Irrefutable Evidence Page 9

  “Can I help you?” she called through the door.

  “Ms. Yim, ma’am? There’s been a change of plans. We need to get you to the airport a bit earlier than planned. Didn’t Agent Brenner call you?”

  “Um, no.”

  She pulled the oversized white robe tighter around her and unchained the deadbolt. Then she caught herself, remembering the U.S. Attorney’s admonition to take every precaution, even if she felt as though she were overreacting.

  “I’m sorry,” she called again. “Could you hold up your identification?”

  “Sure thing, ma’am.”

  She watched through the fisheye while he pulled out a leather case and pressed a Federal Bureau of Investigations badge up to it. It looked legitimate to her, but the truth was, she probably wouldn’t have been able to distinguish a counterfeit from the real thing. But he knew Brenner’s name. And hers.

  She opened the door.

  He smiled reassuringly as he stowed the identification back in his breast pocket. “Good for you, asking me to identify myself. I’m sorry for the mix-up. We got word that PennDOT’s going to have one lane closed for construction this morning. We wouldn’t want to miss the flight because of traffic.”

  “No, of course not,” she agreed, smiling back at him. “I need a few minutes, okay?” She gestured toward her hair.

  “Yes, ma’am. You get dressed and pack up. I’ll wait out here.”

  She nodded and closed the door, realizing belatedly that she hadn’t gotten his name. Awkward.

  She hurried back through the bedroom to finish drying her hair, waving the hairdryer over her head frantically. She pulled on a sweater and the pair of jeans she’d bought with Charlotte Cashion’s money. She made one final sweep of the room to confirm she hadn’t left anything behind, shrugged into her coat, and wheeled her bag to the door.

  The agent held the door for her while she walked out into the hall.

  “All set?” he asked.

  “All set.”

  He was silent during the short wait for the elevator and the equally short ride down to the lobby. When the doors opened, he waited for her to exit first. She stood in the lobby feeling unmoored, uncertain of where to go. Given the early hour, the lobby was dimly lit and quiet. No one appeared to be stationed behind the front desk, although the door leading to an office just beyond it was ajar.

  “Should I check out?”

  “The department’ll take care of that. Come on, the car’s out front.”

  He headed for the doors and a sleek black car that sat just outside, perched on the pedestrian walkway, its blinkers flashing. She hesitated at the automatic door. It opened, closed, and opened again, the motion sensor confused by her failure to pass through.

  The agent popped the trunk and gestured for her bag.

  “Something wrong, ma’am?” he asked, craning his neck to look at her with a concerned expression.

  Yes, she thought. Something felt wrong, but she didn’t know what was making her uneasy. The sudden change in plans, the dark morning sky, the fact that she didn’t actually know his name?

  He stared back at her, waiting for an answer.

  “Uh, no. Sorry,” she said, feeling foolish. She scurried toward him and handed off her bag. He placed it in the trunk and slammed the lid shut, then walked around to the rear passenger side of the car, opened the door, and ushered her inside.

  She settled back against the leather backrest and secured her seatbelt while he got in the driver’s seat, locked the doors, and put the car into gear.

  “Off we go,” he said as he eased the car off the sidewalk and turned a tight circle to merge out into the deserted street,

  “Oh, shoot,” she said with sudden realization. “My phone’s in my suitcase,”

  He met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “You aren’t going to need it.” His voice was flat, emotionless.

  “Pardon?” Butterflies took flight in her stomach.

  “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s better not to use it? Too easy to trace your movements that way. You might as well wear a tracking device.”

  “Oh. No, no one mentioned it.” She relaxed slightly, mollified by the explanation. She stared out the window, ignoring the tightness in her throat. Before lunchtime, she’d be home. She was certain she’d feel better once she was safely out of Pittsburgh. Back on familiar territory.

  The car rolled along the quiet city streets. They crossed one bridge and then another. The gray river looked cold and dirty in the near darkness.

  The agent made a sharp turn off the main road and onto a bumpy, narrow street. Her body swerved with the car’s movement.

  “Shortcut,” he said in answer to her unasked question.

  There’d been no traffic. So the sudden detour seemed unnecessary. The butterflies resumed their fluttering. She wished she had her phone, a newspaper, anything to distract her and pass the time.

  She cleared her throat and stared out the window at a hulking stone building.

  “What’s that?”

  He seemed to know what she was asking without looking. “It’s an abandoned oil refinery. Back in the day it was hopping. Now there’s nothing but rats in there—and a family of eagles that feeds off them.”

  Gross.

  He pulled up in front of a low metal gate. The gate was ajar, probably rusted into place by the looks of it. She squinted into the pre-dawn gloom.

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer. He nudged the car through the gate and across the cracked and broken pavement. A lone streetlight cast a shadow that stretched across the lot.

  “Agent—,” her voice sounded strained, high and tense, even to her.

  He didn’t respond. He drove the car straight into the building, carefully guiding it through a door that may once have been a loading bay. He killed the engine and shifted his weight to turn and look directly at her.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name,” she said. Her voice sounded faint and weak to her own ears.

