Chapter 12
Dane leaned against the doorjamb of David Young’s office, while inside his mind he paced.
The office was in Government Center almost across the street from FBI headquarters, about half a city block from where they should be right now.
All the chairs were currently being taken up by Acer, David, Peter and Joe, Peter’s personal protection officer from the State Police.
Joe had picked them up from the Coast Guard heliport close by.
Peter said, “I spoke with SAC Evans and thanks to Peck’s calculated largesse, Cap and Shana are the local representatives.”
“Unless we can come up with something new,” Dane said.
Shana and Cap were the only ones allowed in on the interrogation of the various suspects all now held by the FBI. They’d officially usurped the cases of Wallace White shooting at Acer and the murder of Harry the Hacker Small, all connected to the old Whittaker embezzlement case.
“What about the boat chase and ensuing shots fired at Dane and Acer?” David asked the governor.
“Let me guess,” Dane said. “Since Acer and I haven’t been asked for our statements, or even questioned in the matter beyond a few cursory words back at Cap’s office, the feds are conveniently forgetting all about that infraction.”
The governor nodded. “I got nowhere with it. Waved off as a tangential law enforcement matter to be dealt with in due time.”
Dane couldn’t fault the SAC for that attitude. Not really. Except that Dane wasn’t official law enforcement and the feds seem to only bring that fact up when it suited them. He was the bastard son, the convenient patsy.
David got a call that the interrogation was getting underway and they should connect to the link provided so that they could watch the proceedings. Their eyes were all aimed at the screen set up on the far wall to watch and listen via a special closed circuit feed.
Shana apparently never had a chance to change out of her date dress.
The sight of her now in that dress in the small room with Glen Peck was enough to endanger Dane’s ability to stay cool and assess the situation.
The too-tight date dress made her seem vulnerable.
He felt his gut tighten and he closed his eyes for a beat.
He would get there. He wouldn’t leave her there long with Peck. In the meantime, she had Cap.
The others seemed to have accepted their looker-on status and settled into their seats. Peter glanced at Dane where he remained standing.
“I expect to have something on the origin of the fifty thousand dollar deposit by the Whitakers soon,” Peter said. “Once I get it, we’ll see about changing our venue.”
Dane nodded. He wasn’t sure he’d bother to wait that long. Peter continued to eye him, no matter that Dane was the picture of contentment. It was the Zen training. It was also the calm before the storm. And Peter knew it.
They watched and listened to Shana ask Sebastian Whitaker about the missing money. Peck spoke over her and glared at her. Whitaker was stony and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He spoke little. He’d been through it all before.
Dane’s sense of urgency spiked with each minute of the interview progressing while he was here and she was there, with Peck.
He could barely contain the energy vibrating through him forcing him to move from his pose of Zen calm.
He needed more information and went outside into the hall to make a call.
Cap’s lieutenant sounded surprised to hear from Dane, but only for a moment.
“Any word on the file and in particular the ballistics report for the Harry Small murder?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. But nothing useful. We got word that the file disappeared. Wiped out of the system. They checked the evidence box and the bullet was missing. All I have is the word of the chief that he’d seen the report and can verify that the missing bullet was shot by a rifle.
That’s as far as he got—the report was given to a couple of feds for review before the chief got any further. That’s all I got.”
Dane swore under his breath, but he didn’t waste time giving vent to his desire to wring Peck’s neck, because he was sure he had the man. This was the nail in the coffin he needed. His chest tightened with that spike of anticipation that he always got when he was closing in on his prey.
He said, “Do me a favor—give me the phone number of that police chief.”
After he finished his calls, Dane re-entered the room and Peter turned from the monitor and looked him a question.
“I’m going over there. Who’s with me?” Dane said.
“I swear to God, you have an uncanny sixth sense,” Peter said. “Two seconds ago I got an email about the source of the fifty-thousand dollar deposit. It had been transferred from a Swiss bank account. Two of the names on the account were the Whitakers. There was a third name—John Smith.”
