Chapter 22 #2
“If you give me half an hour, I could dye my hair pink,” Beckett replied unhelpfully.
“Actually, I think I’d like to stretch my legs with a little field work,” Adeline remarked as she got up from her desk chair. She put Nickel down on the desk and offered him a Cheeto—where she had gotten it from was anybody’s guess.
Beck and Hayes exchanged a surprised look, just as Nickel bit down on the Cheeto and yipped excitedly. Hayes seemed to be waiting for Beckett’s approval of Adeline’s suggestion.
He shrugged. “Think Gill’s insurance covers hip replacements? In case she slips and falls?” Beckett asked.
Adeline laughed boisterously.
Since it was too late in the evening to go knocking on doors, everyone agreed they should wait to tackle the project until the next day.
By then, even after Adeline had claimed she wanted to go undercover for them, Beckett tried to make a case to revisit the Paris subterfuge, complete with mop bucket and coveralls.
That idea was unceremoniously shot down by Hayes who graciously reminded Beckett that the Paris operation had ended in a shootout, and he was not at all keen to repeat that experience.
In the end, they’d decided that a woman—an older one—would look less suspicious.
Adeline had been ecstatic. As part of the deal, she’d made them promise to take her out for some poutine in payment for her leg work.
“Been a while since I’ve done field work,” she’d told Hayes excitedly as he worked on getting her set up with their communications system.
“For the CIA?” Hayes asked curiously.
“I had the legs for it,” she assured him with a wink, extending her right leg suggestively. “Made more than a few members of the KGB looked twice when I was wearing a short dress.”
He hadn’t been sure whether to believe her or call her bluff, so he’d settled for laughing instead. If it worked with Beckett, it would surely work just as well on her.
Her cover story was simple. As a new renter in the building, she was visiting everyone bright and early in the morning, offering cupcakes as her excuse to learn as much as she could about them.
“Remember, you’re looking for young, most likely beautiful women who are immigrants. Accents ought to be a dead giveaway. There could be several living in the same apartment,” Matthew told her.
Sitting in the car, they watched the live feed on Adeline’s laptop. They’d outfitted her with a small camera attached to an antique Guilloché lapel pin that Matthew provided. Beckett and Hayes were in the front and Matthew was in the back. Nickel sat perched on the car’s dash.
“Shush,” Adeline ordered, impatient and displeased with Matthew’s coaching efforts. Especially since he’d already briefed her.
“Let the lady work,” Beckett snorted, eyes riveted on the screen as they watched her approach the first door.
There were four apartments listed under Mario’s name in the building. They’d have to investigate each one.
Adeline knocked on the door. Three surprisingly sharp knocks.
After a full minute of waiting for someone to answer the door, Beckett figured there was no one home, but then, as she turned to leave, the door swung open.
The tenant opened the door all the way, clearly not suspicious of Adeline at all.
“Yes?” A woman in her late 30s greeted Adeline. She was quite obviously Latina, with dark brown eyes, straight black hair, and a lyrical accent. While those were all things they were looking for, she held an infant, and looked about six months short on sleep.
“Well hello there!” Adeline cooed at the baby, playing up the grandmother persona perfectly. “Well aren’t you the sweetest thing!”
Beckett could see her fingers waggling at the baby.
“Thank you,” the woman said, though she was clearly exhausted and not at all happy to have to answer the door.
“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” Adeline said, quickly. “I moved in today, and I’m just—going around and meeting folks!” she said, sounding as chipper as a canary’s song.
“Really?” The woman asked, eyebrows furrowed.
“Yes,” Adeline said, though there was a hint of worry to her tone, as she picked up on the woman’s obvious disbelief.
“That’s weird—I’m the head housecleaner for the building. When someone new moves in, I usually get hired to clean before they move in—” she explained, and was it the camera angle, or Beckett’s imagination, or was she holding her baby a tad closer than before.
“Oh—” Adeline said, laughing like it was all a big misunderstanding.
“I moved in today, but my son’s been in the building for quite some time already.
His wife left a few months back, so I’m moving in to help,” she explained, and Beckett was mildly impressed with the speed at which she managed to spin her lie. “Housekeeper you said?”
The woman nodded, clearly more at ease—having believed the lie.
“Yes,” the young mother said, with a small smile.
“That’s wonderful! I’m Cassandra. It’s absolutely lovely to meet you both,” she said, laying it on thick.
