Chapter 5
Five
Nic didn’t wear suits on his day off, but it was a near thing.
The prosecutor barreled out of the elevator bank in charcoal dress slacks and a navy V-neck sweater, the latter making his ice-blue eyes glow.
Or maybe that was just the cold, hard anger burning there.
Cam pushed back from the conference room table. “Control freak incoming,” he mumbled to Lauren on his way to the door.
Nic ate up the bullpen floor with his long-legged stride, meeting Cam a mere two steps past the threshold. “Why the hell was Abby brought in here? I didn’t spend hours doing rotation paperwork last night, trying to keep her safe, for you to fuck it up. Are you trying to get her kidnapped?”
The jab at his professional competency hurt, poking Cam’s sorest spot, especially after yesterday.
But it angered him even more. Nic fucking knew him better than that, professionally and otherwise.
And even if he didn’t, it was a fucking low blow.
He didn’t go around accusing Nic of cratering his own cases.
Seeing red, he stepped nose to nose with the attorney.
“Don’t you ever say that to me again,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
“We need to question her,” Lauren added at their sides, having followed him out.
Nic’s steely-eyed gaze stayed trained on Cam. “She’s my fucking witness.”
“Okay, Bowers,” Lauren retorted, voice mocking.
Fury flashed in Nic’s eyes, Lauren’s insubordination testing his clearly strained patience, ratcheting up his anger. It was enough to turn down the heat on Cam’s own boiling rage for the moment.
He shifted his gaze from Nic to Lauren. “A minute, please.”
“I don’t get to watch the pissing contest?”
“Agent Hall,” Cam said in his command voice, brooking no argument. “Don’t you have bank accounts to trace?”
Her blue eyes bounced between them, seeing too much. “You’ll regret it if you hurt each other,” she said before spinning away on her booted heel.
Cam returned his attention to Nic, reining in his boss voice and speaking to him as an equal, even though the earlier dig still burned. “We’re on the same team here. Abby’s the Bureau’s witness too.”
“You should have cleared it with me first,” Nic said, shoulders dipping slightly. “Before bringing her in.”
“Maybe so, but you weren’t here this morning.”
“I was at the brewery.”
“You told Lauren you had a meeting.”
“At the brewery.”
Lie.
Nic’s shoulders had ticked back up the tiny measure they’d relaxed, giving him away. Right now, though, they had bigger issues. “I didn’t want to disturb you either way.” He raised his hands, palms out. “Look, every precaution was taken, and I’ll do the reset paperwork for the safe houses.”
The way Nic held his stare, Cam wondered for a second if they would come to blows, but then Nic stepped back, sucking in a deep breath. When next he spoke, it was level and calm, the mask slipping back into place. “Why did you bring her here?”
Cam held out an arm toward the conference room, and Nic entered ahead of him. “Give him the rundown,” Cam said to Lauren.
“Glad you didn’t kill each other,” she mumbled before launching into her recap of the latest developments.
By the time she was done, Nic’s thumbs were drumming a steady rhythm against the table. “You’re right,” he said. “We need to question her again. Make sure she’s not planning an escape with Becca.”
“Or another heist, from the inside,” Cam added.
“Fucking hell,” Nic cursed again as he stood. “Where is she?”
“Holding Room Two,” Lauren answered.
That was the other reason Cam wanted to question Abby in the FBI’s offices. Holding Room Two was equipped with specialty audio and video instruments designed to read a suspect’s or witness’s biometrics during questioning. “Analytics running?” he asked Lauren as they rose.
She nodded.
“Double-check ’em,” he said. “We’re right behind you.”
“You know, you could’ve just said you wanted another moment alone.” She swung the door closed before either of them could call her out on the repeated insubordination. Not that either of them would. She was too valuable to the team and usually the lighter mood was appreciated.
Turning to Nic, Cam opened his mouth to make sure they were okay, here in the office at least, but Nic spoke first. “I’m sorry I came in here”—he waved a hand between them, then let it drop to his side—“like that. And I’m sorry for what I said. I was way out of line.”
“You were,” Cam acknowledged, but didn’t dwell, at least not on the words, digging for the reason behind them instead. “Meeting this morning went south?”
Nic wiped a hand down the length of his face, thumb snagging on his rough, angular jaw. The brownish-red scruff, flecked with gray, was already well past five o’clock. Cam wanted to run his fingers over it desperately.
