Chapter 20
Evie
Last night loops through my head as I get dressed.
My body is still warm and sensitive, like he hasn’t quite let go of me yet.
I’ve gone from elated to anxious and at times frustrated, because I’m an adult woman, and I don’t appreciate being undone by my own feelings.
Sex has never sent me into a tailspin before, and yet here I am with flushed skin, distracted by flashes of memories.
The brush of fabric, the stretch of muscle—everything echoes us.
Of course, Gabriel isn’t just anyone, and that’s the problem.
But why is it a problem? Why am I second-guessing my decision—and it was my decision.
We’re two consenting adults. We’ve known each other for most of our lives.
We’ll take it day by day. Get to know each other in this new way.
If it works out, good. If it doesn’t…we’re still adults.
We’ll adjust. Our friendship will absorb the new dimension and, eventually, move past it.
Gabe’s a good guy—his integrity is more solid than anyone I know.
The nervous sensation that has me on edge? I’m scared. I fear being hurt—and that’s normal. It’s a new-to-me sensation because right from the get-go I care about him. We skipped right over the get-to-know-you stage. Logically, I grasp it all.
But it’s not him breaking my heart that should scare me—it’s what will happen if he becomes collateral damage, in this case or any future case.
That fear is more unnerving than anything else.
If he was just a guy I was dating, there’d be no risk.
But he’s putting himself beside me—someone was photographing us.
They already know everything they can about me—Gabriel had to be the research target.
If something happened to him… I can’t think about it. I can’t go there. It’s too much. Logically, I know his risks are his to choose. He entered the Army for heaven’s sake—the man’s not averse to risk.
But he’s no longer in the Army and risks are much lower in the NSA.
If something happened to him because of me… With one last glance at the woman I do—and don’t—recognize, I exit the bathroom.
Gabriel sits at the desk, a notepad beside his laptop, coffee beside the hotel’s phone.
His stern expression, the grip of the pencil—it’s clear he’s working.
But it’s the way his eyes snap to me—focused, intent—that tells me everything before he says a word.
And the way my body reacts to it? That’s new.
“What is it?” I ask.
“We got some new information. You want coffee?”
I step past him, moving to fix myself a coffee. “What did you learn?”
“We’ve tied it back to the cartel. To El Pastor.”
I spy the notepad filled with names and arrows and momentarily forget about the coffee.
My skin tingles with frenetic energy. It’s familiar. Addictive. It’s how I feel when I’m close to the winning hand.
“Talk me through it,” I say as I approach the Nespresso machine, keeping him and the notepad in my sight.
His attention remains on me. It shouldn’t matter. But it does.
The machine spits out my coffee and I join him at the desk. We’re not touching, but we’re close.
He walks me through Meridian Risk Solutions—on paper, a perfectly legal influence operation. In practice? There’s rot beneath the surface. I can feel it even before the facts finish stacking. The same instinct that’s never failed me before.
The Alpine Refuge Network, a Swiss conduit for cartel money. Not drug money exclusively—not anymore. These networks diversify. Guns, people, whatever moves through the same laundering pipes with the least resistance. Trafficking is just another commodity to them.
The DHS authorization was shaped by Meridian consultants on Alpine’s board. The payment timing—that’s a clincher.
He also shares that Quinn’s pulled three other trafficking cases with similar timelines before getting dropped—that’s pattern evidence. And then, lastly, the personal detail—the metadata cluster after my car accident, the theoretical brake line failure.
I’ve pulled up a chair, listening, following the tip of his pencil as he taps each point on his pad.
“What do you think?” If this were Michael Harridan, or any of the other A-types in the DOJ, he’d be detailing all the next steps without ever considering my take. But that’s not Gabriel. He respects me. And that matters.
I sit back in the chair, half zoning, half contemplating. And then everything crystallizes. “This isn’t just DOJ. This is DHS, FBI, maybe higher.” I reach for the pad and one of the pens sitting on the desk and turn his laptop so I can review the screen.
“It’s all there,” Gabe says. “Quinn formatted for easy review.”
“This is incredibly detailed. Wire transfers, metadata, authorization chains. How did—” a sinking feeling balls in the pit of my stomach. “ARGUS.”
Gabe tilts his head, expression inquisitive, not defensive. “Does it matter?”