Dane smiled and felt his adrenaline shoot up until he evened himself to a serious hum of energized alertness.
The governor stood. “There’s not enough evidence for us to jump to the conclusion that John Smith is Glen Peck,” he said.
“No. We’ll need one of the Whitakers to roll on him.” Dane didn’t share the information he held up his sleeve. It was a potential ace in the hole, but only potential. It was early and they might need to rely on a bluff.
“Or roll on whoever Mr. Smith is,” Peter said reasonably. He folded his arms.
“Trust me on this.” Dane didn’t move and did not change his expression.
The governor stood and contemplated him for what seemed like a full minute.
Dane didn’t flinch. Didn’t show a thing.
Kept his motor revved but under control.
His anticipation rose with each tick of the clock like time itself forced his foot to press on the accelerator inside him.
But not because he needed to close the case.
It was because he needed to get to Shana.
He felt like the legs were cut from beneath him without her by his side—and with her by the side of damn Special Agent Peck instead. He felt a dip of trepidation, of foreboding, like maybe Peck had something up his sleeve too.
Dane had no idea what the FBI man’s end game was. It could all be about simple greed. Twenty million could set a guy up—even half of twenty million. But was that enough to swing an otherwise seemingly normal FBI man? That was bothering him. He was missing something.
He hoped to hell he could get a digital backup file of that ballistics report from the Harry Small murder.
And he hoped to hell Peck hadn’t had access to the back-up files since they were physically off-site.
Acer would be able to determine how the system was compromised and very likely find evidence of who did it.
“Okay, I’ll trust your hunch,” Peter finally said. “Won’t be the first time I went out on a limb with you.”
“Probably won’t be the last,” Dane said. He lifted himself off the doorjamb of David’s office where he’d spent an excruciating half hour watching the feds micromanage their interrogation and unable to have any input. Unable to help out his partner.
Shana had looked cool on the monitor and held her own, but Dane noticed that she stayed as far away from Peck as she could. It wasn’t like her to be concerned or cautious. It was killing him and however far away she kept, it wasn’t far enough for him.
Dane continued to watch the monitor as Peck had positioned himself next to her in the FBI’s observation room while he stood by. The menace underlying the move tensed every muscle in Dane and made him hyper aware. His hands clenched into fists.
“I’m with you,” Acer said, drawing Dane’s attention away from the monitor. “What do you have in mind, demon man?”
David lifted his brows in a question. Dane smiled a real smile. His shark smile.
He’d been watching the two monitors. The one on the right showing the observation room where Shana, Cap, Glen Peck and Mark Richards, the ASAC discussed strategy, and the one on the left where a split screen showed Mr. Whitaker, Mrs. Whitaker and Wally White sitting on one side of their respective tables, waiting.
Then he saw what he’d been watching for. The monitor on the right showed the SAC walk into the interrogation observation room to join his people. With him occupied, it was time for them to make their move.
“Let’s roll. We’re crashing the interrogation.
” He rolled around the door frame and into the hallway heading straight to the elevator.
It would be a five-minute walk to the FBI offices.
The governor ought to be able to get them past security and into the interrogation room area where they needed to be.
When they arrived at the FBI’s Boston office in Government Center, Dane was in the lead followed by Acer, David Young, and Governor Peter John Douglas. They proceeded past the front desk and up to the SAC’s office without being stopped or questioned once Peter showed his ID—not that he needed to.
He was well known as the governor. And well respected. They were on their way to invade the interrogation. Dane only needed the one final piece of information for his case to fall into place against Peck. He stopped Acer in the hallway outside a bank of elevators and spoke for his ears only.
“I need you to do me a favor. Do you mind going back to the office to do some OTR computer forensic work for me?”
“OTR?”
“Off the record.”
An evil grin spread on Acer’s face. Dane told him in a few clipped words what he had in mind and clapped him on the back to send him on his way.
By the time they made their way past security and staff assistants into the interrogation observation room, the interrogation was on again. Dane and Peter took the lead and entered the room ahead of the SAC’s assistant with David right behind them.