Page 6 of Armed ’N’ Ready

Leaning over, he gave Saxon a few hearty pats on the back. “Good boy.” Even though Saxon had come up empty, he’d done his job. Myer definitely wasn’t housing any firearms and ammo in the house.

“Got anything?” Eric Miller, an ATF agent—and one of Nick’s best friends—had stuck his head through the kitchen door leading to the backyard.

A brown snout appeared as Eric’s Dutch shepherd, Tiger, pushed his muzzle through the partially open door. The dog’s black nostrils flared as he scented Saxon close by. In response, Saxon gave a snort of acknowledgment.

“Negative.” Nick shook his head. “Tiger find anything outside?”

“Nada. Place is as clean as a newly smelted baby Glock. I’ve gotta put Tiger up in the cruiser before he melts into a puddle of hair.” He shut the door and led Tiger into the yard.

Nick and Saxon headed into the dining room that now served as a makeshift command center for the search warrant team. Along the way, he caught sight of two officers already searching a roll-top desk in the office, while the locksmith was busy cracking into a wall safe. Troopers and agents were searching the hallway closet and the many other pieces of furniture on the main floor. From what he could see in the practically empty cardboard evidence boxes, they weren’t finding much to seize, except for the pink cell phone he’d taken from the master bedroom.

Normally he’d have left it for the evidence team to photograph in place, but cell phones were too important for establishing critical links between people, and he hadn’t wanted to take a chance that the woman would squirrel it away before it could be seized and searched for recent phone calls, contacts, and text messages.

Sitting around the dining room table were FBI Special Agent Randy Cox and several other feds clicking away at laptops.

“Stick around, would ya, Nick?” Cox paused in the middle of placing a call on his cell phone.

Cox placed the call on speakerphone and Nick immediately recognized the voice of AUSA Ted Bennett, lead federal prosecutor for the Western Massachusetts Federal Gang Task Force. Bennett wasn’t happy about Myer being MIA and that the most critical piece of evidence was missing.

“No computers at all?” Bennett asked.

“Nothing.” Cox shook his head. “Not even a single storage device. No CDs, DVDs, thumb drives, or external drives.”

“What about Myer’s office in town?” he asked, referring to the other search team.

“Two desktop computers and a few thumb drives.” Cox was frowning. “Our guys took a quick look at the hard copy docs, and so far, they’re all associated with what look like legitimate accounts. We found some old bills indicating there was a six-month stretch during which Myer couldn’t make payments on his mortgage, his Mercedes, and two credit cards. Then he suddenly paid off all his outstanding debts. And before you ask, we called in Myer’s secretary, who confirmed that he does have a laptop but takes it home every day.”

Bennett swore. “Myer’s smart enough to keep the tainted account files on his laptop so he can take them with him wherever he goes. Was anyone else at the house when you got there?”

“Andi Hardt,” Cox said. “We’re about to interview her.”

“What’s she doing there?” Bennett asked. “You guys said she and Myer didn’t have a relationship.”

Cox caught Nick’s eye, indicating he should respond.

“None that we knew of.” He moved closer to the cell phone in Cox’s hand. “Sitz. Blieb,” he said to Saxon. After Saxon sat, Nick dropped the leash on the carpet. “Apparently we were wrong. There’s a framed photo of the two of them in Myer’s bedroom.” One in which they looked mighty cozy. He’d instantly recognized Andi Hardt from her driver license photo and from surveillance he’d done outside the Dog Park Café.

“Assuming they’re involved,” Bennett continued, “she’ll be less likely to cooperate than we originally thought. Find out exactly what her personal connection is to Myer.”

“Will do.” Nick shot a look at the stairs. Ms. Hardt should have had more than enough time to dress and get downstairs by now.

Saxon leaned over to sniff the table, leaving a condensation mark on the edge of the gleaming surface. Mahogany? No, something even more exotic, he guessed. He’d once seen an imported rosewood table at some snooty-falooty furniture store, and the price tag had been in the thousands.

Looks like it cost more than two of my paychecks. As did everything else in the house. Money laundering for a gun dealer evidently paid well.

Saxon cracked his jaws, panting as his long pink tongue fell from the side of his mouth. He’d have to get his dog water soon. Even with the AC cranked on high and blasting through the two vents in the dining room, the house was getting stuffy.

Cox ended the call. “I rechecked, and the lady has no criminal history, not even a parking ticket. Been a long time since I ran someone with such a squeaky-clean record.”

Nick nodded. Seemed like everyone had a history of doing something wrong. Even me. But that hadn’t been illegal. Just something he wished for a do-over on every freaking day of his life.

“Where’s her file?” he asked Cox, wanting to review her background and the bank documents before they interviewed her.

“O’Reilly? Get Sgt. Houston the file.” Cox tipped his head to a young FBI agent.

The baby-faced Feeb quickly produced a manila folder. “Yes, sir. Here you go, Sergeant. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks, kid.” He sat and flipped open the folder. “First task-force assignment?”