  “You don’t need to know my name.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sasha was three minutes and thirty-eight seconds into her plank when her cell phone rang. Ignore it, she ordered herself. Whoever it is can leave a message.

  She gritted her teeth and blocked out the ringtone. Her arms shook. Sweat dripped into her eyes. She refused to stop. Daniel had challenged her at her last Krav Maga class to hold a plank pose for four minutes the next time he saw her. So she was going to hold one for five. No excuses. And then, because she hadn’t been Daniel’s student for more than a decade without learning all his tricks, she was going to throw in a round of side planks and plank pushups at the end. She could recover on the beach this weekend.

  Her cell phone sprang to life again at the four-minute, twenty-six-second mark. A primal noise, part grunt, part groan escaped her lips. She told herself if the phone was still ringing at four minutes, thirty seconds, she’d answer it.

  It was. So she collapsed to the floor, panting, and rolled over to retrieve it from the end table.

  “Yes?”

  “Sasha, it’s Charlotte. Charlotte Cashion. I’m terribly sorry to bother you so early.” Charlotte’s voice shook.

  Sasha sat bolt upright. Charlotte was calling her at six o’clock in the morning. And she was clearly upset. Whatever she was about to say, it wasn’t going to be good news.

  “What happened?”

  Charlotte didn’t bother to pretend there wasn’t an issue. Sasha gave her credit for that and, fairly or not, noted that most male attorneys would have wasted at least a minute or two explaining how whatever happened was someone else’s fault. Well, not Will. Will was an anomaly.

  “Yim’s MIA.”

  “Pardon?”

  “She’s missing, Sasha. I’m not sure what happened. The agent in charge of her security detail went to the hotel yesterday morning to escort her back home and she was gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Vanished. No traces. Her
room was clean. No signs of struggle. She somehow slipped by the agent stationed at the hotel, but she didn’t check in for her flight. Her car’s still in short-term parking at the airport in Jersey. Her cell phone rolls to voicemail. Her credit cards haven’t been used. She’s just disappeared.”

  “I thought you were going to protect her.” She tried to keep all trace of anger out of her voice, but she was pretty sure she failed miserably.

  “I did—we did.” Charlotte’s retort was instant and insistent. “She could have just gotten spooked. It happens.”

  Sasha pretended not to hear the pleading note that had crept into her former classmate’s voice. “Really? You think she decided to disappear in Pittsburgh. Just leave her family and home behind and start a life on the run?”

  Charlotte exhaled audibly. Sasha turned, stretching her back and waited for Charlotte to craft an appropriate bureaucratic response.

  “I can’t pretend to know what goes through someone’s mind in Ms. Yim’s situation and neither can you.”

  Actually, Sasha had a pretty good idea of the thoughts that occur to a person who realizes she has a target on her back. And she doubted the prevailing idea would be to run for it. Most people, rightly or wrongly, would put their trust in the federal law enforcement machine to keep them safe.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “The Bureau is obviously out there running down every lead, looking for her. We’ll find her. But in the meantime, I need to ask you to do me a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “A big one.” Charlotte paused. “I need you to agree to testify before the grand jury.”

  “What?” Sasha’s initial reaction was to laugh, but she managed to stop herself. “Not a chance.”

  “Just hear me out, please. I put in my request to convene a grand jury right after you left my office on Friday. The process has already begun.”

  “So withdraw it until you locate your witness and start over. Or get it scheduled out far enough that you have time to find her. The law is nothing if not a series of continuances and delays. Isn’t that what Professor Berenson used to say?”

  “Sure, of course. But here’s my problem: there’s a leak somewhere in the system. Everyone knows it, no one can prove it or even pinpoint it. But you can be sure that the Manetto family heard about the grand jury request within the hour of my making it. The longer I delay, the more time it gives them to cover their tracks, destroy evidence, intimidate witnesses, and heaven only knows what else.”

  “So, proceed without her. You have the data,” Sasha pointed out.

  “I do. But I need someone who understands it to walk the grand jury through it. If anyone knows it as well as Yim does, it’s you. You uncovered it, and you can explain it.”

  “Listen, you’re right, you have a problem. I did my part. I brought Laura Yim to you. The fact that organized crime has its hooks in your office doesn’t exactly make me feel warm and fuzzy about Yim’s whereabouts—nor does it encourage me to help you solve what we agree is your problem by risking my life.”

  “I didn’t peg you as a coward. Guess I was wrong.”

  This time Sasha didn’t bother to stifle her laughter. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve spent too much time in the testosterone-bathed prosecutor’s office if you think you’re going to goad me into doing this by challenging my manhood. Come on, Charlotte.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m out of options. I don’t think Yim’s in danger, truly. But I have an agent undercover with the Manettos. He’s gotten very close to the underboss. His life’s at risk now. I have to close the circle, convene the grand jury, and secure an indictment fast—before he ends up as collateral damage in all this. Sasha, please. He’s one of mine.” Charlotte sound like she was crying, nearly sobbing in her desperation.

  A frisson of sympathy cut through Sasha. The loyalty that was driving Charlotte reminded her so much of Connelly and his devotion to his colleagues in whatever shadowy division of the Department of Homeland Security actually employed him. Once her mind ran to Connelly, she knew she was sunk.

