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A serious FBI agent. Has integrity.
Marcelles can’t be bought and treats other with basic human decency. Even a motherfucker like me—a criminal—can appreciate that.
However, the other guy looks to be fresh off the Quantico farm. New in the field from the intel my own employees have given and the encrypted email my informant within the bureau sent a few hours ago.
No older than thirty, he’s got sandy blond hair cut low and a medium build—average height and weight. Fidgety, he seems itching for action and can’t stay still for long, which gives them away. You can’t have a successful stakeout with someone leaving their post every thirty minutes on the dot to light up a smoke.
“I’m a bit insulted,” Javier says, exiting the car behind me. He falls in step as we walk toward my building; neither the bank’s lobby nor the offices above are open yet, but the financial district is full of nine-to-fivers arriving at work.
At that moment my all-black Navigator pulls away from the curb, merging into traffic and ignoring a horn. With the commute being horrendous Monday through Friday, a driver comes in handy.
“Agreed.” I stop and turn, looking down at my watch. It’s thirty to nine and I’m sure they’ll be visiting before my ten a.m. coffee. I’m half tempted to wave just to move the process along; I have things to do and my girl to see. Being apart from her isn’t sitting well with me.
I don’t trust her brother or father to not do something stupid.
It’s also why the man I have watching her has authorization to shoot first, no questions asked.
“Wonder why?”
I shrug. “To be honest, I expected more fanfare than this.”
Not that they will find anything. The servers were wiped before the dawn of Saturday morning and the paper trails burned. Every trace of the Jameson name has been erased from our system in the aftermath of Michael’s idiocy and Foster’s greed, leaving nothing behind on our dealings or the physical money.
Money that I took ahold of and moved out of the States for security reasons.
No money. No evidence. No case.
“It’s odd how very few have interest in that sale?” His phone pings then and he ignores it, which I raise a brow to. “It’s an alarm your cousin set up on my phone. Woman is driving me insane with this multivitamin she wants me to take. Some crap she found in a TV informercial.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Nope. Just humoring her.”
I shake my head at that with a chuckle. “Not surprised. You just can’t say no to her.”
“That word doesn’t exist in her vocabulary, and I blame your parents and hers for that little gift.”
The van’s driver side window lowers a smidge then and the red tip of a cigarette becomes visible. We both look; I make it a point to let them know I’m aware they are there.
Marcelles has to be fuming inside that vehicle. Angry at the fact the moron he’s working with doesn’t understand the concept of being inconspicuous.
“Two, and one is green.”
“Saw that.” Javi brings his cup of coffee up to his mouth and takes a sip. For a man that holds no qualms in getting his hands dirty, he has an unhealthy love affair with whatever a caramel macchiato is. “For sale, though?”
Turning back to my building, I shrug once I reach the front doors of the Asher Building. “Possibly.”
“Do we approach and make an offer on the land?”
“Not yet.” They’re listening. I know this. See the minute shift in a device they have hidden under a tarp and chain combination. What looks to be just sheet rock material being secured to the roof and side of the van. They went with blending in and not high tech, a mistake if you ask me. “Let them approach me first.”
“Mr. Asher, you have some visitors,” Mariah says through the intercom a few hours later, her tone saccharine sweet—her way of addressing me when someone doesn’t know who she is. “Are you busy, or can they pass?”
“Let them in.” I sit back in my chair and make it a point of not shutting down my laptop. Let them see what I am working on; there’s an architect’s 3D model of my new bank in Shanghai on the screen along with the paperwork that gives away the logistics, cost, and timeframe for it to be up and running. I hide nothing, because by the time they always come demanding entry, the evidence they hope to find is gone.
“Of course, sir.” There’s no click from her side, letting me know she didn’t disconnect, and I pay closer attention. “Right this way, gentlemen.”
“Do you like working for him?” It’s the younger one. Marcelles knows who she is. Knows better. “Does he treat you right?”
