“Shouldn’t someone keep a look out?” I asked.
“That’s my job, mouse.” Vigo’s mischievous grin did nothing to calm my nerves. “We might need a distraction.”
A Vigo distraction didn’t sound ideal for an undercover mission, but what did I know?
I set down my bag and opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet.
38
CASSIE
“This is mostly housekeeping stuff,”I said, flipping hurriedly through one of the folders I’d pulled from the filing cabinet. “Purchase orders for the airport, receipts for work on the building, that kind of thing."
I had no idea how much time had passed, but half expecting Martin — or someone else — to barge in at any minute, and my heart raced as I looked through the papers inside the filing cabinet.
“Keep looking,” Hawk said, his eyes on the screen. “I think I’m on to something over here.”
“What is it?” Vigo inspected the fake potted plant near the door like he was trying to determine if it was real.
“Looks like some kind of ground handling paperwork,” Hawk said. “But there’s nothing under Kaprolov.”
“Maybe he’s using the daughter’s name?” Vigo asked. “Volkova?”
“Nope,” Hawk said. “Already checked. Might be listed under a shell company, in which case we’re fucked.”
“We could take pictures,” I suggested, starting on the second drawer of the filing cabinet. “Research it later.”
“There’s a ton of them,” Hawk said.
He didn’t sound at all nervous, but I was definitely on edge. Jagger would keep Martin busy as long as possible, but we didn’t have an infinite amount of time.
“This is interesting,” I said, looking through the first folder in the second drawer. “There are client services packets.”
“What the fuck is a client services packet?” Vigo asked.
I studied the documents in front of me. “Looks like… client preferences. Things they want to have available when they land: food, alcohol, even bottled water and flowers.”
“Flowers?” Hawk looked up. “Why would anyone need flowers at an airport?”
“Beats me,” I said. “Maybe it’s rich person thing. Like they want things to be just right when they’re in the executive lounge.”
“We’re rich and we don’t need things to be just right,” Vigo said, studying Martin’s family photos on a bookshelf against the wall.
I looked up. “You’re rich?”
I knew the Hawks weren’t hurting for money, but it had never occurred to me that they were rich.
He shrugged. “I guess. We’ve stolen a lot of money.”
I scowled. “Maybe don’t say that out loud. Like, ever.”
“Any names on those client services packets?” Hawk asked from the desk.
“Yeah, but none that make sense.” I noticed a date on the paperwork in front of me, then flipped the page. “But there’s something else that might.”
Hawk studied me over the desktop’s monitor. “What?”
“They’re not organized by client name. They’re organized by arrival date.”
