Renton Municipal yesterday afternoon aboard a privately chartered aircraft,” Cho said.
Another image replaced the first.
A grainy security still.
Cutter climbing into the passenger side of a black SUV.
“He wasn’t traveling alone. Somebody met him on the ground. We’ve identified the vehicle, but not the driver.”
That tracked.
Cutter hadn’t gotten this far by himself.
Fucker always had help.
“We’ve been working with the FBI on the trafficking organization tied to Cutter for months,” Davis said when Cho looked at him expectingly. “Our investigation was already in motion before Cutter showed up.”
“So, he’s hiding inside of Seattle,” Cho finished.
Davis pressed another button.
A map of the city appeared, dotted with colored markers.
“We believe he’s working for a man named Oscar Charleston,” Alvarez interjected.
Nobody around the table looked surprised that Cutter had a boss.
After everything Cutter had managed to pull over the past several weeks…
“Why haven’t you caught this Charleston guy?”
“Because catching him isn’t the problem.” Alvarez leaned back in his chair.
Axel frowned. “Meaning?”
“Meaning we know exactly who Oscar Charleston is,” Davis said. “We know where he lives. We know what he drives. Hell, we could tell you where he buys his morning coffee.”
“What we don’t have,” Cho continued, “is enough to prove he’s running the trafficking organization.”
She tapped a file on the conference table.
“Over the last year, we’ve arrested traffickers, couriers, recruiters—every one of them sits somewhere below him. We’ve mapped the organization. We’ve followed the money through shell companies and charities. We’ve had confidential informants point to Charleston as the man giving the orders.”
Alvarez shook his head.
“Problem is, nobody’s willing to testify, and Charleston keeps at least one layer between himself and every crime. We’ve never caught him meeting with the people doing his dirty work.”
“So why are we here?” Whip asked.
Davis looked around the room.
“Because Cutter might be our best shot at proving Charleston is running the organization. If Charleston’s going to make a mistake, there’s a good chance Cutter’s the one who leads us to it.”
Boone nodded once.
Davis looked around the room.
“Any other questions?”
About damned time.
He had one. “When do we start?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Davis’s mouth.
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
The Pizza Mart smelled like pizza, garlic, and beer. Music played somewhere overhead while employees shouted orders over the hiss of the ovens and the steady buzz of conversation.
“Told you it was open until two,” Cho said as they stepped inside.
“Yeah, yeah.” Alvarez waved her off. “I forgot.”
“It happens to the best of us with age.”
Laughing, Cho dodged the playful swat aimed her way.
They’d spent the better part of the afternoon and well into the evening buried in surveillance photos, witness statements, phone records, and city maps.
By the time they finally called it, Axel’s stomach had been growling for the last hour.
He was fucking starving.
“Oh, man…” Knox sidestepped the pair and headed for the counter. “I could eat a whole pepperoni with extra cheese.”
Boone snorted.
“He’s been saying that since Oregon.”
“Does he ever finish one?” Davis asked as the group drifted toward the counter.
“Yes,” Boone said. “Then he starts stealing everybody else’s.”
Axel rested a hand against the small of Whip’s back, steering him around another group waiting for their order.
Whip didn’t even break stride.
That worked for him. Felt right.
“Axel’s stolen a slice or two himself,” Whip said.
Axel looked over.
“Did not.”
Whip raised an eyebrow.
“Medford. Luigi’s. Meat lovers.”
Axel snorted.
“You’re making that up.”
“October twelfth,” Whip said. “Booth by the front window. You finished your last slice, stared at mine for a full minute, then stole a piece while I got another drink.”
Axel opened his mouth.
“You left it alone.”
“I was two steps away.”
“Thought you were finished.”
Whip grinned.
“You even folded it in half.”
“Fit in my mouth easier,” Axel said smugly.
Laughter rippled through the group as they reached the counter.
Didn’t mind the shit-talking when it was this bunch.
They claimed three high-top tables near the bar and shoved them together. The televisions overhead bounced football highlights across the room while classic rock mixed with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter from the other end of the bar.
Heat rolled out from the open kitchen as employees shouted orders over the hiss of the ovens and the steady buzz of conversation.
They ordered enough pizza to feed a football team.
Fifteen minutes later, pizza boxes landed in the middle of the tables one after another.
Pepperoni.
Supreme.
Meat lovers.
Something Cho insisted was healthy enough to count as vegetables.
Knox reached for a slice before the last box even hit the table.
Beth smacked the back of his hand.
“Wait.”
“I’ve been waiting since SeaTac.”
“You’ve been complaining since SeaTac,” Beth corrected.
“Same thing.”
Laughter circled the table.
Knox took a slice, grinning at her as he ate.
“I’m still growing.”
“You’re twenty-six,” Axel pointed out.
“Exactly.”
Cho rolled her eyes.
“I don’t think that’s how biology works.”
“It does when you’re hungry,” Knox argued.
The kid would argue with a signpost.
Axel reached for a slice of pepperoni pizza off Whip’s plate. Other than an eye roll, the man had no objections.
The bartender stopped beside the table, a towel slung over one shoulder.
“How’s everything tasting?”
Axel looked up.
“Good.”
She smiled.
“Need anything?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure?” Her smile widened just a little. “If you’re in town for a few days, you’ll have to come back.”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
She flashed him one last smile before turning away.
“So…” Whip watched her go. “Are the rest of us invisible?”
Knox snorted.
Alvarez laughed. “You’ve just been hit on, my man.”
“Miss?”
The bartender stopped and turned, her attention immediately shifting to Whip.
“Yes?”
“We’d like to order drinks.”
“Oh!” She laughed and pulled out her order pad. “I am so sorry. Where was my head at?”
“In obvious places,” Knox snickered.
“Knox,” Boone warned.
Axel looked at Whip.
Whip’s expression hadn’t changed.
But the hand Whip settled on his shoulder said enough.
Axel smiled to himself.
He leaned into the touch.
The bartender took their drink orders and disappeared toward the bar.
“So,” Alvarez said around a bite of pizza, “you two always give each other this much grief?”
“All day,” Knox answered.
“Sometimes before coffee,” Beth added.
Whip pointed his slice toward Axel.
“He’s worse before coffee.”
“Sitting right here,” Axel said around half a slice of pizza.
“We know,” Whip said.
Cho laughed.
“So, who’s actually the troublemaker?”
Six fingers pointed toward Axel.
Including Whip’s.
Axel looked around the table.
“Traitors.”
“No,” Boone said, finally coming up for air from his conversation with Davis about the Cutter operation. “Witnesses.”
Another round of laughter rolled through the restaurant.
Axel shook his head, trying not to smile.
Didn’t work.
He caught Whip watching him.
This time the smile wasn’t teasing.
Just…happy.
Axel held his gaze for half a second before closing his free hand around Whip’s thigh beneath the table and squeezing it.
Then he took another bite of pizza.
Boone pushed back from his chair, and Davis followed, lifting his suit jacket from the back of his chair.
“Zero nine hundred,” Boone told them.
A chorus of, “Yes, sir,” floated around the table.
Seattle had always felt like a good place to work.
His gut told him the easy part was over.