Chapter 3 #3
The door opened. A woman in her fifties came in. Bright smile. Coffeepot in one hand. Clean mug in the other. “Fresh pot for you, Asher.” She set both on the table. “You shaved your beard. Looks good.”
“Thanks, Sandra.”
She glanced at Daphne. “You must be Ms. Cross. Heard you helped our boy here with that diner situation this morning.”
Our boy.
People here cared about him.
Liked him.
Trusted him.
Either genuine, or he’d fooled everyone.
“Just doing my job.”
“Well, thank you anyway.” Sandra patted Asher’s shoulder. Maternal. “I’ll have sandwiches sent up.”
She left.
Asher poured coffee.
“Sandra’s protective.”
“She’s like that with everyone.” He wrapped both hands around the fresh mug, steam rising. “When I transferred here eighteen months ago, she adopted me.”
“Tell me about the timeline.” She needed to focus. “When is Roger being released?”
“Tomorrow. Friday afternoon. Two p.m.”
“And Destiny?”
“Her safe house was breached. She was already out, but she’s compromised. She’ll be kept with Roger.”
“And if Roger and Destiny don’t testify?”
“Case collapses.”
Everything riding on two people.
Two people Draven Frost wanted dead.
Two people Daphne had to keep alive.
“What’s Draven’s current status?”
“Don’t know.” Asher finished his coffee and tossed his cup into the trash. “He doesn’t do his dirty work, so…” He lifted a shoulder.
“He wasn’t at the courthouse.”
Again, the shoulder lift.
“Why eighteen months?” She looked up. “Why has this case taken eighteen months to build?”
Asher’s expression shifted. “Actually, it started long before that in Denver. But when things heated up in Renegade, I moved here to join the field office.” His eyes regarded her, a little coolness in them. “Building a RICO case takes time.”
True.
But not complete.
“What’s your endgame?” she asked. “Personally. What do you want from this?”
“To take down the syndicate. Stop the trafficking. Get justice for the victims.”
“That’s the official answer.”
“It’s the real answer.”
“Is it?”
Something flickered in his expression. Then his mouth opened, closed, and a sigh. She thought that might be all she’d get, until he said quietly, “I want to stop feeling like I’ve failed everyone who needed me.”
Martha?
She stared at him. “You tried to save her.”
“Trying isn’t the same as succeeding.”
No. It wasn’t.
“Roger and Destiny won’t be Martha Lintz.” She said it with more confidence than she felt. “I don’t fail.”
He held her gaze. “I know.”
Oh.
She blinked at him.
The door opened.
Sandra, with sandwiches. Turkey. Ham. Chips. Cookies.
“Thanks, Sandra.” Asher grabbed a sandwich. Unwrapped it. Took a bite.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the quiet almost comfortable.
Almost.
“Tell me about the mole.” She set down her sandwich. “Your theory. Who is it?”
Asher chewed. Swallowed. Took a sip of coffee. “Someone with federal access. Someone who knew Martha’s transport schedule. Someone who could communicate with Draven Frost without suspicion.”
“That could be anyone on the task force.”
“Could be.”
“Including you.”
“Including me.”
He didn’t deny it. Refreshing.
Or calculated?
“But you have a theory.”
“I have suspicions. No proof.”
“Share them.”
He hesitated. “Three with the right access pattern. Three near every leak. The task force is forty people, but these three keep showing up at the wrong moments.” He pulled up files.
Photos. “Deputy Marshal Ethan Butler. He was assigned to Martha’s detail.
Helped recapture Finn Donovan and uncover Supervising Deputy Marshal Howard’s involvement in Donovan’s escape. ”
Daphne studied the photo. Confident bearing. Steely blue gaze. The look of a man who took even his recreation seriously.
“Second?”
“Deputy Marshal Liam Roberts. Also assigned to Martha. He’s a solid guy.”
“Third?”
Asher paused. His expression going tight. “Me.”
“You’re investigating yourself?”
“I’m the obvious suspect. Had to include myself in the analysis.”
Huh. “What does your analysis say?”
“That I had opportunity but no clear motive. I gain nothing from Martha’s death. Lose eighteen months of work if the case collapses.”
“Unless Draven is paying you.”
“He’s not.”
“How do I know that?”
“You don’t.” He met her eyes.
Fair.
Frustrating, but fair.
“What about Detective Martinelli? He was on site.”
“Michael’s clean. I know him through Dani.”
“You sure he’s clean?”
“Squeaky. He wants Draven taken down more than anyone.”
“Everyone has a price.”
“Not everyone.” His voice went hard. “Some people actually believe in something beyond money.”
The passion there was real.
She’d bet her life on it.
Except.
She was betting Roger and Destiny’s lives.
Different stakes.
“Tell me about the attack on Roger in prison.”
Asher’s expression darkened. “I read the file, same as you. Professional hit. Disguised as inmate violence. Roger got cut. Nearly died. Only survived because guards intervened faster than expected.”
“And Destiny’s attack?”
“Like I said. Safe house breached.”
“Which proves federal protection is compromised.”
“Which is why you’re here.” He leaned forward. “Private security. Off the grid. No federal oversight. No mole access.”
“Unless the mole is you and you’re sitting here getting all my operational details.”
“Then you’re about to make a very big mistake trusting me.”
“I haven’t decided to trust you yet.”
“Smart.”
He stared at her.
And then he smiled. Something wry, something that could…well, it sort of nudged her off her axis. Not like her world was moved or anything, but…
Okay, maybe a little.
She broke eye contact first. Looked at her laptop. “What’s Draven’s next move?”
“He’ll wait for Roger’s release. Hit during transport or immediately after.”
“So we don’t use federal transport.”
“Exactly.” Asher pulled up maps. Routes. “I have intelligence on syndicate surveillance patterns. Known operatives. Likely ambush points.”
“Share it.”
He turned his laptop toward her. Files. Reports. Surveillance logs.
Everything.
Complete operational intelligence.
Daphne downloaded everything to her secure drive. She’d verify later. Cross-reference. Check sources.
“I think that’s enough for now.” She closed her laptop. “I need to verify this intelligence. Scout locations. Prepare for Roger’s release tomorrow.”
“I can help—”
“I work alone.”
“Patterson said—”
“And we’re back to that. Listen. You provide intelligence. I run operations. That’s the deal.”
Asher’s jaw tightened. But he nodded. “Fine.”
“I’ll contact you if I need additional information.”
“Oh goody. So I’m just, what—a glorified taxi driver?”
“With a gun.”
“That should go on a movie poster.”
Again, the smile.
She got up. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I want them alive as much as you do.”
And shoot, but she did believe him.
She turned away. Walked to the door.
Opened it.
Stopped.
Looked back.
“The diner this morning. When you took down that kid.” She kept her voice level. “You really can’t help playing hero.”
Asher’s expression shifted. “Is that a problem?”
“Yeah.” She held his gaze. “It is.”