Page 53 of Bene

Didn’t care.

This time, it was all about her.

Her vendetta.

“How about,” Vanna said quietly, peering down the hallway to check for anyone at the other end, “you just tell me what I need to look for next, and we’ll go from there.”

The man grumbled under his breath. “Your father at least gave me conversation during our meetings. Passed the time a little easier.”

Yeah.

Well, she wasn’t her dad.

Her father might have been fine with justifying his reasoning for working with a cop—dirty or not—but she certainly wasn’t the same. Even Adam had told her that cops couldn’t be trusted, all the while he worked with one, and now here she was … doing the same thing. The difference was, Vanna didn’t trust this cop to save her life.

She didn’t doubt for a second that if it helped him get what he wanted, then he would quickly throw her right under the bus. It was the one and only reason she kept a tab on this man for her own purposes, just in case she ever needed to use it.

It was a good thing to do.

“Again, anything you want me to look for?” she demanded.

“You certainly hit on something with the last bit you sent to me. Took it higher to my superiors, without mentioning the name of my source, of course, and he jumped on the chance to tell me to go ahead with it. Whatever I needed, he was willing to make it happen. Seems he thinks the Guzzi family’s money laundering and wire frauds using their maple syrup farms could really lead to something huge.”

“One business of many, probably.”

“They control a good portion of this city, areas of Quebec, and beyond. Their reach is—”

“I know who I’m dealing with,” she muttered, “I don’t need the rerun, Mr. Keefs.”

She understood better than anyone.

He couldn’t tell her differently.

Vanna risked everything to see this vendetta through. The career she hadn’t even been able to start yet, her freedom, and even her life. Yes, she understood very well the kinds of people that she was working to take down, and what it would mean if something fucked it up. She didn’t need his reminders.

Besides, now they were just wasting time.

“I have to leave soon.”

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat, sitting back on the bench to rest his leg over his right knee while he pocketed his phone. “Anything relating to the maple syrup farms would be good—even better if you can find documentation of any imports for their businesses. I have reason to believe they’re also smuggling their drugs, illegal cigarettes, and more through those businesses, and if so … maybe you can find something. If we could catch them at a port of entry, it’d be a heyday.”

“His office was clean.”

“You found the folders.”

“I found things that suggested something wasn’t right. Bank accounts. Documentation of transfers. Nothing that says that cash came from illegal means, or otherwise. You told me that yourself—it’s enough to suspect that’s what it is, but they have to find the source of the cash, and what’s making it for them, before you can prove they’re laundering it.”

“But this is enough to get excited over.”

Right.

But it wouldn’t take them down.

She heard what he didn’t say.

Vanna already knew.

“So, you need more,” she said, swallowing hard.