  “Okay,” she said with no enthusiasm.

  Charlotte sniffled. “Okay, as in you’ll testify?”

  “Yes. I’ll testify, on two conditions. First, this has to happen before Christmas. I know that only gives you three days, but I have an anniversary trip planned beginning the twenty-sixth and I don’t want this hanging over my head.”

  “I’ll make it happen,” Charlotte promised firmly. All traces of her earlier panic and emotion were gone. “What’s the second condition?”

  “There’s a guy named Hank Richardson. He works for Homeland Security, has all the highest-level clearances, has contacts across agencies and departments.”

  “What about him?”

  “I want you to add him to the team looking for Laura Yim.”

  Charlotte spluttered. “I can’t just do that—“

  “Sure you can. He’ll be a valuable resource, a consultant, if you will. I’ll have him call you in thirty minutes. Make it happen by then, okay?”

  There was silence as Charlotte calculated whether there was any room for negotiation. She apparently calculated correctly because after a moment she said, “Fine. I’ll be in the office by then. He can call me there.”

  “Great.”

  “And I’ll be in touch later today with a time for you to testify. I’m guessing tomorrow will be the earliest I can get a grand jury seated.”

  “Tomorrow’s fine. Goodbye, Charlotte.”

  “Wait.”

  “What?” Sasha said impatiently. She needed to bang out those plank pushups, call Hank, and hit the shower. And break the news to Connelly, she reminded herself. That was going to be a fun conversation.

  “I just want to say thank you. Thank you for agreeing to testify.”

  “You’re welcome.” She ended the call and dropped into position for her pushups. She could worry about how big of a mistake she’d made after she finished working out.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “You did what?” Leo stared at his wife, who was looking back at him with an expression that appeared to be blank yet somehow managed to convey barely-concealed irritation.

  “You’re yelling,” she said before repeating herself. “And I said I agreed to testify at a secret grand jury proceeding considering indictments related to the arson-for-profit scheme the Manetto family is operating.”

  He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he counted to ten again for good measure. When he was sure he could keep his voice modulated, he opened his eyes and said, “I’m sorry I yelled.”

  “It’s okay. I forgive you.” She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek. “I don’t like it either.” Her voice was as soft and warm as her hand.

  He grabbed her hand and held it against his chest, pulling her close. “Let’s be clear. I don’t ‘not like it.’ I hate it. This is a terrible, dangerous, foolish idea. What happened to letting the authorities stop the bad guys? Did I dream that conversation?” He was hot, as if he were burning from the inside out.

  She pushed her palms against him and sat back, forcing him to meet her sad, scared eyes. “Listen to me. Charlotte’s lost her witness. Laura Yim has vanished.”

  The heat building in him, dissipated, replaced by a chill of pure fear. “When? How?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I told Charlotte one of the two conditions she had to meet if I’m going to testify is to loop Hank into the search for Yim. At least we’ll have some idea of what’s going on, and Hank can prevent them from doing anything too stupid.”

  He nodded grudgingly. “That’s smart. Have you talked to Hank?”

  “I called him while you were still sleeping. He’s on board.” She glanced at her watch. “He’s probably already talked to Charlotte by now.”

  Leave it to his wife to risk more lives before breakfast than most people risk all day. He almost laughed at the thought. Almost. But her looming
testimony overshadowed any humor he found in his weak joke.

  “Still. It’s not your job or obligation to pinch hit for Yim just because some prosecutor can’t keep tabs on her own witness.”

  “There’s more.”

  Of course there was; there was always more. “What’s that?”

  “The prosecutor’s office has an FBI agent working undercover. He’s ingratiated himself pretty deeply into the crime family. And Charlotte’s concerned that he’s potentially vulnerable. She already started the ball rolling on the grand jury proceeding before Yim disappeared. If she delays the indictment to find Yim …” Sasha trailed off, either unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

  “Her guy on the ground is exposed,” he said.

  “Right.”

  He sighed heavily. This Charlotte Cashion woman was right. Her agent would be in danger during any lull in activity. What self-respecting criminal enterprise wouldn’t take advantage of a delay to tie up any loose ends? And Sasha was right to step up to protect the man, whoever he was. Leo’s years of service made that an easy call. But he didn’t have to like it. And he didn’t have to let her know he agreed with her behavior. Finally he said, “What’s the other condition?”

  “I’m testifying tomorrow. I want this done and over with before Christmas and before our anniversary trip.”

  She said it as if it were just one more task to check off her to-do list: make cookies, wrap gifts, testify in front of secret grand jury regarding murderous organized crime ring, pack for the beach. For the briefest moment, he imagined shaking her to her senses. But she’d probably break his arm if he tried that.

  “Well get dressed.”

  “What?”

  “Congratulations, you’ve won an armed escort for the week. From now until we get on that plane Friday morning, you go nowhere alone. Let’s get this show on the road.” He gently placed her hands in her lap and walked over to the closet to pick out a jacket that would conceal his shoulder holster. If he couldn’t stop her from engaging in patently dangerous activities and risking her neck, he’d just have to make sure she didn’t get herself killed. He steadied his hands and reached for his gun box.