I can’t hear what Alex replies with, but I’m certain he’s the one who’s talking. His tone is too deep and low to be Agent Russell’s.
Barely three seconds tick by before the conference door slings open, and Detective Carter steps out. “Two minutes and not a second longer.”
His exit from the room is too quick for me to make out I wasn’t spying. It’s for the best. Detective Carter doesn’t seem like the type to believe shit is chocolate. “You’re the agent from the alleyway.” Since he’s not asking a question, it doesn’t sound like one.
“I am.” I fill the gap between us with three quick strides before holding out my hand in offering. “Brandon James.”
He hesitates for a second before accepting my hand. “Brandon, as in Izzy Brahn’s Brandon?”
My chest shouldn’t swell at his assumption, but it does. Still, I try and downplay it. “A lot of people are called Brandon—”
“Not in this town, they’re not.” He takes in the bland walls like they’re covered with family portraits while stepping closer to the main hub of the office. “Have you been here long? Prime commercial real estate like this hasn’t been on the market in years, so you’ve either been here for a while, or you don’t use the same channels as us regular folks.”
I smirk, amused he thinks a friendly persona will have me slipping up. Local authorities are aware the FBI has a task force in Ravenshoe, but they have no clue who we’re here for and exactly how long we plan to stay.
“I can see how this location can be popular for some, but it isn’t up to my standards.”
That gets a smile out of him, albeit reserved. “I thought this neighborhood would be right up your alley. Who doesn’t want a big fancy nightclub straight across the street.” He shifts on his feet to face me, his smirk smug since he knows who we’re targeting without me needing to mention it. “Especially if you’re a dancing type of guy.”
“I’m not much of a dancer, either.”
“No?” he fires back, his brows arching. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. I’ve seen you at a handful of clubs.”
My brows are dying to stitch, but I won’t let them. The more impassive I act, the more Detective Carter’s game plan will become exposed. “You don’t have to be a dancer to enjoy a nightclub. More times than not, the view makes up for the annoying buzz in your ears the next three days.”
He nods. “True.” His lips twist as he struggles to hold back his smile. “If you’re there for the female clientele.”
His reply has me smirking like a smug prick. Our brief conversation exposes he saw me follow Isabelle to the Dungeon dance club weeks ago, but he has no clue about our kiss, which proves he’s not watching Izzy. The only thing I need to work out is if he’s targeting the same man our taskforce, is or is he playing devil’s advocate.
I lose the chance to underhandly work it out of him when he taps on his watch, announcing the two minutes he gave Alex with Albert is up, but his murmured comment when he heads back to the conference room door ensures I’ll be keeping an eye on him. “Tell Dimitri I said hello.”
I’ve only worked my jaw side to side twice when he guides a handcuffed and bloody Albert past me. I’m not shocked Albert was roughed-up by Alex, the Rogers are well known in the Bureau for their ‘investigative tactics.’ I’m just stunned he had the gall to do it in front of an IA agent. There’s only one way in and out of the room. Agent Russell didn’t leave.
I discover that Alex’s tactic was successful when he hands me a crumbled piece of paper with a handwritten sequence of numbers on it. From the length of the digits, I’m going to assume it is a bank transaction. “I need to know anything this number could correspond to, and I needed it last week.”
“Does this correspond with our target or the man who just left with a broken nose?” When he glances up from his bloody knuckles to me, his glare furious, I add, “If I know who to focus my search on, I’ll have more chance of working out what these numbers correspond to. It could be anything.”
Alex’s trust appears as low as mine, but he still gives it to me. “I didn’t have enough time to get more out of him, but I’d recommend adding both our target and Vladimir Popov into your search parameter.”
24
BRANDON
W hile climbing the stairs of my apartment building, I rub at a kink in my neck. If I had any doubt Isaac’s many corporations weren’t shady, I don’t now. It took me over four hours to discover the sequence of numbers Alex handed me was a transfer of ninety-three hundred dollars from an offshore account of one of Isaac’s many shell corporations to a casino in Las Vegas.
Whoever organized the wire transfer has a strong knowledge of cybercrime. Grayson taught me everything he knew. I’ve hacked into servers that are supposedly unhackable. Alas, even I’m struggling to work out exactly who the funds were transferred to. It probably doesn’t help that I stopped my investigation partway through to help Isabelle write up a report on the evidence she located when she followed Megan to a Motel 6 on the edge of town.
Alex was as cocky as fuck when he told Isabelle he’d place two agents on Megan in the morning. He wasn’t lying when he made his statement. That’s how confident he is that his arrest warrant for Isaac will be issued overnight, freeing up a handful of his agents for less pressing matters like psychotic stalkers with a fascination for pop stars.
It turns out Megan isn’t an ex-lover of Isaac’s. From the evidence Isabelle unearthed, her eyes aren’t set on a broody, enigmatic businessman. She wants his little brother—the playboy guitarist who’s almost the polar opposite to his big brother. Nicholas Holt was put under the spotlight when the Bureau arrived in town. It didn’t take the agents following him long to realize he had no clue about his brother’s shady businesses. Other than sleeping-in until midday and playing lead guitar in his band, Rise Up, Nick occupied the rest of his time chasing a strawberry-blonde teenager lightyears out of his league.
Hey, don’t judge. I’m just telling you what the reports said. They were taken by a rookie agent who seemingly had a crush on Nick’s girl, so do with it as you may.
My hand drops from my neck to my chest when a shadowed figure moves into the light hanging above my apartment door. The lights in the hall were hardwired by the building supervisor, so I have no choice but to have my door lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Good evening, Agent Russell. A bit late for a house call, isn’t it?”
She smiles at the snark in my tone instead of reacting negatively to it. “I heard Alex was a hard-ass. Wouldn’t have believed it unless I had witnessed it for myself.” Her tone is familiar, yet completely different to the ball-crusher one I handled when we first met. I guess since she believes I’m a cooperative witness, she has no reason to ride my ass anymore.
