Chapter 6 #2
The FBI conference room was a virtual maze.
Agents scurried about, boxes of files and evidence were stacked against the walls, and more plastic bags covered the table, waiting to be tagged.
They’d made a decent dent over the past few hours but there was still a mountain’s worth of paper, objects, and data to process.
Cam straightened from where he’d put a lid on another full box and froze at the sight of Nic standing in the doorway.
“Clear the room, please,” Nic ordered gruffly.
His shoulders, however, weren’t raised to match and one corner of his mouth was hitched up, fighting a smirk.
“Except you four,” he added, eyes lighting on him, Aidan, Lauren, and Moore.
Eyes that were determined, maybe even a little excited.
Cam recognized that look. It was the same sexy-as-hell confidence Nic got just before stepping into a courtroom.
Just before shredding a suspect on the stand.
He had something.
Lorton was the last one out the door, first checking with Lauren if she needed anything.
Cam noticed a difference in the way she responded to him versus Cole.
Less obvious, more genuine, the quirky, overcaffeinated motormouth they were all used to.
Cam mentally reaffirmed his decision not to question Cole yet.
He didn’t want to upset the trap he suspected Lauren was setting.
“You have news,” Aidan said, drawing Cam’s attention back to Nic.
“Two pieces.” Nic closed the door and moved to the head of the table. “Any syringes found in the searches?”
“None at the house,” Moore said from the opposite end of the long oval table.
“None at HQ either,” Aidan said.
“And none on the plane,” Cam added. “The coroner found an injection site?”
“Puncture marks inside Curtis’s mouth.” Nic yanked his jaw aside, indicating the inside of his right cheek. He let it go and wiped his hand on his shirtsleeve.
“Knock out or poison killed him?” Moore asked.
“The latter. It was a heart attack brought on by whatever he was injected with. Toxicology is still processing.”
“Do we need to go back and search the sites again?” Lauren asked. “Now that we know what we’re looking for.”
Cam shook his head. “Vaughn wasn’t the one who did it. He was on a plane.”
“We need warrants on his associates,” Aidan said.
“Next on my to-do list. We have more complete bank records now?” Nic asked Lauren.
“Vaughn’s hard drives are still decrypting.” She slid into her chair behind her computer. “But I assume so, as soon as they’re up.”
“Let’s see what lines up with recent payoffs and purchases. Segment anyone with connections to pharmaceuticals. Doctors, nurses, vets, users, dealers, law enforcement.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Law enforcement?”
“Access to evidence,” Cam surmised, reminded of their case in Boston where a leveraged cop was asked to destroy evidence for a local crime boss. “Once the coroner confirms the drugs, we can narrow the segments further.”
“On it.” Her glittery purple nails flew across her keyboard.
Cam shifted his focus back to Nic. “You said two pieces of news.”
Nic’s gaze shot to Moore at the other end of the table. “El, you might want to step out for this.”
The AD rolled up his shirtsleeves, the pristine white a sharp contrast against his dark skin. “I’m in the shit now. I want to know all of it.”
Cam could commiserate. “We all need to be fully up to speed.”
Nic’s gaze bounced back to him, a silent apology in his icy blues. Cam tilted his head in thanks, and Nic straightened, addressing the room. “I’m fairly certain Bowers is Vaughn’s mole in my office.”
“That’s a serious accusation, Price.” Moore braced both hands on the table edge. “How certain is fairly?”
“Ninety-nine percent if I had to put a number on it.” He rested his forearms against the back of the nearest chair, thumbs drumming an idle rhythm in the air.
Glancing down, Cam realized he was doing the same and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“I ran a test this morning,” Nic said. “Told Bowers about my father’s autopsy. Vaughn mentioned it as soon as he stepped off the plane.”
“You think he radioed ahead?” Moore asked.
“It could have been someone at the morgue,” Aidan suggested.
“Hence the one percent doubt,” Nic replied. “But I trust Jong, and just now Bowers was all over me about the raids today.”
“Wanting details?” Cam asked, unsurprised.
“Yes, and claiming he wanted to be there for the press op.”
“Or to be there as Vaughn’s eyes and ears.”
“He wanted to interfere. One way or the other.” Aidan paced the narrow strip of space between the table and boxes, absently twirling a pen. “I’m tired of this shit. His shit.”
“Talley,” Moore cautioned.
“Oh, come on, El.” Aidan chucked his pen at the table, clearly frustrated. “He’s been up our asses for years now. You have the complaints to prove it.”
Cam tried not to show his surprise, Lauren’s gasp loud enough for the both of them. “You filed formal complaints?” she asked.
“Why didn’t I know about this?” Nic interjected.
“Because he’s your boss.” Moore’s raised voice brooked no argument.
He was the highest-ranking LEO in the room, even if he wasn’t always there to flex his considerable muscle, physical and political.
“I’ve been conducting that investigation, and I’ve got enough for professional misconduct.
But if you can give me enough for criminal charges . . .”
Aidan was vibrating with anticipation, a lion ready to roar, while the spark in Nic’s eyes grew brighter. Cam was surprised the two didn’t high-five right there. They could scent the kill.
“He’s insisting he be present at Vaughn’s questioning,” Nic said.
“Let him,” Aidan replied. “Won’t affect our strategy.”
