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of the couple. “That is a standard machine. They all have the same dimensions. Lara called the company and got the specs for the machine. They haven’t changed in five years.”
“This particular machine was installed about three months before this picture was taken.” Lara looked down at her notes. “That fall the owner signed the contract. So we know for certain what the height and width of that piece of equipment is.”
“According to the math, this man is exactly six foot two,” Freddy said with a smile.
Holland felt her gut roll. “Just like the admiral.”
“I don’t understand. If this was a setup . . .” Dax’s whole body had gone stiff.
She touched a hand to his back and felt him sigh into her touch. “You’re going to explain how this is a good thing. Right, Freddy?”
“Tell them about the torso-to-leg ratio,” Lara encouraged.
He swiped at the keyboard again and a picture of his father appeared, dressed head-to-toe in slacks and a button-down shirt, with a belt around his waist. He’d been snapshotted smiling and waving. “I got this off social media. Okay, so when I measure from your father’s waist to shoulders I calculate about thirty-five-and-a-half inches from waist to the top of his head. Your father had slightly longer legs than torso. His legs were roughly thirty-nine. He’s wearing loafers, so I think I’m close.”
“All right,” Dax allowed.
She could hear the tension in his voice and rubbed her hand down his spine in a soothing gesture. He leaned into her, obviously needing the affection, then slid his arm around her waist.
“Let’s do the same thing with a screenshot from the video.” Freddy pulled up a still photo. The admiral was almost out of range, his full body in the shot. “So we know your father’s measurements. When I put them in here though, the torso-to-leg ratio is off. Do you see where the natural waist falls? This man’s legs are nearly six inches longer than his torso.”
“That’s not my father,” Dax said with a huff.
“No.” Lara’s voice got higher as she seemed to get excited. “And we have even more proof. Once we realized we could prove it with math, we went a little further. Freddy isolated the hand on Amber Taylor’s shoulder.” She held up a printed shot of the enlarged digits. “Do you see it?”
Holland stared at the image of a man’s hand on the girl’s lower back. They’d enlarged it and focused on the fingers. Left hand. She realized what was missing. “There’s no ring.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t think my father would wear his ring if he was cheating,” Dax pointed out.
Lara held up her hand, slipping the wedding ring off her finger. “I’ve only had it for a few weeks. It leaves an indentation. Your father wore that ring for decades. This hand has never worn one.”
They were right.
Admiral Harold Spencer was innocent. She’d known it, but seeing the visible proof made her eyes water, her emotions swell. Dax could finally find some closure and peace. So could his mother and Gus.
“Thank you, Freddy.” Dax held out a hand.
Freddy nodded. “You’re welcome. This is a really fascinating conspiracy. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I have some theories. I think the next few weeks will be interesting.”
“What do you know about the Krylov syndicate?” Holland asked. If Freddy was this good with research, maybe they should set him to work.
“I can start on it. It’s not really any different than the way the Reticulan Grays organize.” Freddy pulled up a notebook. “I’ve got a friend in Interpol who can help.”
“I need to know if there’s a man named Sergei involved in that crime organization,” Dax said. “If you come across anyone by that name, flag it.”
Lara had gone still. “I have a theory.”
“Who is Sergei?” Holland asked.
“That’s what we all want to know.” Dax took a step back and Holland was surprised at the loss she felt. “We first heard his name when Mad asked Gabe about it just before he died. Then a Russian who worked for the syndicate not only confirmed that Sergei existed but this mystery guy was closer than we thought.”
“And Natalia talked about him, too. Well, she did before she was murdered horribly.” Lara shuddered. “She loved him. We don’t know if he was a husband, brother, lover, son . . . My bet is that she had a love child with Zack’s dad while he was living in Moscow and she was hired at the embassy while she was Frank Hayes’s mistress. I think Sergei is Zack’s half brother.”
Holland groaned. Having a half brother in the Bratva could be a political killer for Zack. “You think they’re going to disrupt the upcoming elections? Why wouldn’t they have done it the first time he was trying to get elected?”
“Because they want Zack to be president. My guess is that they want him to expend his political capital doing something for them while he has power,” Dax explained. “And the second time around, he’ll be a lame-duck president. Because he can’t run again, he can do whatever the hell he pleases. It makes sense. The Russians want some political favor. Maybe this is how they intend to blackmail Zack into giving it to them.”
“Like you said, he doesn’t have to run. He can make an announcement tomorrow that he won’t seek reelection and then no one has anything on him,” Holland pointed out.
“But a Russian-mob bastard brother could ruin his legacy. And he does care about that. These people probably know it. They will make a move in the next few months, as the election cycle is in full swing—if we don’t find a way to hit them first.”
She finally got the complexity of this insidious scheme. “We have to unweave whatever web they’ve got Zack caught in.”
