Chapter 25
Casey and Hutch’s Apartment
Battery Park City
Manhattan, New York
Hutch’s command-and-control voice boomed out, bouncing off the walls of the bedroom. “Don’t even think about it.”
Startled, Casey paused in her efforts to wriggle her way to the edge of the bed.
She froze, a guilty look crossing her face.
“There’s no need to blow me away. You scared the hell out of me,” she told her husband, who was hovering in the open doorway.
“The important thing is that I stopped you.”
Casey squinted at the wall clock. “It’s early. Why are you home? And where’s Sophia?” She was referring to Sophia Ramirez, the lovely, experienced nurse Hutch had hired to take care of her.
Hutch folded his arms across his chest. “I left early and brought work home. I gave Sophia the evening off. I took over. Now, where was it you were headed?”
Casey blinked, clearing the medication-induced cobwebs from her head. “To the bathroom?”
“Try again. Sophia keeps a thorough chart. I know when you ate, when you took your meds, and when you last used the bathroom.”
With a cranky grunt, Casey reached around to plump up her pillows.
Hutch crossed over and completed the task, then eased Casey back so she was comfortable. “In case I didn’t mention it, your cell phone and iPad are locked away in my desk drawer in our office. So don’t waste your time.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was only going to quickly check in with my team.”
“And we agreed that wasn’t going to happen until after tomorrow’s follow-up appointment with your surgeon.
” Hutch lowered himself to the edge of the bed, his eyes boring into her.
“Besides, there’s no great urgency for you to connect with your team, considering the fact that FI is no longer working on the Walshes’ cases. Right?”
Casey didn’t miss a beat. “You ordered us to back off. So that’s what we’re doing.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
A shrug. “Because you’re a born skeptic?”
“Or because I know you too well.”
“My company is pretty renowned at this point, which means we’re very busy. Maybe we took on a new client.”
Hutch arched a brow. “Uh-huh. And maybe the sun turned cold. New investigations aren’t even addressed, much less taken on, without you there, either in person or via Zoom. Not to mention, we’ve seen no new comings and goings at FI. So no recent clients and no new investigations.”
“You’re surveilling the brownstone.”
“Sure are. Any more questions? Because now I have a few.”
Casey sighed. “I’m surprised you waited this long.”
“I wanted you strong and clear-headed enough. Which, considering your feistiness, it seems you are. So, let’s get started. I’ll keep it brief and to the point, so I don’t tax your strength.”
Casey gritted her teeth. SSA Hutchinson was back. And he knew her too damn well. The fire at Ryan’s parents’ house. The FI team filing out of the brownstone, splitting up, and making obscure drops in trash cans. Half-truths that still hung between them.
“Do you know where Caitlin Walsh is?” Hutch demanded, going straight in for the kill.
“No.” An honest reply.
“But you’re actively looking for her—everywhere from New York and New Jersey to New England.”
“We were. We stopped when you threatened to shut us down.”
“What about the company she works for—Scott Security? I’m sure you’ve checked them out. Found anything?”
“Probably the same things you found. They’re sketchy. So are their business practices. But nothing overtly illegal.”
“Overtly illegal,” Hutch repeated. “Good choice of words. So, tell me, have any methods FI used for information-gathering into Scott Security been either overtly or covertly illegal?”
Casey sighed. “I don’t know what you’re implying. So I’m going to choose not to respond. Why? Has the FBI uncovered something of import?”
“Nice try. But I’m the one asking the questions. And you’re not going to divert me or con me into filling you in on our investigation.”
“Then I guess we’re at a dead end,” Casey replied with a shrug.
Hutch’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s try another subject—the fire at Ryan’s parents’ house. Any thoughts about that?”
Casey met her husband’s gaze directly. “My guess? It was someone’s attempt to draw Caitlin out in the hopes that she’d run straight to Kennedy to ensure her safety.
To my knowledge, that hasn’t happened. I’m aware that the entire incident is now being treated as an active arson investigation. But that’s all I know.”
Hutch didn’t avert his gaze. “I could demand you tell me what was in the laptop cases you marched out of here with.”
“If you did, I’d tell you they held mostly magazines. Anything more, and I’d have to meet with my team before I elaborated.”
“I’ll let it go for the time being,” Hutch responded. “But only because the Bureau is making some significant progress of our own. I might be coming back to you on this, though.”
Casey wanted to press him, but her eyelids were starting to droop. “I’m sure you will.”
Hutch rose, ran gentle fingers through her hair. “You’re damned good at evading my questions, even when you’re half out of it and in pain. Enough for now. You get some sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to take your meds.”
A hint of a smile curved Casey’s lips. “Or when you decide it’s time for round two.” She yawned. “Don’t expect better results the second time around. G’night.”
