Chapter 29 Ben
Ben
Dallas, Texas
Saturday night
The Bureau drilled it into us from day one—always have a way out. Always know your exits, your alibis, your cover stories.
Have contingencies stacked like poker chips in case the house burns down.
But no one ever talks about the moment before it all implodes—the half second when you realize it’s already too late.
“That broker Ramirez asked you about—Samuel Baird?” Ruby’s voice comes through my comms, low but sharp. “He’s bad news. Really
bad.”
Around me firefighters move in controlled chaos, barking orders, their gear clanking as they move in and out of the restaurant
to put out the kitchen fire I started. Condo residents linger in the parking lot, griping about the disruption to their evening,
while others hold up their phones, recording.
I slow my pace through the parking lot, my jaw tightening. “Define bad.”
“Oh, you know, just your everyday black-market facilitator, mostly arms and high-tech material sales with a stellar client
list ranging from terrorist organizations to enemy states. The kind of guy who doesn’t do business unless it comes with a
body count.”
I stop midstep, my blood running cold—a suffocating contrast to the stifling Texas heat clinging to my skin despite the late hour. My mind races, recalibrating. “Why would someone like that be interested in Ramirez’s deal?”
Ruby snorts. “Maybe Ramirez is hoping for Businessman of the Year in the ‘Most Likely to Start an International Incident’
category.”
Ruby’s dry wit lands like a gut punch. If Ramirez wants to open the deal to someone like Baird, then the stakes just skyrocketed.
Up until now, my focus wasn’t on the deal Ramirez was putting together with Earl Edmond. Shadow Broker’s mission focused on
the financials of the deal—tracking the transactions, gaining access to his accounts, and gathering enough RICO evidence to
lock up Ramirez.
But this? If Ramirez wants to work with Baird, then whatever he’s auctioning off isn’t just valuable—it poses a possible direct
threat to national security.
And that would guarantee a life sentence.
“I need to talk to Katherine,” I say. “If Baird’s involved, we need to reassess.”
Crossing through the parking lot, I get to the street and begin walking down the block to where the surveillance van is parked.
Traffic is slow as drivers rubberneck the scene, their headlights fighting with the red lights still flashing from the fire
trucks. I loosen my tie and lengthen my stride until I turn the corner and the van comes into view.
“You’re sure that’s the only thing you need to reassess?”
Something in her tone puts me on edge. I don’t think I need to ask what she means, but I do anyway. “Meaning?”
“Your friend.”
My body goes rigid, but I’m unsure if it’s because I feel called out or because I immediately want to defend Cybil as more
than just my friend—which is probably the last thing I need to be admitting to anyone, including myself, considering I set
a small kitchen fire to protect her.
I get to the van, step inside, and shut the door behind me, cutting off the noise from the street. The dim glow of the monitors greets me, the only light in the cramped space. Ruby puts down her cell phone and swivels in her chair to face me, her expression telling me she’s waiting for an answer.
I rake a hand through my hair and collapse on the bench seat at the back of the van. “You don’t just decide to spy on a crime
boss like Ramirez, Ruby.”
“That’s my point,” she says. “You think she’s just some innocent girl in over her head?”
Innocence is not what I saw in Cybil’s eyes when I caught her in the hallway, but am I ready to admit she’s tangled up in
a mess that now might have international terror implications? No.
“I don’t think—”
“Hold that thought.” Ruby swivels to face the screens. She looks at her phone again and then sets it down to begin typing
on the keyboard. “I was running facial recognition on the guests at the cocktail party tonight with anyone who attended the
museum gala fundraiser a few weeks ago. Ramirez thinks someone is going behind his back to get access to his deal, and since
you had a little run-in with someone trying to break into the museum library, I thought maybe they might be here too.”
I sit forward. “That’s smart. Anyone attend both events?”
“Yes.” Ruby continues typing and shifts so I can see the monitor. It’s divided into a grid with faces on it. “The images on
the right are from the museum. Left is from tonight.”
I stand to look over her shoulder. My gaze immediately goes to Cybil, and the shock of seeing her that night rushes through
me all over again. What are you doing, Cybil?
“Aside from the usual suspects like Ramirez, his attorney Rook, Earl and Sebastian Edmond, and Cybil Langford, you’ve got
a handful of crossovers.” She taps different faces on the screen. “Elena Cross, wealthy philanthropist and real estate investor.
Adrian Whitmore, media mogul in music and television. Quentin Hayes, former tech entrepreneur turned financier. All shady.”
I study each one, trying to imagine them as the figure in black trying to break into the library. Adrian Whitmore has the kind of broad shoulders I’d recognize even in the shadows. He’s not my guy. Which leaves Elena and Quentin. “It could be either of them.”
Ruby’s fingers fly over the keyboard, and the screen changes from the still images to the surveillance footage from the night
at the museum. “I had tech send me video from the time you go upstairs to the library until the time you get back.” On the
screen, I watch myself exit a door and nearly crash into the server. “Then I asked them to cross-check all the footage to
see who disappears at the same time you do.”
“That’s brilliant, Ruby.” I clap her on the shoulder.
