Cask Strength, page 18
“There was a noise outside my place last night. I thought it was the neighbor’s cat wanting in. I opened the door and someone jumped me.”
“They used you as leverage to get me here.”
“Why’d you come?”
“They threatened to hurt you.”
“Jamie.” Derrick’s voice was soft, tinged with more than just fear.
“They also threatened to tell the press about us.”
“Are you saying there is an us?”
“Christ, Derrick, no.” At the kicked-puppy look, Jamie regretted his retort. Not because it wasn’t true, but because he’d delivered the blow when Derrick was beaten, scared and couldn’t fight back. And because his ex wasn’t the only reason he’d gone willingly into his kidnappers’ hands. But that was beside the point at the moment. Right now, he needed a location he could feed to Aidan. “Do you have any idea where we are?”
“No, it doesn’t look familiar, and I was out when they brought me in.”
Squinting, Jamie took in the room anew, observing it through an agent’s lens. By the location of the windows, they were in a basement. The old post office at the depot? He couldn’t tell from this angle. He needed to see outside, but bound as he was, that was impossible.
The depot would be the first place Aidan searched. Meanwhile, he had to figure out how to play the situation and how to send Aidan more clues, if they weren’t at the depot. Shifting, he pressed his ear to the wall and listened. A hum as familiar to him as his favorite song reached his ears. Hard drives, several server racks’ worth, and computers. They, whoever the coconspirators revealed themselves to be, had brought him in after all.
“Jamie, what are we going to do?”
“Shh.” Approaching footsteps carried through the wall. “Someone’s coming.”
Blake was first through the door, Neil a step behind.
Across from him, Derrick gasped.
Neil regarded him coolly.
“You two know each other?” Jamie asked.
“I was fucking him, before he decided to get back with you.”
And there was motive and an explanation for the other assistant’s hostility.
Jamie’s head whipped to Derrick. “You told him about us?”
“He didn’t have to,” Neil said. “He mentioned his ex was a former baller, and I saw him lingering outside the auditorium the day you were introduced. After what happened in the locker room with Press, I put it together.”
“This whole thing?” Jamie didn’t buy it. From what he’d seen, neither Neil nor Blake were smart enough to pull this off. Turned out he was right. The two parted and a third person stepped between them. Jamie clenched his jaw to keep it from hitting the floor.
In the dim lighting, Marcus’s grin appeared more maniacal than genuine. “These two fools thought Derrick would be leverage enough. I wasn’t sold. I saw how you and Mr. Daley kept sneaking looks at each other during practice and the game. We just needed a few compromising shots, and boy did you put on a show last night. Neil got a phone full of them.”
He tossed a stack of pictures on the floor. More of him and Aidan. Anguished, Derrick looked away. Jamie couldn’t. “How’d you get into the neighborhood?”
“My parents live there,” Neil said. “Security let us right through.”
As his mind replayed the past few days, searching for clues he’d missed, something else in Marcus’s words registered. He’d called Aidan “Mr. Daley,” called him “Coach.” Their covers held. They didn’t know this was a sting.
“We hear you’re good with computers,” Marcus said. “Need you to do us a favor.”
Ethan had fed them that information; the AD was definitely involved.
“What sort of favor?”
“Just a little programming.”
“You could have asked.”
“Well, see, what I need you to do is illegal, but your boyfriend here—”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Right,” Neil said. “That would be Ian.” His words were aimed directly at Derrick, as were the pictures he kicked his direction.
“You left the game to protect that secret.” Marcus jutted his chin at Derrick. “Figure you’ll help me out to keep that one,” he said with a nod to the photos.
“Jamie, you don’t have to this,” Derrick said.
Oh, but he did. The stakes were higher than any of them realized. His and Aidan’s lives, reputations and careers would be ruined if those pictures saw the light of day. With evidence like that, there’d be no plausible deniability.
“What do you need me to do?”
* * *
Grant’s Bureau-issue sedan spit gravel as he swung into the depot lot and parked next to Paulson’s truck. Aidan gripped the door handle, fighting his instinct to charge inside after his partner. They’d agreed on a limited tactical approach and ordered FBI backup to hold a block away. The tracker he’d put on Blake was in there. Until they determined whether cartel operatives were also on-site, they didn’t want to spook anyone or provoke a gunfight.
Seeing Chancellor Polk and a suit standing in front of the run-down post office, Aidan reconsidered that decision. He hadn’t taken charge of this rescue in spite of his shredded insides to deal with legal posturing. He’d done enough of that already this week.
“Lawyer with her?” Grant said.
“That’d be my guess.” He pushed open the door, opened the umbrella he’d swiped from Jamie’s closet, and made his way across the parking lot, flanked by Grant and Paulson.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Polk asked.
“You’ve got the warrant,” Aidan said. “I assume your attorney’s read it and explained it to you. Evidence of drug use was found on the premises.”
“And how did you obtain said evidence?” the suit said.
“By walking in the open front door,” Paulson replied. “Since the Polk family purchased this property six months ago, they’ve done nothing to secure it. No locked gate, no boarded windows, no door locks. This place is a nuisance that attracts vandals and drug dealers. It’s a threat to public safety.”