“Yes, and it’s about forty years’ worth of conspiracy. If I’m right, Sergei didn’t start this. His parents did.” Lara sat. “We have to figure out a way to stop them. To do that, we have to reach them.”
“We start with Peter Morgan. He knows someone involved with the Russians.” Holland would bet on that. “How long was he your father’s aide?” Something about the whole uniform thing bugged her. If the admiral hadn’t been the man in the video, then who and how had he gotten hold of the admiral’s jacket?
“Four years, but they were friends before that. My father trusted him implicitly,” Dax explained. “I’m not convinced he’s worthy of that trust, but I also haven’t been able to look through his records. They were classified when he took that new assignment after my father’s death.”
“Could Zack find them? No one has better clearance than the president,” Holland reasoned.
Even Lara laughed at that. “Zack has to be careful. If he starts putting his fingers in Navy affairs, he could stir up serious trouble. It would be even worse since everyone knows he’s close to Dax.”
“It could look like he was trying to find a way to cover up my father’s crimes,” Dax finished. “We have to protect Zack.”
They also had to find justice. “Zack isn’t the only one involved in this.”
Dax reached for her hand. “Zack is like my brother. I loved my dad. I love my mother and my sister and Zack means as much to me as they do. He’s my family, Holland. He’s gotten my ass out of hot water more times than I can count and he’ll be beside me to my dying day, so don’t ask me to hurt him in any way.”
“Not even if it meant justice for your father?”
Dax grew grim. “No.”
She’d always known he was loyal to his friends. Still, his willingness to sacrifice amazed her. “All right. Then we figure this out without Zack’s power.”
“I didn’t say that,” Dax replied. “I merely said we leave him out as much as possible. Connor said you figured out where Peter Morgan is living these days.”
Freddy was back to staring at his screen. “And if anyone is wondering, Peter Morgan totally fits the torso-to-leg ratio of the man in the video if he was wearing lifts. Which I think he was in order to appear as tall as the admiral. He would have had access to the
jacket, and he’s never been married. I take tips, if anyone wants to leave one. Or tinfoil. Either works.”
“We’re going to find that little shit and I’m going to make him talk.” Dax took Holland’s hand again. “Let’s end this.”
Her heart sank because once this was finished, so were they.
* * *
Dax pulled up the narrow drive that led to Peter Morgan’s bayou home. He’d killed the lights and had to go very slowly because the foggy gloom made it tough to see the crappy dirt road.
“It’s a little farther up,” Holland said. “He really decided to go off the beaten path. I think he wanted to be as far from New Orleans as he could without leaving his mother. I’m sure once she’s gone, he’ll completely disappear.”
“Yeah, we got lucky.” Dax wasn’t feeling lucky. He was feeling shitty because he needed more time with Holland. If Peter gave them the answers they needed, she could walk out of his life as soon as tomorrow. She would file all her paperwork, kiss him good-bye, and walk off to find her happy life without him.
He couldn’t let that happen.
“It’s nice to know that even bad guys love their moms,” Lara said from the backseat.
“Yes, though it’s not going to save him,” Connor muttered beside his wife, pounding on a laptop. “I’ve completely lost my signal. Why can’t these assholes hide out in urban environments? I really need the Internet right now.”
“Save him?” Lara asked. “Save him from what? Connor, I expect you to follow the Geneva Conventions rules about treatment of prisoners.”
Holland snorted beside Dax, something she did when she was caught off guard and thought something was humorous. “Um, I don’t think Sparks got that memo.”
“I’m sure that Connor is very thorough yet gentle with his interrogations,” Lara said primly. “He understands that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“And we catch more criminals with waterboarding,” Dax muttered.
Connor groaned. “Don’t get her started on Gitmo. Please. I promise to very nicely question the man who might be aiding the Russian mafia in trying to blackmail the president of the United States. There. See, you could have stayed with Freddy.”
“Uh huh, and that’s when you waterboard the man. I’m naive, my love, not stupid. I’m here merely as an observer,” Lara explained. “Why didn’t you stay behind if you need that file you’re trying to retrieve so badly?”
“What file are you waiting on?” Holland asked.
Connor’s gaze flashed up, meeting Dax’s in the rearview mirror as a rare patch of moonlight beamed into the vehicle. “The Natalia Kuilikov file.”
“Why do you need that?” She frowned.
“I want to check something.” Connor’s gaze skidded back to the road.
That sounded like his best friend’s “I know something and don’t want to tell” voice. It made Dax edgy, but he wasn’t going to interrogate Connor now. “Tell me when I should park. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“Don’t worry about Morgan,” Holland said. “I watched him earlier. He’s in no shape to run. He’s in poor health himself. He’s hiding out here so he doesn’t have to run. When we cased the place earlier, I didn’t see a boat dock. He’s on the water, but I seriously doubt the dude is going to swim for it.”