“Again, hold that thought,” she says, her voice ominous. The screen splits into grids again, only this time it’s video footage
of . . . Cybil. She’s mingling with guests, sticking by Mr. Edmond’s side until she’s . . . not. I search different camera
angles, but with each passing second that turns into minutes, it’s clear what Ruby’s trying to show me. “The only person who
seems to disappear from the gala at the exact same time as you is—”
“Cybil.” Her name escapes in a whisper, disbelief tightening my throat. Could she have been the figure in black? Was she the
one trying to break into the museum library? The timing is too perfect—too coincidental. I watch her step into the gala seconds
before I do, her expression unsettled, like she’d been caught off guard.
Like someone unexpectedly got in the way of her mission.
I can’t unsee it. Suddenly, the shadowy figure has a face and it’s Cybil. “I thought tech said the surveillance footage from
that night was glitchy.”
Ruby pauses the video and looks over her shoulder at me. I hate the pity I see in her gaze—like she thinks I’ve let myself
be duped by a woman I once had feelings for and am desperate for an excuse. “Our techs wiped the footage so no one would see
you up there, but they didn’t scrub the entire feed. The other cameras in the museum were still working, which makes it look
less like a glitch and more like someone else deliberately tampered with the footage.”
Someone like Cybil . . .
My gut twists. Cybil, a corporate spy? Even with the evidence right in front of my face, it still doesn’t track. “Maybe she’s not innocent,” I admit. “But she’s not—”
“What if she’s not the person you think she is anymore?”
Ruby checks her cell phone again, and irritation flares in me at her distraction.
“Expecting a call?” My question comes out sharper than I mean.
“Yeah.” Her brows pinch. “Seth hasn’t checked in yet.”
My pulse kicks up. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes meet mine, and the look in them makes my blood run cold. “He hasn’t checked in yet,” she repeats.
I’m already out of the van and heading to the restaurant. The last time I saw Seth, he looked terrible—pale and unsteady.
Using my comms, I ask, “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Not since he walked inside the restaurant.”
I check my watch and do the math from the last time I saw Seth.
Twenty-five minutes. Not such a long time unless you’re being waterboarded or electrocuted—or you’re missing an FBI agent among a den of criminals.
Given the high-stakes nature of the cocktail party and the presence of dangerous individuals, my immediate concern is that
Seth—who isn’t trained for undercover fieldwork—might have blown his cover.
Twenty-five minutes could be a matter of life and death.
My gut twists like a live wire. Seth Jackson has a family—a wife and two little girls who are expecting him to walk through
the door tonight. Danny Morales never made it home.
I grit my teeth, pushing the thought away. I won’t let that happen to Seth.
The back of the restaurant comes into view. It’s mostly empty except for a few stragglers and the last of the firefighters
rolling their hoses and putting their gear away. Seth’s not among them.
When we briefed him on his role tonight, we expected the party to last a lot longer and for Seth to simply call an Uber and
leave at the end of the night. Once he was on his way home, he was supposed to check in and let us know. “Did he exit out
the front?”
“I’ve searched through the footage I was able to get before the fire trucks showed up, but I didn’t see him leave.”
Ruby doesn’t worry—at least, that’s what she wants everyone to believe. She fights anxiety with sarcasm, but I hear the concern
threading through her voice. Seth isn’t trained for this kind of thing, but he’s not stupid, and if she’s worried, it’s for
good reason.
I sidestep a hose and approach a broad-shouldered firefighter, his uniform smelling of smoke and cooking oil. He glances up
as I approach.
“You with the restaurant?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Is anyone left inside?”
“It’s all clear.”
I nod, clenching my jaw. Not the answer I wanted.
“Only the owner and staff are allowed back inside, but if you left anything, you can talk to that guy over there.”
He points to a server standing by the back door.
“Thanks.” My pulse is jackhammering with every second I can’t find Seth. I look around again and my eye catches on a camera
mounted on the back of the building. I’m already jogging back to the van. “Ruby, can we pull footage from the adjacent buildings?”
“Already working on it,” she says, her voice clipped. “But it’s gonna require a call to OTD.”
I exhale sharply. The FBI’s Operational Technology Division can tap into remote surveillance, but it requires authorization
neither Ruby nor I have. The moment we make that call, the Bureau will pull the trigger on a Critical Response Team, and our
entire operation will go up in smoke. Ramirez won’t just hear about the FBI swarming the restaurant—he’ll know exactly who
they’re after.
It doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters more than finding Seth and getting him home to his family.
I pull open the van door, but Ruby holds a finger up, phone pressed to her ear. My gut clenches, and I pray with everything
in me that it’s Seth.
“Yes, ma’am, he’s here,” she says, her expression unreadable.
I step inside, shutting the door behind me as she sets the phone on the desk and mouths, Katherine.
My stomach tightens. “We have a problem.”
“I’ll say we do,” Katherine’s voice snaps through the speaker. “Would you like to explain why the hotel manager of the Merius
just called to report a snoring man matching my forensic accountant’s description passed out in their lobby with a note instructing
them to ‘Call the FBI’?”