“Yes. It matters. Because none of this is admissible.”
“It tells you where to look.”
“That’s not how prosecutions work, Gabe. I can’t walk into a judge’s chambers and say, ‘a private AI surveillance system told me to subpoena these records.’ I need legal predicate. Probable cause. Clean evidence chains.”
“So we build it.”
“How? If I request financial records on Meridian Risk Solutions without a predicate, they’ll know someone tipped me off. If I subpoena DHS authorization logs without a reason, I expose that I know what to look for. The second I move, they’ll know I have a source.”
“Then we move carefully.”
I chew on the end of the hotel pen—and then close my eyes, breathing out frustration. “Careful won’t re-open Operation Safe Passage. Or my case.” My voice tightens despite my effort to keep it steady. “If the case doesn’t re-open, I can’t get justice for Lina. I can’t stop this trafficking ring.”
“We’ll get all the evidence you need to force the DOJ to re-open the case.”
I can’t sit still, so I stand and pace.
Putting up obstacles won’t help us. Besides, one thing I live by—when an obstacle appears, find a way around it.
“Alright,” I say, the fog clearing as the path sharpens. “We’ll use the ARGUS intelligence as a roadmap but build legally admissible evidence through proper channels.”
Gabe crosses his arms over his chest—which is a good look—but it’s the admiration in his expression that has me looking away, not in shame. That’s not it. Just slightly uncomfortable. But, I have to shake that feeling off—and focus.
“Let’s think this through,” I say, my back to Gabe, as I gaze through the French doors at the view of Lake Geneva. “Meridian Risk Solutions received payments before the case obstruction. Right? That’s what your dates show.”
“Confirmed,” Gabe says.
“I can file an FOIA request for DOJ case status updates on all trafficking cases in the last two years. I’ll say I’m reviewing departmental patterns for resource allocation analysis.”
“Sounds like what any reasonable person on personal leave from her job would do.” I don’t need to see his grin to know he’s mocking me. I can hear it. Feel it.
“If they get wind of it, in a way it fits with my reputation. If the public record shows multiple cases stalled at the same review tier, it’ll establish a pattern and provide probable cause for a deeper investigation.”
Gabe pulls the notepad toward him and picks up the pen, uncapping it with his teeth.
“Are you messaging someone?”
“Nope. Taking notes. Go on.”
“Okay.” I slip my thumbnail between my teeth, then snap my fingers—Alpine.
“So, we know Alpine Refuge Network funded the facility Lina was sent to. There’s a legal path there with the Swiss corporate registry and the NGO public filings.
After the death of a witness, investigating the facilities where US-transferred witnesses were housed is a natural step.
And we’ll find the paper trail showing the Alpine and facility connection.
” I pause and point at Gabe. Adrenaline hums through me, almost electric, chasing away everything else. This is going to work.
“Put on the list for me to do: Request DHS records on NGO certifications used for witness transfers.”
Now what else? I swing behind the desk to review Gabe’s notes. His handwriting is remarkably distinct. Each letter written with precision, like an engineer. Three other cases. Similar timing. Another snap of my fingers.
“ARGUS is showing other witnesses.”
He reads his notes. “Two recanted.”
“That’s fine. I’ll contact the victim advocates who worked those cases for a witness protection protocol review. Write that down for me to do.”
At my direction, he notates.
I think through that angle, and the tingles intensify. Advocates will want to work with me. If there’s been unusual pressure or sudden case closures, they’ll share. And they may be a source of potential cooperating witnesses.
The payment notation on his notepad grabs my attention next.
Payment timing that correlates with Lina’s transfer.
The legal path is to convene the grand jury and subpoena financial records.
With the pattern of case obstruction plus witness deaths, that’s a racketeering predicate.
If we can compel banks to produce wire transfer records, it’ll be legally obtained evidence.
As a bonus, grand jury proceedings are sealed—which will buy time as we build the case.
What else? I scan his notes: The Swiss facility.
“Add this to the list. Put a formal request through the DOJ Office of International Affairs. A US witness died in a Swiss facility under suspicious circumstances. This will ensure the Swiss investigation occurs. Might even lead to potential extradition for facility staff. And this one should be a slam dunk—international requests don’t require disclosure of intelligence sources. ”
“Can you do all this while you’re on leave?”