Offices of the Zermatt Group
West Seventy-Fifth Street, Seventh Floor
Manhattan, New York
Tuesday, March 21, 7:45 p.m.
Terri sat straight up in her chair, fisting her hands in triumph. “Gotcha,” she announced to Aidan, who’d just wrapped up a call to Simone.
He recognized the tone of Terri’s voice and swiveled around to face her.
“What do you have?”
“With the insights Caitlin shared on Sunday about Scott Security, combined with my own knowledge and tools, I pried open the lid on the dark side of Scott Security’s backup personnel files. I cross-matched the names, time frame, and physical description we’re focusing on.”
“And, clearly, you got a hit.”
“Not a hit. The hit.” Terri angled her computer so Aidan could see it.
“Meet Owen Willard, now Milos Popovic. He was scrubbed from the dark side of Scott Security three hours after Shane Walsh’s murder.
Just after that, his one-stop flight to Podgorica, Montenegro, departed.
It came complete with a new identity and a new bank account.
An anonymous source wired ten thousand euros to Popovic’s account that same day. ”
“Not much for a paid killer.” Aidan propped his hip on the edge of the desk.
“But not a surprise, given he fucked up his assignment. Shane’s dead, but Caitlin is still alive and in hiding.
Willard is probably hoping it’s a down payment until he flushes Caitlin out.
Well, he can forget about that happening.
It’s been too many days, and too many failed attempts.
Instead of money, he’ll be getting a visit from Scott’s goons, who’ll fly into Montenegro to take care of him. ”
Aidan strode across the room as he spoke. “Do you have Willard’s new address?”
“Of course.”
“Text that and his new ID to Simone. I’m calling her back now.” He grabbed the telephone.
Simone answered on the first ring.
“You missed me, chérie?” she inquired lightly. “It’s only been ten minutes.”
“The situation just got urgent.” Aidan’s voice told her all she needed to know.
“I’m listening.”
Succinctly, Aidan relayed everything Terri had found.
“Scott is doubtless in the process of sending men to eliminate Willard, since he’s outlived his usefulness and is now a huge liability instead of an asset.
Terri just texted you his new name and address.
I need a Tiger Team dispatched there to land before dawn.
We need the cover of darkness. Use the Zermatt jet.
We’ll be exfiltrating Willard from Montenegro and bringing him back to the US—alive. ”
Podgorica, Montenegro
Wednesday, March 22, 3:25 a.m. CET
Owen Willard—now Milos Popovic—paced around the kitchen of his third-floor apartment, swallowing another glass of whiskey—his third in the past hour. Maybe if he drank enough he’d pass out and forget the sense of doom that was knotting his gut.
He’d checked his online bank account twice yesterday and once an hour ago. No new funds had been wired to him. And the two calls he’d made to Scott Security had been interrupted by a computer-generated voice that informed him his call could not be completed as dialed.
What the hell did that mean?
It meant Scott was cutting him off.
Abruptly, reality dawned. What an asshole he was being. He hadn’t just fucked up, he was a dangerous loose end. He wasn’t being cut off. He was being cut down.
Swept with panic, Owen felt his self-preservation instincts kick in.
Slamming down his glass, he dashed into the bedroom, grabbing his duffel bag and shoving all his essential things inside. Money. Passports. Weapons.
He wiped his cell phone and threw it into the garbage. He’d get a new one, find a new place to live—somewhere Scott wouldn’t find him.
He’d barely reached the living room when his apartment door flew off its hinges, and the terrace’s sliding glass door exploded into a thousand shards of glass.
Three men dressed in black, wearing ski masks and goggles and carrying MP5s, burst into the room, tossing a flashbang grenade inside.
Explosive noise. Blinding light.
Owen screamed, squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hands over his ears.
The Zermatt team moved like a well-oiled machine. Before Owen could regain his bearings, his arms and legs were bound with black zip ties, and his cries of pain were silenced by the duct tape that was slapped over his mouth.
The Tiger Team had just prepped the portable stretcher they’d brought to ready him for transport, when, out of nowhere, two separate men burst in through the entrance door, pistols raised.
Scott’s goons.
They barely got into the apartment.
As they blinked to clear the smoke burning their eyes, the Tiger Team whipped around and took them out. They raised their MP5s and double-tapped each of Scott’s men, then sent single bullets through their heads.
The men fell like stones.
“You’re lucky we got here first,” one of the Zermatt guys muttered to Owen, just as he felt the prick at his neck. “Nighty night.”
With their drugged captive out cold, the Tiger Team strapped him to the stretcher.
Swiftly, they donned fake vests that made them appear to be Montenegro emergency services.
Then, lifting the stretcher, they stepped over the two dead bodies and headed toward the stolen ambulance that would take them to the Zermatt jet.