“I’m Eloise and this is Dante,” she explained, bouncing the small child up and down.
“Well, hi there Dante! Well, listen—I don’t want to keep you. Just wanted to introduce myself and offer you a homemade cupcake!” she exclaimed warmly, presenting the Tupperware filled with different flavors of cupcakes they’d gotten ten minutes ago from the corner store.
Eloise grabbed one with a thankful smile and bid her new tenant Cassandra goodbye. Once the door was shut, Adeline headed down the hall to the next condo.
“Is it possible they’re rented to staff?” she asked, because clearly, Eloise hadn’t been a victim of human trafficking.
Beckett hated how likely that possibility sounded. Especially if those staff members weren’t Canadian citizens—
“Let’s stick to the plan for now,” Hayes said, having shot Beckett a look that said he was totally on board with that theory.
Adeline was knocking on the second door when someone knocked on the car window next to Beckett’s head.
All three occupants of the vehicle jumped in surprise.
Beckett looked up, certain he’d see Mario staring at him from the other side, gun in hand, ready to take them out execution style.
It wasn’t him, of course—but the face was familiar.
“Good afternoon, sir. I need to see your license and registration please,” the police officer requested as he stood next to the driver’s side door. He was staring down at the pad of paper in his hand, not yet realizing exactly who was in the driver’s seat.
Beckett rolled down his window, the frigid air filling the car, but even that couldn’t put a damper on his manic smile.
“It’s Officer Hunky!” he said without a second thought. Seeing this new arrival, Nickel jumped down from the dash and landed in Beckett’s lap. He barked at the officer. Yapping excessively, as if that was going to warn him off.
Officer Hunky, so named because Beckett didn’t remember the guy’s real name, managed to look both thoroughly pissed off and surprised as he scrutinized Beckett’s face and took in the attack dog in his lap.
He didn’t realize who Beckett was until he spotted Hayes sitting in the passenger seat.
He quickly adopted a professional demeanor, but was unable to hide the flush extending to the very tips of his perfect ears.
“Officer Lavigne,” Hayes greeted calmly, his smile warm and genuine, one which he rarely displayed in public.
“Agent Monroe,” he said, straightening to his full height and clearing his throat.
“What—” he tried again. “Are you aware that your vehicle is parked in a no parking zone?” he asked, striving for a business-like tone even while that lovely blush deepened and spread towards the collar of his uniform.
Hayes looked out the window to his right before turning back to the officer.
“No, I’ll admit I wasn’t aware of that. I find the signs here a bit confusing—especially the French ones,” he stated candidly. While that might sound like a lame-assed excuse, anyone familiar with the City of Montreal would know it was valid.
Officer Lavigne’s cool mask of professionalism cracked as he chuckled like Hayes had just made a joke.
“I don’t blame you, Agent Monroe. Even I get confused at times.”
Beckett smiled, thinking that if they played their cards right, they’d get off with nothing more than a warning—maybe even something a bit better.
Officer Lavigne was truly an exceptionally rare specimen.
Beckett had to admit that, at the very least. He’d been too sleep deprived and mentally shaken by his ordeal in the crypt when they’d initially interacted, not noticing much beyond his wide shoulders and baby blue eyes.
But now that he had the time to check him out properly—he was spectacular.
He resembled the actor who had played a young version of Superman in a made-for-teens television series his sister had loved.
Curly black hair, sky blue eyes, chiseled jaw, and two gorgeous dimples that should be declared illegal.
“I’m confused—how’d you go from catching bank robbers to issuing parking tickets?” Beckett asked, blunt as ever.
Officer Lavigne briefly ducked his chin, then determinedly raised it again.
“I was—reprimanded for sticking up for your actions with the hostages,” he said hesitantly, choosing his words carefully.
“Shit! For how long? That’s not right!” Beckett was immediately incensed on the officer’s behalf, his mental gears already turning on exactly how to go about going over that goddamned Captain’s head and getting Lavigne reinstated.
“Two weeks,” he said, waving Beckett’s concern away quickly. “It isn’t all that bad, really. Haven’t slept that well in years,” he joked.
“Still, we’re sorry we caused trouble for you,” Hayes said while keeping an eye on the laptop screen, but his facial expression indicated that nothing was happening.
Beckett had removed his earpiece to converse with Lavigne.