Chapter 12
Twelve
It was early morning when Nic pulled his truck into the parking garage, the shift in light from outside to underground negligible, the heavy spring fog blanketing everything in soupy gray.
Between the cement pillars and slanted ramps, the mist that rolled down the ramp played in the nooks and crannies, making the shadows come to life.
Born and raised in the Bay Area, Nic was old friends with the fog, had greatly missed it during his tours in the desert, but it had its creeptastic moments.
Palming his phone, he stared at the dark screen.
Other than work emails, it had been silent since last night.
No more Unknown calls, and no word from Cam either.
Nic didn’t expect it. Cam was deep undercover.
They had to assume all communication would be monitored.
His phone, a burner, had likely been taken and bugged.
But not even knowing if the meet had happened, much less whether Becca had accepted Cam into the crew—or God forbid, taken him hostage—had kept Nic up until the wee hours.
Sleep eluding him, he’d eventually dragged his ass into the brewery to do paperwork, which finally knocked him out.
A couple of hours’ shut-eye and more pain in his sore body to show for it. If he was going to be halfway functional in court later this morning, he needed coffee stat, but even those shops weren’t open for another half hour. And he’d be damned if he’d get stuck with office sludge again today.
He climbed out of his truck, dug his briefcase from behind his seat, and slammed the door shut. He’d barely taken a step when something pinged his periphery.
Motion in a dark corner the other direction, diagonally behind him.
Were Vaughn’s men stupid enough to follow him here?
In a garage with a police car pool monitored by security cameras?
Or maybe it was Vaughn’s inside guy? Because the more Nic thought about that last night in his wide-awake hours, he was sure of it.
Someone in either his or Aidan’s office had to be tipping Vaughn off as to when and where they might be able to disguise an attempt or threat on his life.
To pressure a father who couldn’t give two shits about him.
Someone’s intel was wrong. He was not the leverage they needed.
And if they did know that, then they were trying to pressure him directly to pay for his old man’s debts.
Nic didn’t turn toward where he’d detected the motion.
Using his side-view mirror instead, he kept an eye on the area behind him while lowering his briefcase and reaching for his sidearm.
As fog curled out of the suspect corner, Nic cursed himself for falling prey to the mist’s tricks.
Until he felt another pair of eyes on him, up the ramp to the next level.
He nudged the side-view mirror, angling it for a better look.
Was that someone skirting back from the ramp’s edge?
He flipped the strap on his holster, fingers curling around the butt of his pistol.
“Who’s there?” he called out, voice echoing around the cement pillars and empty spaces.
There were so few cars on this level at this hour, only a handful left from overnight.
Hearing no response, only the whistle of the wind down the ramp, Nic crept cautiously toward the back of the truck.
From the tailgate, he could dodge either direction for cover, if needed. “Hello! Who’s there?” he called again.
Nothing, at first, then feet shuffling over concrete. In a hurry. A clank, metal on metal like something falling. A second later, a pipe came rolling over the edge of the ramp and in its wake, a loud click.
Like a pistol loading.
Nic yanked out his own and darted behind the nearest pillar. In his mirror, he watched a shadow move down the ramp.
Crouching, Nic skirted from one pillar to the next, closing in.
Only to have his quiet approach shattered by squealing tires and shining LED headlights.
Nic thought for sure he was headed for a repeat of Tuesday night.
But then the lights swung and a car pulled into a spot on the other side of the pillar.
Black, sleek, with Irish punk rock bleeding out of the windows, louder even than the car’s roaring engine.
Aidan.
Secure on that side, Nic whipped back to the other, only to see another car rolling down the ramp.
A police cruiser from the pool parked a floor above.
The officer drank from a travel mug as he drove past, like it was any other absurdly early morning.
Was that all he’d heard before? An officer getting into his car, maybe knocking away a stray piece of metal pipe?
But what about the click? Locks on the car, maybe?
He made a mental note of the cruiser’s license plate tag.
He’d have Lauren run it, find out which officer had checked it out and whether his accounts had any errant deposits.
If it hadn’t been the officer, whoever it was had surely dropped back by now as the garage came to life.
“Dominic,” Aidan called behind him. “Why’s your gun out?”
He holstered his weapon and turned around with a tired half smile. “Not enough sleep, too many shadows.”
