Chapter 9
D espite having just returned from her usual eight-mile morning run, Callie paced her small living room, her coffee going cold on the counter. The idea that had come to her while running spun inside her head and wouldn’t leave. She didn’t think she wanted it to.
It was insane. Well, not literally. But it was crazy. She could do it, though.
Panic squeezed her chest, and she inhaled sharply, reminding herself there were good and bad types of panic. She paused, checking in with her body. She’d welcome the kind that focused her and helped her excel. But was this the bad kind? The distracting, fumbling kind?
Staring out the large window in her dining room toward the muted colors of the city, Nathan’s words came back to her.
She’d had other job offers. If she quit the FBI—words she had a hard time stringing together even though they kept circling her mind like a nausea-inducing Tilt-A-Whirl—she’d find another job.
She could even reapply to the Bureau in a different office or division, and her pension would stay intact. Or maybe she’d go private.
A tiny part of her brain insisted on reminding her that the Mystery Lake Police Department was hiring a detective.
A fact she shouldn’t know but did, thanks to a late-night internet binge/rabbit-hole session while at Lyda’s.
Settling in Mystery Lake wasn’t even a remote possibility, but she couldn’t unsee what she’d seen.
She could do the job. She might even like it.
But she wasn’t that much of a glutton for punishment.
A police siren outside her window pulled her from the edge of that abyss, and she stalked to the front room and looked out.
Twenty seconds later, a fire truck drove by, siren also wailing, followed by an ambulance.
Wherever they were headed, she sent a little plea out into the world, wishing the recipient of the first responders’ care well.
Her thoughts lingered there. Maybe they were on their way to help a cat from a tree or responding to a fake call.
But maybe they weren’t. Maybe in a split second something had happened that would change the caller’s life forever.
Maybe someone, or more than one someone, would be irrevocably changed by the events that precipitated the call to the responders.
The reminder that life was not only short but unpredictable settled on her shoulders like a warm, weighted blanket.
She had an opportunity now . She had money saved up, her lease was month-to-month, and while she didn’t have a lot of friends in DC, she did have a phone and computer, and no one was out of touch these days unless they wanted to be.
Could she do it, though? Could she quit the FBI to work on Liza’s case full-time?
She’d lose access to resources if she did, but she’d gain time and autonomy.
Despite her relationship with Gabriel, she had a pretty good one with HICC, and their headquarters was a few miles outside DC.
Maybe she could convince them to hire her.
If they did, that would solve her access issues.
The idea took root, winding through her until she felt the possibilities in every part of her body.
Working as a consultant to HICC would give her nearly all the same access to information she had now, and she wouldn’t have to answer to Chrome or deal with all the red tape. They wouldn’t even need to pay her.
Glancing at the clock, she calculated the time on the West Coast. Far too early to call Chad in Mystery Lake and ask if he could set up a meeting between her and someone in the DC office.
Drumming her fingers on the windowpane, she began making a plan.
And as the plan took shape, so did the certainty that this wild, so-unlike-her move was the right one.
Even if HICC didn’t agree, she needed to do this. She needed to finish what Liza started.
But she needed to be smart about it.
Two hours later, dressed in her usual business armor, she sat at her Bureau desk, methodically taking pictures of the files and notes she’d accessed or kept on Liza’s investigation.
Callie had considered downloading them to a USB, but if the techs ran forensics on her computer after she left, she didn’t want to leave that trail or give them a reason to come after her.
Re-creating the files would be a pain in the ass, but while she might be crazy, she could be smart-crazy.
Once she finished that task, she uploaded the pictures from her phone to a secure drop box, then deleted both the pictures and the link to the storage app. It wasn’t likely they’d check her personal device when she turned in her resignation, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.
Thankfully, she’d had the foresight to store everything she and Lyda had translated on her personal computer.
Moving on to step two of her plan, she looked up two addresses—one for Michael Quayle’s business and one for the DC office of Nolan Enterprises.
She doubted either man, Michael Quayle or Aiden Nolan, would be in, but it was her last chance to visit while she still had a badge, and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
Maybe nothing would come of it, but she had to try.
Quayle’s office was closer, so she headed there first, but the well-trained receptionist knew better than to let the FBI in—no matter how friendly—without a warrant.
One swing and one miss. Although, thanks to the loose lips of two young men leaving the building, she did learn that the weapons broker was currently on his private island in the Caribbean, hosting a meeting of people the men only speculated about.
If all went well with HICC, she’d look into the “meeting” once she had the private resources.
The receptionist at Nolan Enterprises wasn’t quite as savvy as Quayle’s, which came as no surprise—clothing manufacturers didn’t come onto the radar of the FBI in the same way arms dealers did. Or with the same frequency.
Unfortunately, the middle-aged woman with the sleek brunette bob and air of efficiency relayed that Aiden Nolan had left the night before to attend meetings in their Paris office. She could, however, make an appointment to see him when he returned.
