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But I can’t overlook the fact that all the filth seems to stem from his firm. There’s more to be uncovered there.
When the file transfer is complete, I quickly initiate the search on Maddox’s print. I check the time. One minute to spare. I push away from the desk right as Rodney enters the room.
He gives me a curious look. “Tommy had to meet Emily about something,” I answer his unspoken question.
He nods a few times. “Boy
’s whipped,” he says, then proceeds toward his station.
In the center of his screen, an image flashes, highlighted in bold red. Suspect found.
“Holy shit.” He taps the keyboard. “We got a hit.”
Indeed. A bad parking habit put Maddox in the system. What a way for a dirty lawyer to go down.
I start to head off, then pause. I near Rodney’s station, hoping to sound casual. “Oh, by the way. Could you check on a search I had Carson run?”
Rodney holds up a finger as he puts a call in to Agent Bell on the print. Tension coils my muscles tight. The inked script on my chest flashes before my eyes as if mocking me. I should sear the words from my flesh.
I’ve crossed my own line. I’ve separated myself from law and justice…and at my worst, I have become judge, jury, and executioner.
When he completes his update, Rodney digs through a number of ongoing searches and pulls up the one on A_King. The handle I gave Carson yesterday. “We didn’t get anything…” He clicks through multiple screens. “Right away. This person was buried pretty damn good. But then a ping on a server in Thailand pulled up a traceable connection to Alex King.”
Alex King. A. K.—the initials Avery saw embroidered on her abductor’s tie. A_King—the forum user who questioned Avery about the aphrodisiac.
“Just like that?” I ask.
He ticks his head on a shrug. “I found it odd, too. This person didn’t exist, then he did. When I started digging, it appeared to be an alias. This is the person behind the handle.” He moves aside so I get a clear view of the screen.
The eyes I stared into last night look back at me now. Like a phantom limb, I feel the weight of my gun in my hand, my finger squeezing the trigger, as I look at the Alpha.
“Dorian McGregor,” Rodney says. “Who doesn’t have a rap sheet. Clean. No criminal history. But all his aliases…”
“Rap sheets longer than Santa’s naughty list,” I say.
Rodney laughs. “You could say that. He’s one busy man on the darknet, that’s for sure.”
“Thanks, Rodney. I appreciate you guys looking into this.”
I leave the tech department. That settles it, then. By all appearances, Dorian McGregor is the head of a crime ring operating under the guise of the Alpha Omega network. All corners match up. All angles align. It’s clean, it’s simple, it’s a closed case.
Except for the burning suspicion in my gut.
The Feds wanted this wrapped up neat and tidy. And it is. About the time the Feds were tracing the Alpha’s signal, the tech report pinging Alex King was timestamped, linking him to Dorian McGregor.
Just like the auction bust that went down without a hitch last night, the revealing evidence became available all at once on Dorian McGregor. Convenient.
Bell mentioned a protected source gave the FBI the tip on the auction—but who? Who wanted the Feds to find that warehouse? Who wanted us to trace Alex King to Dorian McGregor?
The floor beneath my feet seems to open up underneath me, and soon the sensation of falling is pulling at all corners of my mind. None of us planned anything. Our whole operation was a setup from the start.
I pick up my pace as I head toward my office. A yellow package wedged between my door stops me short, and I yank it free. I get inside my office before I unseal the top and open the folder inside.
Completed reports. For our whole team.
Carson, Sadie, me—all our reports on the events of last night have been completed for us, typed and printed. They document our cooperation with the Feds to pursue a lead given to the FBI on a human trafficking auction in Arlington.
Son of a bitch.