“Why’s the FBI investigating a minor drug matter?” the attorney asked.
“Does this have something to do with—” Polk paused, glanced at her attorney, then back to Aidan “—the other case?” So she hadn’t told her attorney about the gambling and identity theft. If she were involved, she would have asked him to cover her ass, to come up with a credible defense. The attorney’s responses so far indicated he was in the dark.
Aidan kept his response vague. “The evidence collected puts the primary suspect in our other investigation at the scene here.”
“Evidence being DNA on a smoked roach?” the attorney said.
“And imprints in the dust that match his shoe size and tread,” Paulson added.
“Maybe he’s a druggie,” Polk said.
“Maybe,” Aidan replied. “But we still need to look around. We have legal authorization to do so.”
“This place is set for demo in a month. The fences are going up next week. I’d heard there was a problem but I didn’t—”
“Chancellor,” the attorney said. “I’d advise you not to say more.”
Polk’s worried gaze bounced around to each of them and finally landed back on Aidan. “I had no idea it was connected to the other matter.”
Aidan believed her, but he didn’t have time to placate her right now. Jamie could be in there. He needed to get inside. “Chancellor, if you want this case over and done with, you need to let us through.”
“We can challenge this, Liz,” the attorney said. “If they’re after something else—”
“Let them through.”
Aidan didn’t wait for the attorney’s go-ahead. Shoving past them, he shut his umbrella outside the doorless front entrance and drew his gun, holding it down in front of him. “We go in silent,” he said. “Hand cues only and tread lightly. Where’s the entrance to the subfloor?” he asked Paulson.
“According to the plans, back right corner, in the floor. There were boxes there last time. That’s why I didn’t see it.”
“I’ll go left, Grant right, Paulson through the middle. We converge at the subfloor door.”
They nodded, and Aidan led them inside before breaking left. The lack of boarded windows provided enough light to maneuver and to see evidence of recent foot traffic. The faint odor of pot lingered, and scattered roaches, cigarette butts and empty forties littered the floor.
He met Paulson and Grant at the subfloor door and helped push the boxes aside. Beneath them was a locked in-floor hatch. Withdrawing a lock pick set from his coat pocket, Aidan unlocked it in under a minute.
“Nice work,” Grant whispered.
Aidan nodded and lifted up. The hatch door swung open smoothly, without a squeak. A good sign; it’d been kept up and recently used. As they descended the steps, the smell of pot faded and a humming sound reached Aidan’s ears. They swept their flashlights around the basement. Cleaner than upstairs, it was free of roaches, bottles and dust. Grant tapped his arm and indicated a hallway to their right. At the end, a light flickered from under a closed door.
Aidan signaled to move, and he and Paulson fell in behind Grant.
The hum grew louder and battle-ready adrenaline surged through Aidan. Jamie could be behind that door. He’d get him back safe, close the case, and they’d go home, together. Jamie’s house in Bernal Heights flashed in his mind.
Home.
Grant paused outside the door and pressed his back against the wall. Aidan recognized the hum as a generator, maybe two. Powering servers and computers? Shouldn’t he also hear those?
No voices either.
Maybe Jamie and the others were farther back.
Grant motioned him forward. “Go in soft.”
Gun aimed down, ready to draw if necessary, Aidan pushed the door open and shouted, “FBI.” The call was swallowed by silence.
And crushing disappointment.
But for the generator and hanging utility light, and his business card tossed in the corner, the room was empty.
No servers, no computers, no Jamie.
Chapter Eighteen
As soon as Marcus untied him from the floor, Jamie could have escaped. Marcus and Blake, and Neil too for that matter, were large guys, but Jamie was taller and had at least thirty-five pounds on Blake, the biggest of the three. Add FBI combat training, and even groggy from the drugs, Jamie could disarm them.
But could he do so before one of them got to Derrick? He didn’t want to risk it. Not with the way Neil roughly handled his ex. A chance to get back at Derrick was the carrot used to secure Neil’s cooperation. Jamie didn’t want to test him.
This was also the opportunity he and Aidan needed. Jamie would have direct access to the gambling and spyware programs and he’d identified at least three conspirators. He’d get them to admit what they’d done, those confessions would be witnessed by Derrick, and once he had access to the programs, he’d redirect the cartel-coded bets and feed all the evidence they needed to his remote server. Once Aidan found him, they’d have everything they needed to close the case.
He only hoped in putting his plan into action that he wasn’t also putting Derrick in more danger than he could get them out of.
Marcus led them into the server room down the hall from where they’d been held. Bigger, but with the same sheetrock walls and exposed ceilings. Four server racks, two desktop units, the same as Ethan’s, and a generator were arranged along the far wall. Marcus pushed him toward the computers, and Neil shoved Derrick to the floor in the opposite corner.
“Hey!” Jamie said. “Take it easy.”
Marcus intervened. “Go easy, Cashman. We ain’t trying to hurt anyone here.”
Once Neil relented, Jamie asked Marcus, “What is it you want me to do?”