Good enough, it seemed, because Aidan had bigger issues, judging by his thunderous expression. “Let’s go.”
Nic grabbed his briefcase and rushed to catch up, Aidan halfway to the elevator already. “What’s happened?”
“Got a call about a robbery last night. Car dealership two blocks over from the club where the meet was supposed to be held.”
No coincidence there. “Cam?”
Aidan nodded as they stepped into the elevator. “Left us a fingerprint.”
Nic didn’t bother punching the button for his own floor. “She had him boost a car?”
“Same security system as the museum. You wanna guess the model of vault door they lock the money, papers, and keys behind each night?”
He didn’t need to guess. “AmSec 8000 series.”
“Case closed, Attorney Price,” Aidan replied, missing his usual flair of excitement at those words. They were both attorneys by training, Aidan getting more out of the trial part of a case than most agents.
“It was a test run,” Nic surmised.
“A try-out.” Aidan led them off the elevator onto the thirteenth floor. “Though now I have to explain to the very angry car dealer and SFPD why a federal agent broke into a car showroom and vault last night.”
Both their phones dinged at once. Nic scrambled for his, disappointed it was a message from Lauren, even if it was a valuable one. “I’d say he passed.” Ten thousand had just hit Brady Campbell’s bank account. “When do you think they’ll move on the artifacts?”
“Fundraiser soft open is Saturday night. Opens wide Sunday.” Aidan tossed various bits of pocket detritus on his desk—phone, keys, badge. “I’d say tonight or after the soft open Saturday. The latter would give them more time to plan and integrate Brady.”
“Not much time for Cam to find out who Becca is working for.”
“Byrne’s good. Don’t lose faith yet.” Aidan shucked off his jacket, hanging it on the back of his door. “When’s your motion for continuance?”
“Ten o’clock with Judge O’Donnell.” The preliminary hearing for Scott and Mike was scheduled for Monday.
Nic would prefer to try all the defendants at once instead of piecemeal, but that assumed he had all his defendants in custody.
If they couldn’t make that happen by the end of the weekend, a continuance would give Aidan and Cam more time to work. “Hopefully we won’t need the delay.”
“Better safe than sorry.” Aidan gestured at the visitor chair as he circled behind his desk. “Have a seat.”
“I thought you had cops and car dealers to appease.”
“I do.” Aidan pulled out his laptop and opened it on his desk. “But there’s something else we need to discuss first.”
Wary at Aidan’s sudden shift in tone, his frustration seemingly redirected at him, Nic debated whether to take the offered seat.
Had Aidan realized Nic and Cam were flirting with being more-than-friends?
Hell, more than just flirting with the notion.
Any judge would laugh him out of the courtroom if he tried to argue otherwise.
Did Aidan have a problem with it? Was he going to shut Nic out of this case because of it?
Determined to make sure that didn’t happen, because no way would he go blind with Cam out there, Nic sat, unbuttoning his coat.
Aidan grabbed a file folder from his briefcase and tossed it on the desk in front of Nic, some of its contents spilling out. On top, a black-and-white crime scene photo showed the sniper’s nest from the raid a week ago. “You didn’t tell me he was shooting at you.”
Nic schooled his features, staying silent.
Aidan pushed the file forward the rest of the way off the desk and into his lap. “What’s going on, Price?”
“Not your problem, Talley.”
“Beg to differ when my agents are caught in the crossfire.”
Nic started to argue—the shooter was only aiming at him, the car only struck him—but then he recalled Lauren in the van that day, recalled the other agents on the scene at South Park, and bit back his retort.
“And I beg to differ,” Aidan said, tone softening, “when my friend is being shot at.” Nic glanced up, meeting Aidan’s sincere, concerned gaze. Aidan wouldn’t let this go if Nic didn’t give him something. And Nic needed him to let it go before it got back to Cam.
“My father made some poor business decisions,” Nic hedged, maintaining walls, professional and otherwise. “His lenders want to be sure they recoup their investment.”
“That’s lawyer-speak for he’s in hock up to his eyeballs.” Standing, Aidan walked around the desk and dropped into the chair beside him. “Are you tangled up in any of it?”
“No,” Nic answered. “I’ve been estranged from Curtis twenty-seven years. I haven’t taken a cent of his money, and they can have it all, for all I care.”