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“Vanguard is available. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” She’d set this meeting weeks ago.
The next step for solidifying Vanguard in the community was to secure contracts with the local police or federal law enforcement. She couldn’t bring herself to approach the FBI here—yet. She would, eventually but it was too raw right now. She wanted to start with the police anyway. Their department was a whole lot bigger than the four special agents in town and the tiny office they worked out of.
“Vanguard will bring all our professionalism and training to this.” Clare sat a little straighter. “We’re ready to help.”
Russ stared at her with that steady gaze. “Why?”
“Because we live here. We might not be cops, but we want to make Benson better.”
“Some of you are,” he said. “Orwere.”
Clare swallowed. She’d expected that.
“Cops who are then required to hand over evidence to Vanguard might see it as an integrity issue that you have staff on your payroll who are convicted criminals.”
“I believe you’ll find they are rehabilitated criminals.” Clare paused. “Or do you not believe the justice system works?”
Russ grinned.
The police department loved their gruff former marshal commissioner. He was their gatekeeper. Which she respected, except for the fact the point was to keep out people like her. Just because she had a guy in her cold case division who happened to have been a dirty cop—but was also the father of Stella Davis, one of the FBI agents in town, whose husband was a BPD detective. Among others, like Peter and Simon, the twins she’d hired once they completed their community service.
“I hire the best. I stand behind them one hundred percent.”
Russ stared for a second, then slid over a file and flipped it open. “The feds can’t take this case because it’s not federal. Yet, at least.”
“And as soon as it is, they’ll swoop in and take it from you?”
“Let’s try and keep that from happening.”
Clare had no stake in it, but she understood the friendly rivalry. After all, she’d been army for years. The military thrived on competition.
“There have been three robberies in the last few weeks,” he began. “One local check cashing place, a money transfer store, and a storage unit that has a highly secure annex for safety deposit boxes. All three were hit by a crew of five guys who got in and out fast.” He handed her the file.
“Evidence?”
“Not much to speak of. They know what they’re doing, disarming security. But there’s no pattern to it. Each business had completely unique systems in place to keep their assets secure. Face value, it makes no sense why they’d hit these places.”
And the FBI and Benson Intelligence were both busy on a high-profile case. Meanwhile, if Vanguard proved key in bringing down a crew of thieves, it would solidify their standing in the community as a reputable company who worked with the police. On the other hand, if they failed? Clare didn’t want to think about that.
“So far they haven’t crossed state lines or hit anywhere backed federally.”
“Doesn’t mean it won’t escalate that direction.” Clare studied the police reports. The lack of a pattern was curious, until she put together the sequence and realized it pointed to one thing. She pulled out her phone, but then decided to just call into the office as soon as she left here. “Can I take this?” She waved the police file.
Russ nodded. “Keep me apprised of anything. I want daily updates.”
“Of course.” Clare stood, already headed for the door.
“Don’t let me down.”
She turned at the door, surety settling in her in a way she liked a lot. They weren’t going to fail. “Vanguard has got this.”
Clare headed for the stairs, just to burn off some of the energy now moving through her. She didn’t need to get overloaded and then crash. She reached the ground floor and opted to go through the lobby, since the FBI was out on a case.
The front hall buzzed, a wall of glass windows on one side so she could see into the police department central precinct. The sergeant on the front desk lifted his chin. Clare did the same in reply.
On the other side of the hall, opposite the PD, was the tiny office for the FBI. Barely a conference table and a few desks. A lone woman worked their reception desk, just inside the door—someone Clare had never met.
She stopped in the hall in front of the picture hanging there. A memorial to FBI Special Agent Kyle Averson, killed nearly a year ago. He hadn’t even been in town long. Just long enough to start to like it here—even though he said otherwise. They’d joked about that over lunch. He’d asked her to dinner, and she’d begun to have real feelings for him.