That wouldn’t work for obvious reasons, so Callie tried one last-ditch effort.
“Is either Joseph or Rian Nolan available?” she asked, expecting a concise shake of the woman’s head.
To Callie’s surprise, she clacked a couple of keys on the computer, then glanced up. “Joseph is expected in an hour, but he’s in meetings until four. Rian also has meetings, but the first doesn’t start for fifteen minutes. He may be busy preparing, but I could call and ask if he has a few minutes?”
Callie smiled, though not too brightly. “Thank you. A few minutes of his time would be appreciated.”
“And this is regarding?”
“An ongoing investigation into a third party. He’s not obligated to speak to me, but I’d be grateful if he did,” she replied.
Callie took a few steps away as the receptionist held a hushed conversation over the phone.
Less than a minute later, she waved her over and handed her a visitor badge.
Callie nodded her thanks and calmly clipped it to her jacket lapel, but inside, she did a little jig, feeling as if she hit one out of the park this time.
Or at least made contact with the ball. How far it went, she’d see once she met Rian Nolan. Laura’s husband.
“That will get you through the turnstiles and to the tenth floor,” the woman said, nodding to the badge. “Once you’re there, ask for Rose at the front desk, she’ll take you back.”
Callie thanked her, then, feeling like a kid sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night—not that she’d ever done that—she hurried through the turnstiles and into the waiting elevator.
She didn’t let her mind question her choices as the car rose smoothly to the tenth floor or when Rose walked her back to Rian’s office.
She had a moment of hesitation when Rian Nolan rose from his desk, then circled it with his hand out.
The man looked as if someone had entered the terms “all-American, blond, blue-eyed businessman” into ChatGPT and his was the image it spit out.
Tall with hair long enough to curl over the tops of his ears but not be considered shaggy, eyes that reminded her of the azure crayon she loved as a girl.
And his build. Well, she couldn’t say for certain since suits could hide a lot of flaws, especially custom-tailored ones, but her first impression was that it didn’t hide anything at all on his lean but solid frame.
He almost looked too pretty to be the brains behind what Liza had thought she was onto.
“Agent Parks. Rian Nolan, what can I help you with?” he asked.
As his hand closed around hers, she gave herself a sharp reminder not to judge a book by its cover. “Thank you for seeing me today,” she replied.
“Care for a seat? Water? Coffee?”
She shook her head. “I won’t take much of your time.” He frowned, then leaned back and perched on his desk, crossing his ankles. “Are you familiar with the Operation Nationalists?”
He cocked his head. “The right-wing group based in France?” She nodded. “I know of them, of course. The bombing four years back was front-page news for days.”
“We’ve come across information that the group might have received funds from US interests.”
To his credit, Rian didn’t say anything, although he did raise an eyebrow.
“Nolan Enterprises does a lot of business in the region. You have a lot of contacts.”
He almost smiled. “We work in fashion. Primarily. Europe is sort of our ground zero.”
“That’s why I’m here. While doing business there, have you ever heard any rumors linking US companies to that terrorist organization?”
He turned and looked out the large picture window, the Washington Monument in the distance. Thinking? Or hiding his reaction?
Callie studied him as he took his time. Then abruptly, with a shake of his head, he met her eyes. “No, sorry.”
“What about businesses that might be sympathetic to their cause?”
His brows went up again. “Neo nazis? Not something anyone is likely to bring up in my presence,” he said.
He could be a poster child for the cause, but his genetics weren’t his responsibility. “Why not?”
He drew back, eyes narrowed. “Because that’s not how I operate. Never have, and I’m not shy about my political leanings.”
He did have a history of donating to causes opposed to nationalist movements of all sorts and a history of supporting progressive political candidates. But again, looks could be deceiving.
“What about your father or brother?”
“What’s this really about, Agent Parks?” he countered.
She kept her expression neutral but liked his curiosity. Curiosity led to questions, and a lot could be learned from the questions he chose to ask.
“As I said, I’m looking into the possibility of American dollars being laundered to support the organization.” A little more information than she’d given him before. Maybe enough to tease another question from him.
“A rumor?”
She nodded.
“That’s all?”
“At this point.”
Was that relief in his eyes? Or something else?
“It’s not much.”
She inclined her head. “We all start somewhere.”
His eyes searched hers. She stilled and waited for him to make the next move. Finally, he pushed off his desk and circled back to his chair. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I haven’t heard anything.”
“But you have thoughts,” she said, taking a blind shot.
He turned and crossed his arms, facing her.
Once again studying her. Then, with a shrug, he said, “Not anything original, I assure you. If I were looking for who might fund that kind of group, I’d look to see who benefits from their actions.
” He paused, then added, “Although, I’m sure you’ve already thought of that. ”
She held his gaze, then nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Nolan. I appreciate your time.”
He acknowledged the comment with a tip of his head, and she turned and walked out. As she rode the elevator down, then turned in her visitor badge and walked to her car, she considered his parting words.
Had they been a taunt or a clue?