“In these waters? Not unless he’s suicidal.” Out this far, the bayou had plenty of critters that didn’t mind a little human feast. “I don’t want him escaping. We need answers.”
“We’ll get them,” Connor promised. “At least we’ll get whatever this guy knows. I doubt he knows everything. But he can point us in the right direction.”
“I want to know who killed my father.” A burning urge to right the wrongs done to his father had settled inside him that moment Freddy had given him true, hold-up-in-court proof that his father hadn’t been the man leading a teenage girl to a scuzzy motel room so that he could rape her. Deep down, Dax had always known it, but seeing proof centered him in a way he hadn’t been for years.
Now he could turn his gut-wrenching anxiety on the woman he loved and wondering whether she would leave him for good after tonight.
Up ahead, he saw the house his father’s aide-de-camp was living in these days. Peter Morgan had retired from the Navy recently, but it looked as if he hadn’t saved up much. The “house” was more like a shack. A glow emanated from one of the windows, so at least the place had some kind of power. Dax remembered Peter Morgan as a smart man, ambitious and friendly. He’d thought Morgan was not only his father’s man, but also his friend.
He’d been very wrong and now he was finally going to learn some hows and whys.
He parked the car and let the women slip out. They shut their doors quietly. Before Connor had the chance to move, Dax turned to his best friend. “What are you not saying?”
“I’m checking on something. Don’t worry about it. I’m crossing all my t’s and dotting the i’s on this one,” Connor informed him. “I put a call in to Roman before we headed out here. He knows where we’re going and when to expect us back. If we don’t call him within an hour, he’s going to come looking for us.”
“You think we’re being followed?” Dax hadn’t seen anyone on the road, but he trusted Connor’s gut.
“I’m just being cautious.”
Holland tapped on his window and he opened the door. “Is there something I should know?”
He eased out and tried to reassure her. “Connor’s just being paranoid.”
Holland narrowed her eyes as Connor closed up his laptop, shoved it in its bag, and emerged from the car. “I think we’re being watched. I can’t say why except that I can feel it in my gut. Someone’s following us.”
Connor nodded. “They’re good. I didn’t actually see anyone on the road, but I think they’re here, too.”
“We should leave, then,” Dax said.
“And give up what might be our one chance?” Holland asked. “If we walk away now, Peter Morgan will suffer a timely accident. Unless someone here thinks he’s a bigger part of this conspiracy than we ever dreamed.”
Dax had to shake his head. “No. He’s a pawn. But I don’t want to risk you or Lara.”
Connor sent him a meaningful stare. “You know I can hold my own.”
No arguing with that. Dax had seen the aftermath of Connor’s “work” in the Crawford building the night he’d been shot. It had been a surgical slaughter of enemies. Lara was a question mark but Connor would never let anything happen to her. “Yeah.”
Holland frowned and she eased the SIG from its place in her holster. “I’ll watch your back, Captain. When was the last time you were in a close-quarter fight?”
Sometimes he understood why Roman wanted a quiet, demure woman. “Not lately. Thanks for the reminder, sweetheart.”
“Well, when I need someone to direct operations on a battleship, I’ll give you a call. Now it’s time for you to let me do my job.” She eased into his space.
Fuck. No sweet, demure woman would ever get his motor running the way this one did. He’d take his slightly crazy female any day of the week. He brushed his lips over hers. “All right, then. Keep an eye on Lara, too. She’s a pacifist.”
“Yeah, not so much since what happened a few weeks back,” Lara admitted. “I’ve decided that fighting for one’s life is a natural response. Not that I brought a weapon. I’m really bad with guns, so if the bullets start flying, I’m supposed to hide behind Connor.”
“You will keep your head down and wait for my instructions,” Connor reinforced in a low voice.
Lara rolled her eyes. “He’s so bossy.”
And it was obvious she loved him that way. She tangled her fingers with Connor’s, of course on his left side. His firing hand had to be free.
Holland holstered her weapon, and Dax relaxed a little when she stepped beside him. “It’s going to be okay. Whoever is on our tail . . . we need to figure out how th
ey tracked us down. I’m fairly certain we weren’t followed earlier.”
Dax bet he knew. “Someone was watching my mother’s house. I tried to get in and out without being seen, but if anyone was watching closely, they could have seen me and followed me back. I thought Freddy had traps.”
“It’s a lot of ground to cover and we haven’t had time to set up cameras,” Connor admitted. “Again, this is where an urban environment would help.”
They made it to the front door. “We’ll call Freddy when we get a cell signal again. We tell him to clear out and we won’t go back.”
“We head straight for D.C.,” Connor agreed. “It’s time to get out of New Orleans.”