Nic looked down the table to him. “Anything else from the raids?” Cam gestured at the boxes, then at the mess covering the table. “There’s a metric ton of shit here, Boston. Give me the high points.”
“Box ten,” Lauren said without looking up from her screen.
Cam shifted over to the boxes, uncovering the one with the ten sticker on the end. He lifted the lid and pulled out two evidence bags. He placed the bags on the table in front of Nic, the heavy metal inside making a loud thunk as they hit the wood.
“Desert Eagles,” Cam said, as Nic picked up one, then the other, running his thumb over the scuffed serial numbers. “Weapon of choice for Vaughn’s goons.”
“Same as the ones I lifted off them earlier this year.” Nic laid each bag back on the table. “Was there enough for Mel to run?”
“She’s trying,” Lauren answered. “Box five for the mortgages.”
“Mortgages?” Nic said, tensing.
This was the part Cam had been dreading. It was good evidence—would help Nic’s case—but it would not help his peace of mind.
Box five was on Aidan’s side of the table, and he came up with a thick bucket folder, handing it to Nic. “Unrecorded deeds of trust.”
“He files them when he needs the extra leverage,” Cam added as Nic riffled through the documents.
He got toward the back, forehead creasing, and Cam held his breath. “There are reconveyances in here too, dated last week, and another deed of trust for . . .” His eyes fluttered shut and he dropped the folder on the table.
Cam stepped toward him—no need to keep up appearances for the others here—but Nic held up a hand, keeping him at bay. Two deep breaths and he opened his eyes, looking at Lauren, who’d stopped her manic typing. “Have you confirmed the other lenders have all been paid off?”
“Last payment cleared Friday,” she answered quietly.
The whole room went quiet, the implications impossible to ignore, especially to a group of trained investigators.
Nic pulled out the chair closest to him and collapsed. “So, two days after Vaughn pays off all his other lenders, my father signs over everything to him, then dies.” His voice dropped into an octave Cam had never heard before. “Is murdered.”
Cam sank into the chair beside him, laying a hand on his arm. “We’ll get him, Dominic. This helps your case, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“We’ll get extra security up everywhere.”
Elbows on the table, Nic put his face in his hands, scrubbing up into his hair, tired and frustrated, ten times worse than Cam probably felt.
Cam wanted to pull him into his arms, chase the day and awfulness away at least for the span of an embrace, but that would be too much, even for those in the know here.
He wouldn’t have gotten a chance anyway, Nic suddenly dropping his arms. “Did Harris know about this? Did he prepare these?”
“That’s on my list of questions,” Aidan said. “If he shows up.”
Nic glanced at his watch. “He missed his appointment, didn’t he?”
Aidan nodded. “We sent agents after him.”
“Maybe he’s passed out drunk somewhere,” Lauren offered, then quelled when Nic shot her an icy glare. “Sorry, sorry.” She turned back to the computer. “I’ll go back to decryption.”
“How much longer?” Aidan asked.
“Where’s your husband?” she shot back. “I’m working as fast as I can, but it would go faster with another me.”
Cam bit back a laugh.
Aidan, not so much, snickered aloud. “He’ll be back from Washington tomorrow.” Jamie was up there for a game, then a couple days of scouting.
“Vaughn wants it to go faster,” Nic spoke up. “The press this morning, the new loans, murdering my father. We need to be moving faster.”
Moore pushed aside a stack of bags, exposing a lockbox. “Maybe something in here will help.” He pushed it toward the center of the table. “We found it at the residence.” He looked to Nic. “This is skirting the warrant. I’m willing to open it, but you need to be onboard too.”
“It’s a gun case, isn’t it?” Nic said. “We have evidence of illegal weapons. There may be more in there.” He turned to Aidan. “You want to do the honors?”
Aidan smirked, withdrawing a slim leather pouch from his inside coat pocket.
Lockpick tools. Nic could have asked Cam to do it or Cam could have offered—he’d be faster at it than Aidan—but Nic wouldn’t put him in that situation again.
And Cam wouldn’t offer unless it was necessary. They were already toeing enough lines.
As it was, Aidan, a better-than-average lockpick, a skill shared by the Talley brothers, had it open in minutes. “It’s not guns.” He narrowed his eyes as he turned the box around.
Cam and Nic both stood, leaning over to get a better look inside.
At pictures.
Polaroids, snapshots, negatives. All of the same woman.
She was beautiful and not in Duncan Vaughn’s typical arm-candy model sort of way. Strawberry blond hair, hazel eyes, and an easy, natural smile.
And by Duncan’s appearance in the ones he shared with her, they were around the same age. Some of the photos had to be decades old, faded and curling at the corners. Cam moved to pick one up, and Nic grabbed his wrist, holding him back.
Cam turned and gasped. He’d never seen Nic look so pale, so surprised. He wouldn’t have thought that level of shock possible on the former SEAL.
“Who is she?” Cam whispered.
Nic loosened his grip and reached forward, snagging one of the woman. He stared down at the Polaroid and Cam realized it wasn’t only shock in his eyes. There was sadness and longing there too. It was like he’d seen a ghost, one he missed very much.
“You know her, Price?” Moore asked.
“Victoria Scott.” He laid the photo down reverently, then looked up, not hiding his pain from anyone. “She was almost my stepmother.”