He shoved his hands in his pockets instead. “That bad?”
“Productive, but everything I didn’t want to hear.”
Concern blotted out the flare of lust. “Is it something I can help with?”
“It’s personal.”
“And?” Cam stepped closer. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Nic’s eyes darted to his, darkening, and Cam’s lust crept back in, but then Nic cast his gaze aside and opened the door. “It’s fine.”
Cam paused over the threshold in front of Nic, the tight squeeze forcing his gaze again and drawing out a sharp inhale. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
A door clicked open across the bullpen. “We’re ready,” Lauren called from the observation room.
“Coming,” Cam replied, only to have his step falter when a light hand brushed over his lower back, Nic’s soft “Thank you” floating past his ear.
He was thrown further off-kilter in the interrogation room by Lauren’s voice in his ear and by Nic’s one-eighty in demeanor. He’d turned off the tired, worried man, stowed the boxing gloves, and was all charm and patience, greeting Abby warmly.
“I’m sorry for having to bring you back in here.”
She wound her earbud cord around her thumb. Nervous, put on alert by the change in schedule. “What’s happened?”
“Something we hope you can help us understand,” Nic said.
Was this how he manipulated suspects and witnesses on the stand? How he got them to do his bidding for him? How he got a jury to eat out of the palm of his hand and give him the conviction he wanted?
Presently, though, his palm was literally held out to Cam, eyes on the folder of redacted bank account ledgers Lauren had passed him on the way in. Cam handed it over, and Nic opened it on the table, pushing the top sheet toward Abby. “This is from a bank account ledger we discovered this morning.”
She pulled the paper closer. “For Rebecca . . . Oh.” Her eyes widened, locked on the top right-hand corner where the account holder’s name was printed.
Beside him, Nic slid back in his chair and gave him a small nod.
Time for him to play bad cop. Normally, Cam was the charm to Aidan’s Irish fury, but in this case, Nic needed to maintain the rapport with his potential witness, leaving Cam to press to determine if she was also a potential suspect.
“When did you and Becca set this account up?” Cam asked.
Her head whipped up, dyed curls bouncing. “Me and Becca?”
“Are you playing us, Abby?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m starting to wonder if Becca is still your number one priority.”
Her fiery gaze darted to Nic. “He does know I’m the CI, right?”
Cam propped his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “Because Becca sent you in here. She set up that third-party rip-off during our raid. Perfect chaos for her cover. And you were in a position to know all about it.”
Abby angrily jabbed a finger at her chest. “I could have been killed in that chaos. Becca may still kill me for turning on her. I did not set it up.”
“Then why is this account in both your names? You’re both listed as beneficiaries.”
“I don’t know.”
Cam reached out in front of Nic and pushed the second page from the folder over to Abby. “And why are there deposits from Friday for twice as much money as Scott received?”
Her eyes grew impossibly wider, taking in the amounts. “I had no idea about this.” She looked back up, first at Cam, then to Nic. “I had no idea she was going to turn on us.”
“Biometrics say she’s telling the truth,” Lauren reported in his ear.
Cam’s gut reported the same, at least about the account.
So where had that money come from? And when was Becca coming for Abby? Because that account and the money in it meant Becca still had a job to do. And she needed Abby to do it.
Legs crossed, Nic sat waiting in one of the leather chairs in the lobby of his father’s building.
Or was it? Price Holdings was still listed on the lobby directory as occupying Suite 200, and PH still technically owned the building.
Nic had checked the assessor’s records first thing this morning.
But now there were a dozen other companies listed on the building directory with PH too.
While the first floor had always been rented out—the downtown Burlingame location drew premium rents—the second story used to be solely occupied by the family office.
No longer, according to the directory, and evidenced by the stream of twentysomethings in branded polos bounding down the stairs and out the doors.
Nic squinted against the flare of bright light, the sun reflecting off metal, marble, and glass.
His father’s first major real estate purchase, the building had been significantly renovated since Nic had last visited.
More than once, according to the assessor’s records.
In its present incarnation, it bore every appearance of wealth, but if one looked closely, the carpet was worn thin on the side stairs tucked out of sight, the grout between marble slabs needed repair, and the tech at the reception desk was at least five generations out of date.
The building receptionist behind the desk probably had better tech on the phone she hardly glanced up from.