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Lena Bell.
I can’t reconcile it—she’s an FBI agent. Hell, she’s the damn director of a whole division. The Organized Crime Division.
Fuck. It’s absurd, but what better position for a crime lord to be in than at the top of the crime division? She would have access to everything—know how and when to evade not only law enforcement, but the damn FBI. She is organized crime. Jesus.
I rub at my forehead as if I can work the pieces in my mind together. Right now, they’re only jagged fragments. I need more.
“I need a copy of the filtered recording,” I say to Larkin. “And I need a comparison test. Reed, I need you to stay here and keep the Feds busy. They can’t have access to this.”
More time is needed to work through the connections, find out Bell’s part. What role she plays. I need substantial evidence I can take to Wexler. The recording isn’t enough.
Uncertain, I glance between the screen and Reed. “No one is to deal with Agent Bell. Under no circumstances. Especially alone.”
What I’m saying sinks in. Reed eyes me closely. “Sadie and Avery need to know.”
“I’ll handle it,” I assure him. “But no one gives any information over phones. Too risky.” Then one piece slides into place. I turn to leave. “For now, act as if we know nothing.”
Which shouldn’t be hard. What the fuck do we know? That Agent Lena Bell hosted an illegal auction, claiming to be the Alpha? Does that make her an accomplice, a scapegoat like McGregor, or the ring leader?
My feet thunder down the stairs as I bring my phone to my ear. Sadie answers. “Where’s Avery?” I ask.
“In the lab. Why?”
My heart knocks my chest. “Okay. Good. Bring her to the club.” Avery was right. Right now, the safest place she can be is with me.
“What about the perps?” Sadie asks, and I can hear the uncertainty in her voice.
“New information takes precedence. Leave now.” I end the call, feeling—for once—that we’re ahead. This time, we’re not countering, reacting. We can get on the offensive.
I click the key fob and unlock my car, then seated in the passenger-seat, I dig out the phone from the glove compartment. The one Bell gave to me for more than a direct contact to her; it was her link to me.
I punch her programmed line. She’s been keeping tabs on me, so it’s time to find out where she is. Keep surveillance on her. Maybe a voice comparison will be enough for Wexler. We need to contact someone outside of Bell’s division. Get another Fed combing through her records, cases, connections…
The ringing drones on, my chest constricting with each breath. Her voicemail picks up and I curse. I end the call when my personal phone rings.
Sadie’s voice sets off alarms before her words are even complete. “Avery’s not here.”
“What? You just said—”
“I only stepped out for a minute… Shit. She used the darknet to send a message to the Alpha. I can’t believe she lied…and that I believed her. Wait. Something’s wrong with Carson,” she says, jacking my heart rate. There’s a muffled noise, then she’s back. “Quinn, j
ust get here.”
Her call fails with three long beeps. I bang the dashboard. I hit it until my knuckles split. Until the pain bleeds through the anger and fear consuming me.
Pressure bears down on my chest, I stare ahead. Through the windshield, the night mocks me. The city lights splinter like webbing across the filmy glass.
If I fail her again…
I won’t. I can’t. I toss the phones and get behind the wheel. It’s a short drive to the crime lab, not damn near long enough to prepare me.
17
Loaded
Avery
Pain rouses me, dizzy and ill, from unconsciousness. I gag, saliva fills my mouth. The pressure in my head pulses in shockwaves, radiating down my spine, flashing in time to the lights blinking against my closed lids.
