CHAPTER NINE
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
Sean Rogan woke up early Thursday morning and walked eight blocks to the gym with his partner at RCK East, Patrick Kincaid.
“Did you find anything on Laughlin?” Patrick asked.
“So far, he appears clean and I haven’t found any connections between him and Lucy or with anyone in your family. But it’s taking forever to get what I need.”
Patrick laughed. “You get pissy when you can’t break the rules.”
“I don’t break the rules.” Much. “I bend them.”
Sean usually sent the grunt work for background checks to RCK headquarters in Sacramento—they had more staff than the two-man office he and Patrick ran in D.C. In the digital age, information and how it was obtained changed rapidly. It took time to legally and quietly research anyone, and running a background on a federal agent had to be handled with special care.
In addition, Sean didn’t want his brother looking over his shoulder. Duke wouldn’t have a problem with a pro bono request from Lucy, but Sean preferred to keep his personal projects personal.
“So what do you know?” Patrick asked.
“Laughlin’s thirty-nine, from Missouri, been an agent for fourteen years, master’s from Northwestern in accounting—who gets a master’s in accounting?”
Patrick rolled his eyes. He opened the gym door for Sean and they both swiped their membership cards at the kiosk.
“He’s worked on the White Collar Squad in Detroit for the past five years, part of the joint gang task force, where his specialty is money laundering. He’s SWAT certified, but not part of the Detroit mobilization team.”
“Sounds like a good guy.”
“On paper.” He was harassing Lucy, and that made him an a*shole in Sean’s book.
“What does Lucy think she’s going to get from this information?”
“I’m not done.” They dropped their bags against the wall and picked up free weights. “She just wants information to help her figure out why he dislikes her.”
“Slight exaggeration?”
“If you’d talked to Lucy, you’d think the same thing. If this guy’s harassing her—”
“You’ll stay out of it,” Patrick said. “Don’t make waves, not now.”
It irritated Sean that Patrick thought he’d jeopardize Lucy’s career. “I’m doing what she asked. She can use the information as she sees fit.”
Patrick hadn’t been happy when Sean first started dating his sister, but Sean supposed if he had a younger sister he’d be protective as well. Patrick seemed to have adjusted over the last few months, which was a relief, since they’d been friends long before Sean fell in love with Lucy.
Sean continued, “I think she talked to Kate, and whatever happened, Lucy is now more concerned. She didn’t give me the details, but there’s something weird going on. I trust her instincts.”
“So if Lucy knows his history, she can profile him and adjust the way she interacts.”
Sean nodded. “That’s how Lucy would handle it.”
“Maybe it’s you he has the problem with,” Patrick teased. “From your old days.”
Any other time, Sean would have laughed—it was common knowledge that he’d been a gifted hacker and now was hired to test Internet security for companies and governments. But he was worried about one crime no one was supposed to know about—yet at least one person did. Five more months and the statute of limitations would be up, and then Sean could breathe easier.
“Didn’t know you were so touchy,” Patrick said.
“You might be right, but it might not be me, specifically. Remember how Noah Armstrong hated me because of RCK?”
Patrick glanced at him with mock surprise. “You mean he likes you now?”
Sean glared at Patrick. Special Agent Noah Armstrong wasn’t Sean’s favorite person. Whether Noah admitted it or not, it was obvious he was infatuated with Lucy, and that irritated Sean. But they had called a truce, and Sean respected Noah. “Regarding Laughlin,” Sean continued, “he could very well have a problem with Lucy because of another Kincaid. No military service, but I can go a little deeper. The sooner I find the connection the better for Lucy. Information is power.”
“Good thing, it keeps our bills paid. If you need my help, let me know.” Patrick waved at an attractive tall and lanky blonde who smiled as she approached them. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“Who’s that?”
“Brandy. We’re playing racquetball.”
“Brandy Dale?”
“Yep.” Patrick had been seeing the daughter of one of their former clients, but Sean hadn’t met Brandy yet.
“We should go out this weekend, the four of us.”
Patrick shook his head. “It’s not going to last.”
“You know that?”
“Yeah, unfortunately I do. I’ll tell you later.” Patrick smiled and met Brandy halfway. He kissed her warmly; then they walked toward the racquetball courts.
Very strange. And it threw a wrench in Sean’s life—he’d been counting on Patrick disappearing this weekend so he and Lucy could have some much-needed alone time. But Sean couldn’t worry about his partner’s love life or this weekend.
Sean finished his basic workout, then ran three miles on the treadmill and considered what Patrick had said about why Laughlin might have an issue with Lucy. By the time he got home an hour later, he had an idea based on the fact that Lucy didn’t want to talk to Kate. There must be history between Laughlin and Kate, and it would have to go back to Kate’s rookie years in the FBI, long before she’d met the Kincaid family. It was a good place to start.
After his shower, Sean pulled Laughlin’s credit reports for the last fifteen years so he could piece together his life in the Bureau. The records provided enough of a skeleton of Rich Laughlin’s financial history to give Sean more paths to follow.
After graduating from Northwestern, Laughlin worked fifteen months at the Chicago accounting firm of Glade and Marsh. They specialized in corporate audits. No surprise that the FBI would recruit from there. How did Laughlin come across their radar? Work on a case that turned criminal? Testify in court? Sean made a note.
Laughlin did his time at the Academy but maintained a Chicago residence for several years, even though he never moved back to the Windy City. Why? Had he planned to return? Have a roommate? A lover? There was no record of any marriage in Illinois, Missouri, or Michigan. He finally sold the condo four years after he left.
After he graduated from the Academy, he’d been assigned to the L.A. field office and took up residence in the San Fernando Valley. Two years later his credit profile shifted east, first D.C. for a short time, then Alexandria, Virginia. Sean did a quick property search and learned Richard Douglas Laughlin had owned a town house in Alexandria and still owned it.
That’s when Sean’s instincts began to twitch.
Sean would bet the bank that Laughlin had worked out of the D.C. regional office before Detroit. There was a slight chance he may have been assigned to national headquarters, but since he only had a few years with the Bureau at the time, Sean gave odds to the field office. Which meant that Laughlin could have worked with Kate.
Sean quickly mapped out a time line. Kate had been in the Washington, D.C., field office twelve years ago—if they overlapped, it would have been only for a few months.
Laughlin had transferred to Detroit five years ago but still owned his town house. Sean did a reverse search and learned that Laughlin leased it to a married couple. A few clicks later, Sean found the current resident: Clark Mitchell, a doctor at GWU, and his wife, Lydia, an analyst for the FBI.
Maybe it wasn’t about Lucy but all about Kate.
Sean needed to dig a little deeper, but he couldn’t call Kate or Hans Vigo. Noah hadn’t been in the D.C. office five years ago. The only thing Sean could do was find out exactly when Laughlin moved to D.C. and determine if Kate was there at the same time. And if she was, Sean would give the information to Lucy and she could decide how to use it.
It was nearly noon when his computer e-mailed him a report. It wasn’t about Rich Laughlin but Peter McMahon. Sean almost forgot he’d started a deep background when Lucy woke him up at almost two in the morning.
Every McMahon it spat out at him wasn’t the Peter McMahon Lucy was looking for. Sean did find a Peter Gray who had attended college in New Jersey, but there was no record of graduation or transfer.
Dropout? The name was common enough that tracking the right one, with no address or Social Security number, would be difficult.
But Sean loved a challenge.