Marcus explained the gambling program and spyware, and Jamie continued to play like this is was the first he’d heard about it. Marcus wanted him to tweak the spyware so it retrieved more than just the registered user’s information. He wanted all the user’s contacts so they could sell more information to third parties.
“This is illegal, Marcus. How can you gamble on the sport you love?” he said, appealing to the player he’d grown fond of the past few days.
“I’m not the one placing bets.”
“No, you’ve just set up a framework where others can, and used it to steal personal information and sell it to third parties. That’s theft and fraud.” He couldn’t let on about the drugs without blowing his cover, but they needed to understand the situation was very serious.
“Under NCAA rules, I can’t even deliver a pizza. And we’re D2, in a city full of bankers and more rich people by the day. Sue me, us—” he gestured to Blake “—for wanting a little extra cash in our pockets. We’ve earned it.”
Jamie knew the rules. They sucked, for a lot of kids. But most schools had legal means of helping student athletes who needed extra financial assistance. “There are other ways, Marcus.”
“And what would you know about that?” Marcus threw his arms wide, and for the first time, Jamie glimpsed the desperate kid buried beneath the wide smile. “You were recruited out of high school to UNC and offered a full ride.”
“If I make this change, if you start collecting more information and selling it to third parties, we’re talking felony fraud with serious time.”
“Good thing you’re not a fed anymore.”
“And good thing we have those pictures to keep you quiet,” Blake added.
“You’re also going to install a better kill switch,” Marcus said. “I don’t trust the one Blake programmed. It already malfunctioned once.” Because Jamie had tampered with it. “I want all traces of the programs erased the day after the Belmont game, or with a single click, if I need to kill it earlier.”
Jamie had no problem with that demand. A foolproof kill switch, one a hacker like him couldn’t get in and disconnect, was at the top of his list. In fact, he planned to activate it before the other changes went into effect.
“Can you do that?” Marcus asked when he didn’t immediately respond.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good. Get to work.”
“And no funny business,” Neil said, knocking Derrick over and kicking him in the ribs.
Jamie twined his feet around the legs of his chair to hold himself in place. The urge to take Neil out grew by the second. He met Derrick’s eyes, held his gaze until he stopped trembling, then started making the changes Marcus requested.
He tested each change made—using Ian Daley’s account.
* * *
Aidan stormed into the house and threw his sopping coat at the banister. Missing wide, it landed on the foyer floor. He kicked it out of the way as he barreled through to the study. The depot had been a dead end; they were back to square one. Paulson was on her way to check Blake’s apartment, then campus, while Grant, after dropping him off, was headed to pick up Ethan and bring him into the field office for questioning. Aidan wasn’t fucking around any longer.
He was two steps around the corner, headed down the short hallway, when he froze. Feet paralyzed by hope and fear, he stared at the open study door. He was sure he’d shut it before he left. Was Jamie back? Were his kidnappers here, after something else? Had Renaud tracked them to North Carolina?
A shadow fell across the study floor, and Aidan, kicked into motion by instinct and training, flew back around the corner. Flattening himself against the wall, his hand shot to his sidearm as he waited and listened.
He sniffed the air, detecting traces of Old Spice, not his partner’s cologne. His stomach plummeted in disappointment while his muscles tensed to strike.
He peeked around the corner. The shadow grew bigger, creeping toward the door, and the unmistakable click of a safety coming off ripped through the silence. Aidan drew his gun, holding it cocked in front of him.
“Talley, is that you?”
Hearing the familiar Boston accent, Aidan lowered his gun and fell back against the wall. “Fucking hell, Byrne.”
The other agent came around the corner, and his dark eyes grew saucer-wide.
Aidan realized he probably looked a shock, sopping wet in jeans and one of his sweaters. Not the three-piece suit Byrne was used to. “Sorry, rough morning.” Aidan smoothed the wet hair off his forehead and remembered it wasn’t just overly long and unruly. It was red. And he hadn’t checked his accent.
“It’s part of the cover.” He grabbed Byrne’s pistol by the barrel, switched the safety on, and handed it back, butt first. “What are you doing here and how did you get in?”
“I’ve got a spare key.” He reholstered his weapon. “Cruz called. She said you needed a K&R assist. For Jamie. Didn’t believe her then. Believe her even less now.”
“How do you figure?”
Byrne lifted his other hand, holding out a folded piece of paper. “Found this in the study, on his computer.”
Aidan knew with absolute certainty he wasn’t going to like what that note said. He should tell Byrne to tear it up, avoid it like the land mine he sensed it was, but any information about his partner’s whereabouts was better than nothing. He unfolded the note and read the last words he expected.
Derrick needs me. I’m sorry. —Walker.
Aidan changed his mind. He much preferred nothing. He dropped the paper and it fluttered to the floor, landing on his booted foot. He kicked it off, violently.
What the fuck? Needed him how? And why did Jamie sign it “Walker”?
Aidan thought they were past that. Jamie had demanded “Walker” when he’d needed distance, when he’d been torn between his past life and the present one. But last night Jamie had said he didn’t want Derrick, that he only wanted him, that he was his home.
