“Hey,” Wesley, said, answering his phone on the first ring when he saw Selene’s name. “I’m about to talk to Paula Jacobs, so make it quick.” He was sitting in an armored SUV in her driveway about to knock on the woman’s front door at this ungodly hour. The sun wouldn’t be up for a few hours yet.
“Pankov and Karen are here. We’ve got him in a secure waiting room. You want me to send an interrogator in for him or wait for you?” she asked.
Normally Wesley didn’t micromanage, but in this case he wanted to be the one talking to Pankov, especially since he didn’t want any more people than necessary even knowing Pankov was at his facility. “Wait for me. Is that it?” She could have just texted him, so he was surprised she’d called.
“Not exactly. Uh . . .”
Wesley blinked at Selene’s hesitation. A trained sniper and agent, she rarely held back about anything. “Is Karen injured?” he asked, ice snaking through his veins.
“No, it’s not that. We did a full clean of her friend’s townhome.” She paused, clearing her throat. “Freeman informed me that there was a used condom in the master bathroom. It wasn’t that old.”
It took a lot to surprise Wesley. “Pankov and Karen?”
“I’m guessing but I haven’t asked. Should I put her in a waiting room too?” Meaning, did he think Karen was working some angle and had known Pankov longer than she’d let on?
He’d had a team watching Karen about six months before he recruited her and had done an intense background check. All his people had to be thoroughly vetted. It didn’t mean people never turned once they were working with him—he knew that firsthand—but he was going to go with his gut. “No, just keep an eye on her. Don’t let on that you know about them. If there is a ‘them.’” For all Wesley knew, Pankov had forced her. That thought made him want to order his driver to back the hell up and get straight to the office. “I won’t be long here.”
“Okay.”
Once they disconnected he slid his phone into his jacket pocket. “I’m heading in,” he said to his driver.
His driver, who was also former military and part of Wesley’s security team whenever he needed it, frowned in the rearview mirror. “We haven’t done a thorough enough check of her yet. You shouldn’t go in alone.”
“I think I can handle it.” Right now time wasn’t on their side, not with a missing drone out there and one of the Botanic Garden bombing suspects sitting back at his office. And his gut told him that approaching Paula Jacobs, a woman who’d just had a baby a few days ago, with his hulking security guy was just going to piss her off.
Especially since the DEA agent had been so accommodating. He’d contacted her using her private e-mail, wanting to set up a meeting later today, and she’d responded almost immediately, telling him he could meet her now—hours before sunrise.
After a quick knock on the door, the front porch light clicked on. The place was upper middle class, close to a bunch of schools, and from the various toys, bikes, and basketball hoops he’d seen at almost every house on her street, he knew it was a family-friendly neighborhood.
The door opened and a guy who looked as if he could bench-press two of Wesley stood there looking grim and annoyed. His mouth pulled into a thin line. “ID?”
Not exactly surprised Paula’s husband had answered, Wesley pulled out his credentials and showed them to the man. He’d read the woman’s file and knew her husband owned multiple auto body shops in the city. They’d met in college where he’d played football—which, given his size, wasn’t exactly surprising.
Once the man was satisfied, he handed the ID back to Wesley and stepped aside so he could enter. “She’s in the living room,” he said, shutting and locking the door.
Wesley knew the man’s name was Sean, but it was apparent he didn’t plan to introduce himself. Following the giant, he found Paula sitting in a recliner breast-feeding her newborn. She had a blanket thrown over herself and the baby, but it was obvious what she was doing.
He felt like a schmuck interrupting them now, but there was no other option at this point. “Agent Jacobs, I’m sorry to disturb you guys at this hour and on your maternity leave, but I appreciate your meeting with me.”
She gave him a tired smile. Her blond hair was pulled up into a messy bun on her head; she had no makeup on and was still stunningly attractive. “It’s no problem, and you can call me Paula. I knew it would be impossible for me to get away with this little guy attached to me so often. And I also knew we’d be awake, so I figured it’d be easier for you to just come here. Why don’t you sit?” She tilted her head at the nearby couch. “And, honey,” she said to her husband, “will you get Director Burkhart something to drink?”
He shook his head as he sat. “I’m okay, but thanks. And call me Wesley.”
It was clear her husband hadn’t planned to get him anything anyway, as he sat on the edge of the recliner, his expression grim, just staring at Wesley.
Wesley hid a grin when his wife nudged him, clearly annoyed. “Listen, my son is almost done feeding, which means he’ll be going to sleep again soon for about two hours. And we’re both exhausted, so why don’t you just ask whatever it is you need to ask?”
Appreciating her candor, Wesley did just that. “How well did you know Max Southers?”
Paula’s expression turned pained at the mention of Max. “We worked in different divisions, but our paths crossed enough that we were friendly acquaintances. He’s going to be sorely missed. I . . . I wish I could say I can’t believe what’s been happening on the news, but you and I both know how close our country comes to being attacked every day.”
“Do you think there’s a Shia connection to Max’s murder?”
She shrugged and the baby made a grunting sound but didn’t stop what he was doing. “I know what the news reports have been saying, but I don’t know enough about what he works—worked—on to even make an educated guess. I deal more with pharmaceutical and big-business drug crimes, which, considering you’re the director of the NSA and sitting in my house at two in the morning, you already know. Just tell me why you’re here, please.”
“Someone used your security code to revoke clearances for Tucker Pankov, Cole Erickson, Paxton Brooks, and Forest Kane.”
Now her brow furrowed. “The agents from the news? The ones suspected of the bombing?”
He nodded, watching her carefully. People could feign surprise and some were just natural-born liars, but her expression seemed sincere. And he was very good at reading people. “The same.”
“I’d never even heard of them until the news broadcast, which isn’t strange considering how big the DEA is, but . . . are you certain? Why isn’t my boss here, then? I thought maybe you needed to talk to me about one of my older cases or something.”
This was where things got tricky. “It’s likely one or more of your superiors will visit you soon. I didn’t get the information from them.” He wasn’t going to say how he’d retrieved it, but she’d connect the dots.
“Are you trying to accuse my wife of something?” her husband growled, the question not surprising Wesley. “I think we need to call our attorney.”
“I’m not accusing her of anything.” He pinned the man with a stare. “I know she didn’t revoke the clearances, because she was in labor when it happened. My team has checked and there’s no way she”—Wesley looked back at her—“you had anything to do with it. If I’d wanted to make this official, I would have. But I don’t want to bother with red tape right now. I just need answers without involving anyone but us. If you want to call your attorney and your superior and set up an official meeting, fine.” He paused, waiting.
Paula lifted the gurgling baby from her chest and handed him to her husband as she pulled her breast-feeding cover over her shoulder. “Will you burp him and grab me a bottle of water?”
It was clear the man wanted to argue, but he nodded, shot Wesley a dark look, and strode from the room, cuddling the baby on his shoulder.
“Look, my husband’s really overprotective right now.”