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He snorted then coughed again. “You shittin’ me? With this life? Not a chance.”
“Understood. It’s tough on a marriage, the constant danger and worry. I’m glad to hear it. I do hate creating widows. That’s messy.”
There was a spark in his eyes, as if accepting the fact that he would die on this day. Now, I ordinarily wouldn’t yank away hope from an enemy. That was the incentive. That I might possibly allow them to live. Grayson knew better. Why bother? The only leverage I had was the fact he was fully aware I’d make the hours prior to death as painful as possible if he ignored my questions. It was a gamble but one worth taking. At this point of being undercover, sometimes the players had little or no loyalty left to the law enforcement agencies they worked for.
That’s what I hoped I’d be able to tap into today. I’d been good to the man over the eighteen months of close employment. He’d been to my house for family events. That alone pissed me the fuck off. He’d had access to my daughter. My fucking daughter. I’d thought nothing of it. Hell, in a pinch I’d had him guard her on a single occasion. The thought burned me.
“You know the drill, Grayson. You talk, you experience less pain. That’s all I can offer you.”
“You do realize at some point you’ll be questioned about my disappearance.” His voice was stronger than before.
“By whom?” I wanted that much confirmed.
He stared at me with glazed over eyes, his expression one of relief when Maddox finally got him untied. As he rubbed his hands from the obvious ache of the ropes being in position for so long, I scrutinized him, trying to find a moment of patience. The more information I gleaned the better, even if my anger was building to an intolerable level.
“DEA,” he said quietly.
I tipped my head toward Maddox. My days of dealing with arms were almost complete, drugs in our ancient history. The score wouldn’t bring enough of a prison sentence to matter if they found the last supply of weapons I intended on selling overseas. Grayson knew that.
Leaning forward, I folded my hands together, trying to keep my voice as low as possible, devoid of the anger I felt. “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Humor me.”
“It won’t matter, Arman. They’ll use someone else. You’re a smart man. You know that.”
There was something about the way he made the statement that brought up another red flag. “Does that mean there’s another agent attempting to slide into my organization?”
“Not an agent. I don’t know who. I don’t think the handler has thought it through yet.”
Bullshit. I’d watched the tape of him meeting with his contact. He’d been furious at one point. The obvious argument hadn’t needed sound to show he’d been unhappy with what he’d learned. “I think you do, or at least you have an inkling. Who?”
“I don’t. My contact refused to tell me shit. I was supposedly in too deep. There were concerns I was too close to you.”
That much I believed, and he had been too close, something I should never have allowed. I hadn’t been wrong about the man shifting loyalties. Only too little, too late. “Guess.”
“I don’t fucking know who.”
I certainly didn’t think Raven was being used, especially given who her father was. “Let’s go back to an earlier question. Why is the DEA involved?”
Grayson was as drained as Landry had suggested, but it had but only so much to do with his recent incarceration. When he remained quiet, I knew I was reaching my level of patience with the man. I backhanded him and even from a sitting position, managed to toss him off the chair to the decking floor. The entire situation felt far too much like a game, which reminded me of how Thomas had handled the loss of our friendship.
Fuck. He’d nearly undermined my entire family.
Then I jerked up, realizing Landry had already made it out of the marina, heading for open waters. I moved toward the bar. Fuck it for being seven-thirty in the morning. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and a single shot glass. Then I snagged a second, pouring both. By the time I’d brought them to the table, positioning one in front of Grayson, he’d been righted in his chair.
I walked toward the window, studying the ocean. “I’d appreciate your candor, Grayson. For your attempt at providing me with as much information as possible, I will allow your death to be handled with grace given the work you’ve done for me. If not, the sharks will enjoy a feast of blood and intestines. It’s entirely up to you.”
After tossing back the entire shot, I waited for a few seconds before turning around. He hadn’t touched his drink but was alternating his stare between the shot glass and the hammer. When he didn’t say anything, I gave Maddox a nod and shook my head. It would appear he still had some sense of loyalty to his other employer. While I didn’t blame him, I was already weary of the game. In truth, I suspected they had believed he’d slipped too far under to be reliable. Why would the DEA become involved unless it was personal? Hmm… I rubbed my jaw, surprised at the sharpness of Grayson’s scream after Maddox had used the hammer.
The single brutal pound should be enough, the pain likely excruciating. There was little else I could do after this. If he didn’t want to talk, then fine. By the time I faced him again, he was panting from the agony. There was nothing like the anguish of having finger bones broken.
Now he used his left hand to grip the glass, tossing the shot with ease. His arm was shaking as he placed it on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You pissed in somebody’s Wheaties, Arman. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the administrator of the DEA himself.”
“Anne Fulghim?” I knew nothing about her, had never talked to her a day in my life.
“No,” he struggled to say. “There’s been a change. Travis Ramsey. He ramrodded himself into the position. He’s a fucking bastard if you ask me.”
