They’d promised no secrets, they’d promised to be honest with each other. After what happened in June when Sean risked his life to find a wanted fugitive who had already killed several cops—without telling her first—he’d promised not to put her in that situation again. He wanted to protect her, but in his attempt to keep her from worrying, she stressed that much more. Not knowing was worse.
She, too, had a hard time telling Sean what was bothering her, but she’d worked hard to overcome her insecurities and fears. He helped her, and she knew he wanted to share in the good and the bad.
But this was different. Why wouldn’t he have told her? What could he have been thinking? That she would be angry with him? For something he didn’t know? Or that she would be upset? That she would blame him for not being there? He couldn’t have known—that wasn’t something he would have ever kept from her, not for the two years they’d been together.
Why? Why? Did he not think she could handle the news? That she would fall apart or something? Yes, she was upset—because Sean kept something so important, so personal, from her.
Madison had met with Sean on Monday … she’d come home late, but they’d had a late dinner, they’d showered together, they’d made love … he could have told her. Any number of times that night. The next morning.
And he hadn’t.
She almost didn’t notice that Nate had followed her and Noah out of the FBI building. She glanced back and almost asked why, when she remembered hearing Noah call for Dunning. Nate gave her an odd, questioning look. She smiled at him, though it felt unreal. She had no joy inside, nothing. Nate and Sean were close, and if Nate thought something was bothering her, he might talk to Sean about it. That was the last thing she needed.
She had to get her head in the investigation. She couldn’t let her personal problems interfere with her job.
Noah tossed Nate the keys, and Lucy climbed into the backseat. “I asked Nate to join us because I don’t know what to expect,” Noah said. “We’re going to the property management first. I have a warrant for limited records—got a friendly judge who liked the argument you put together, Lucy.”
“Me?” She barely remembered the conversation.
“Zach came through—he was able to connect the business that owned the brothel property with the business that owns the property outside Freer. I used that to get the AUSA to push a judge—the lawyer didn’t want to do it, but I can be persuasive. We can ask for files of all properties managed by the company that are owned by those two businesses, lists of tenants, rents paid or owed, and contact information for the businesses. The management company needs to communicate with them somehow. Zach pulled ownership records—we know the brothel property was bought four years ago from a bank while it was in foreclosure, and shortly after Barrow’s article came out it was sold to another business—could still be owned by the same people, just trying to clean the slate. The Freer property was bought six months ago from an estate—the original owner had lived in the place for forty-two years, died, and his lone heir sold it on the cheap after it had been on the market for nearly two years.”
“Zach has been busy.”
Nate drove in silence. Lucy looked at he phone, checked her email. It was what she didn’t see that hurt—no message from Sean.
Noah got on the phone, and it took Lucy several minutes to realize he was talking to Rick Stockton. When he hung up, he said to Nate and Lucy, “We have the clear to interview Lance Dobleman. Nate, let’s go there first. It’s early, I want to shake him up. I’m going to get two agents to follow him.” He got back on the phone. Lucy heard him ask for Abigail Durant, the ASAC who oversaw three units, including the Violent Crimes Squad.
Smart. If they shook him up, a tail may lead them to Jasmine … or to the missing girls.
*
By the tone of the conversation, Noah didn’t get the answer he wanted. “Abigail, there is no reason Agent Cook can’t handle a simple field assignment. Follow, do not engage.” Elizabeth Cook, the agent on their squad who didn’t work in the field. The one Juan never assigned to partner with anyone because she handled internal research and the occasional background check.
A moment later Noah said, “Abigail, I need two agents to tail a suspect for at least twenty-four hours, up to seventy-two hours … Cook is the only one who isn’t assigned to a priority case, and she can go out with one of your … I understand, but … You have my assignment report in your inbox.” He listened for a long minute, then said, “We’ll discuss this later, Abigail … since you brought it up, yes, I think it’s a major issue. Juan is well respected, I am the interloper from HQ.” Again, silence. “Honestly, this may sound callous, but I don’t care. I needed all hands this week and keeping a senior agent at her desk wasn’t going to cut it … Yes … No … I’m happy to meet later this afternoon, but you’ll have to give me some flexibility because I don’t know how long I’ll be out … Kincaid and Dunning … Yes, I’m aware. I’ll take any heat if there’s a problem, but I need two agents … Fine, I’ll send you the details, you send whoever you want.”