It’s lucky I can decipher gibberish spoken through a mouthful of lettuce, tomato, lamb, and mint yogurt sauce. I understand Ryan’s hunger. I’m beyond starving. We’ve been camped out the front of a pristine residence in a gated community of Ravenshoe for the last five hours of our shift. We’re only eating now because the crew replacing us brought enough food to feed an army. They’re obviously smarter than us.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Ryan nudges his head to the artery blocker he forced into my hand ten minutes ago.
“Because I told Callie I’d be home in time for dinner.” I check my watch, grimacing when I notice it’s five fifteen. “Which I won’t make if we don’t get out of here soon.” When Ryan commences rolling up his late lunch-early dinner, I stop him. “You finish while I debrief the crew overtaking our watch.”
He smiles in gratitude before he recommences chowing down. Laughing at the squirt of sauce dribbling down his chin, I snag the long-range camera off his lap before pacing toward the blacked-out sedan several spots in front of us. Ravenshoe PD must have learned a thing or two from the FBI’s surveillance team’s poor skills on blending in with the community.
They don’t have any pizza vans in their fleet. Their range of cars and four-wheel drives span from pristine top-of-the-line Escalades to a piece-of-shit Honda that matches the car I learned to drive in. Tonight, we’re seated it the classier of the two since this neighborhood is almost as swanky as the area Isaac resides in.
Benny, a thirty-year veteran at Ravenshoe PD, rolls down the passenger side window when I tap on it. His sidekick is a rookie just like me, but we’ve not officially met yet. He looks mischievous like he’ll keep Benny on his toes even more than the delinquents who like to pretend they run Ravenshoe.
“We’ve been here the past five hours. The only person seen coming and going was a maid.” I fire up my camera to show them images I captured at approximately three this afternoon. “A parcel was delivered at twelve past two, but it was left on the front porch. The maid took it in with her when she entered, indicating the homeowner may not be in residence.”
“Okay, great.” Benny jots down the information on his notepad. “Were you given a description of the person we’re meant to keep an eye on?”
I shake my head. “Not even his height. Elise instructed us only to capture anyone coming and going, but Ryan ran a search on this address when we first arrived.” I gather my notepad from my pocket. Its papers are crinkled from the amount of water in the air today. It’s so humid, it is almost unbearable. “The house is owned by a Mr. Leonardi, but it was recently leased to Kirill Bobrov. He has a list of priors a mile long.”
When Benny commences punching in Kirill’s details into his mainframe, I spell out his first and last name. “He’s Russian?”
I nod. “From what Ryan and I gathered from his bank records, he relocated to the U.S. approximately a month ago. No ESTA or visa forms were completed. If he’s our target, he didn’t arrive here legally.”
“A Russian in Ravenshoe. This is the last thing we need.” Benny pulls a face, unaware he’s interacting with one of those so-called Russians.
“Well, now that I’ve passed on everything I have, I’m clocking off. Have a pleasant evening.”
I hate my brash tone, but it can’t be helped. I was honest about my heritage with certain members of the Russian mob during my interview process at Ravenshoe PD. Although they said it wouldn’t affect my position, they did suggest I keep it on the down-low. Other than Ryan and Elise, no one at Ravenshoe PD knows I share the same blood with Vladimir Popov—kingpin of the Russian Mafia in Las Vegas.
Halfway back to Ryan’s unmarked cruiser, I spot a familiar car parked several spots down. It’s memorable because I know its backseat as intimately as the back of my hand. It was Isaac’s and my playground many times during his daily commutes home at the commencement of our relationship, and it became our new play area when Callie’s entrance in our lives had us getting adventurous with our hook-up locations.
I’m about to wave to Roger when I realize he has his newspaper up. That’s code meaning he’s on duty. He only ever reads the paper when he’s conducting surveillance. Curious, I move toward the thick trees lining the footpath before taking in the ginormous houses surrounding Isaac’s town car. They’re all similar in size to Isaac’s private residence, but in a commercially manufactured way that screams, ‘I make a lot of money.’
If the inkling in my stomach is anything to go by, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover Isaac owns at least one or two of the houses on this street. He loves investing in property as much as I love sucking his cock.
My heart rate jumps a notch when Isaac’s deliriously intoxicating voice shrills through my ears. He’s bidding farewell to a gray-haired gentleman on a porch two houses down from me. I can’t hear much of what they’re saying, but Isaac seems cool, calm, and collected. His businessman aura is beaming out of him, assuring me the gentleman is most likely one of his residents. Isaac has always had a hands-on approach with his empire. If he can do it himself, why send one of his staff to fix it, is one of his favorite mottos.
I’m about to skip down the footpath and book myself in for a thrilling ride home, but the removal of Isaac’s cell phone from his pocket stops me. He’s not using his standard cell phone. He’s using the one he only uses when he needs to be discreet.
After stepping back behind a massive tree trunk, I eavesdrop on Isaac’s conversation. “I finally tracked down Dr. Merritt. It took longer than predicted since he just returned from Belize. He will forward my medical records to your office in the morning.”
He pauses to give his caller time to respond. It’s for the best. I need time to settle my queasy stomach before I can continue spying on him like he’s still my target.
“He agrees with your assessment that things don’t look good, but believes there’s no harm in trying surgery if I’m willing to take the risk. It can’t make matters any worse.” My world commences circling the drain when Isaac snaps, “No, Jae. I don’t want to put Isabelle through that.”
It triples the brutal swirls of my stomach. We swore to no more secrets only months ago, so the fact he wants to keep this a secret from me exposes its importance.
“Once the timing is right, I’ll talk to her, but until then—”
His words fade away by him sliding into the back of his town car. Roger pulls away from the curb not even two seconds later. I remain staring at the taillights of his car, only snapping from my trance when Ryan calls my name.
“Everything all right?”
He’s standing just outside his driver’s side door, hesitant as to why I’ve suddenly stopped. I nod, truly unsure. With how dense the confusion in my head is, I’m surprised I instinctively snap two photographs of the man Isaac was speaking with before he closes his front door.
After returning to the passenger seat of Ryan’s car, I pull the mobile data terminal computer to my side of the cabin. As I punch in the details of the man Isaac was talking to, Ryan watches me with wide, cautious eyes. I shouldn’t be using police equipment for my personal use, but curiosity killed the cat, and you don’t find answers if you wait for them to come to you.
The details brought up match the name Isaac said to Jae. The sole resident at 32 St. Peter’s Lane is Dr. Reginald Merritt, a former oncologist at Jacksonville Private Hospital.
“What’s the angle your chasing, Izzy? Do you think Reginald is connected to the perp were watching?”
