I nod before remembering he can’t see me over the phone. “Yeah, which for obvious reasons didn’t sit right with me. He gave me his business card and said you’d vouch for him. The guy’s a financial analyst, I guess.”
“What’s this guy’s name?”
I look down at the card. “Rafe Garcia. You know him?”
My PI doesn’t say a word for a good thirty seconds. “Could you describe him for me?”
“Mid to late thirties, average build, brown hair, possibly Latino. His voice was pretty gravelly.”
“It’s from an on-the-job injury quite a few years back.”
My brows lift. “So you do know him?”
“Yeah, I know him,” John confirms.
“So what’s his deal? And how does he know about our association?”
John clears his throat. “Well, one thing I can tell you is Rafe’s definitely not a financial analyst, and Garcia is an alias.”
“Like Peterson,” I surmise.
“Exactly.” He chuckles.
“So, if he’s not an analyst, why is he pretending to be one? What does he actually do?”
“He’s an FBI agent—an old buddy of mine. If he told you I’d vouch for him, he wants you to know that.”
John was an agent before he became a private investigator. I’ve always suspected Peterson wasn’t his real last name, but he’s never confirmed that until now. I don’t know much about his past, other than the fact he worked deep undercover. It’s likely why he’s so damn good at his job. He left the bureau after some major shit went down, but couldn’t shake feeling restless. Being a private investigator allows him to get his fix, I guess.
“So, this guy is an agent? You think he’s undercover?”
“I’ll have to make some calls to be sure.”
I let out a heavy breath. “I don’t like that he sought me out at that dinner. What if my dad saw us? What was he doing there in the first place?”
“Kingston, the one thing I do know is that Rafe wouldn’t have approached you unless he felt it was safe. He’s highly trained to assess risk, and he’s damn good at his job.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Do you think the FBI is watching my father or Callahan? Or both?”
“If they are, it’s going to make my job a lot easier.”
“Why’s that?”
I swear I can hear John smiling. “Because the FBI likes to push boundaries when it comes to outside contractors , so to speak. They’ll happily share their information and resources. If Rafe wants me to be their liaison—which I suspect he might, considering the way he approached you—I’d have a lot more manpower at my disposal.”
“Why would the FBI do that? It seems risky.”
“Because if shit goes south and an agent isn’t directly involved, the government can deny any involvement. But if things do go the way they planned, you have the agency behind you to make arrests and protect your anonymity. If you ever see news breaking of a mob bust, that’s a perfect example. They’ll often use someone on the inside because crime outfits don’t take well to newcomers. But you never hear about those people, do you?”
“Why do I feel like I just stepped onto the set of a mafia movie?” I mutter.
“Those are a lot more accurate than one might think.” He laughs. “Rafe obviously knows I’m digging, and if he knows that, it’s because he was looking very carefully. I know how to cover my ass, and only someone with a certain skill set could trace me.”
I stretch my neck from side to side. “And this Rafe guy has that skill set?”
“He does.”
“So, why not just approach you if you already know each other? Why come to me first?”
“What exactly did he say to you?”
“That we had a friend in common—you —and that he wanted me to put a face to a name. He told me to call him to arrange a meet after you vouched for him.”
“Knowing Rafe, it’s as simple as that. You were in the same place simultaneously, and he took the opportunity to meet you in person. He would’ve known I’d fill in the blanks as soon as you talked to me.”
“So, I should call him?”
“Hold off on that for now. Let me make a few calls, and I’ll get back to you with our next steps.”
“You really think this guy could help us take down my father and Callahan?”
“I think it’s worth a shot.”
Well, shit. How can I say no to that?
*
“Damn,” Reed says. “This is a good thing, right?”
I just finished telling Reed and Bentley about John’s FBI friend. They were hanging at Reed’s house, so I came over as soon as I hung up the phone.
“John thinks it could be. He’s going to dig into it a little before figuring out what our next course of action should be. Whatever that is, it needs to happen soon. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Reed frowns. “What do you mean?”
“My dad... his fixation on Jazz. I’ve had no trouble focusing on the endgame for two years, yet it’s a struggle every damn day now since I saw that video of him with Peyton. And with the shit he pulled yesterday? I wanted to kill him, dude. I literally wanted to end his life on the spot. I know he’s planning to do something really messed up, and Jazz is at the center of those plans. It scares the shit out of me.”
“How can you be so sure?” Bentley asks.
“Because I know him,” I deadpan. “I’ve spent my life studying him. The man’s a sociopath and completely fucked in the head. I’ve watched him treat women like shit for years, and I’ve never felt right about it, but that’s not what this is. I’ve never seen him so obsessed over anything. It’s like he wants more than just sex with Jazz. He wants to own her , mind, body, and soul. The craziest part of all... I honestly think he might have some warped idea in his head that she’d want to be with him.”
Bent’s lips thin. “That’s insane.”
“I never said he was sane.” I shrug. “The thing is... I don’t get it. At all. He barely knows her, has been around her less than a handful of times. I think that’s why I feel so off-kilter. It just doesn’t make any damn sense.”
Reed clears his throat. “Could this have anything to do with her mom?”
My eyes swing to him. “What do you mean?”
“He knew her mom, right?”
“Yeah. And?”
“Do you think it’s possible maybe he was obsessed with her , and he’s transferring those feelings onto Jazz?”
My breath whooshes out of me. “Holy shit. Now, that does make sense.”
Why the fuck didn’t I think of that earlier?
Reed lifts a shoulder. “Maybe it’s not so complicated after all.”
“Fuck.” I scrub a hand over my face. “That might make it worse. He would’ve had years to develop an obsession with Jazz’s mom. Who knows what the hell happened between them back then? The only person I could’ve ever flat out asked is dead.”
“Dude, maybe this FBI thing could be the breakthrough you’ve been waiting for.” Bentley pulls the pool cue back and breaks, sinking two stripes. “Maybe you just need to keep him away from Jazz until they can make arrests. Go out of town for a while. You two could make arrangements to take online coursework.”
I shake my head. “She would never leave her sister, and even if that weren’t an issue, Jazz is too fucking stubborn to run. Plus, that would be suspicious as fuck. We can’t afford to do anything that would tip my dad or Callahan off. Besides, we have no idea how long it’ll take for the FBI to do their thing. John said they won’t make a move without enough irrefutable evidence because they only have one shot at it.”
“Well, shit,” Bentley mutters while lining up his next shot.
I take a long pull from my water bottle. “Agreed.”
Bent fiddles with his phone for a sec before Foo Fighters’ “The Pretender” starts blasting through the Bluetooth speakers.
I raise my drink to him. “Nice song choice.”
He smirks. “I thought it was appropriate.”
Bentley finally misses, so Reed grabs a cue and sinks the three-ball. “Ains just texted to say they’ll be here in a few.”
Ainsley and Jazz decided to meet us here after their shopping excursion. Reed’s parents went to their cabin in Tahoe for the long weekend, so we have the place to ourselves. Both of our fathers are home, so Jazz and I will probably crash in one of his guest bedrooms tonight.