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“As Cian might have mentioned, we’ve been working on a case against one Ryzen Goodacre, your fiancé.”
My fiancé.
They didn’t know it was a lie.
“We’ve been briefed regarding the situation at your wedding and understand there was an attempted kidnapping.”
I nodded again, although a million questions started running through my head. What kind of case? Was Cian some type of informant? He should have prepared me for this.
Dobbs laid down his pad of paper and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Let’s cut the shit, honey. Why’d you blow up your own warehouse? You and your lover boy had a fight and you wanted to pay him back, was that it? Crime of passion?”
Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the bad cop.
My mouth fell open. “Blow up?” I squeaked as heat rushed to the tips of my ears. “I was just almost kidnapped, and now you’re saying my warehouse was blown up? How could you even ask me if I could do something like that?” I could barely get the words out, nausea rolling through me in waves.
“Well, considering the kind of work you do, Miss La Roux, it’s not out of the question. Quite the harlotry.” Dobbs sniffed.
My stomach fell to the floor, along with my jaw. Cian stood and leaned across the table. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he snarled.
Delove held up his hand and rolled his eyes. “Dobbs, enough. Cian, sit down.”
Cian pressed against me so there wasn’t an inch of space between us. Was that why they were here? Because they thought I’d burned my warehouse down? I’d thought they were here to help me, not make me feel like a criminal. The knot in my stomach doubled in size. Cian laid his hand on my knee.
Delove cleared his throat. “Nova, let me break down what we know so far. On Saturday, at approximately twenty-three hundred hours, five vans were stolen from the Maringo dealership off Highway 88. Those same vans were spotted Sunday on the outskirts of Goodacre Apple Farm, where you were to be married to one Ryzen Goodacre. 911 received a call at fifteen hundred hours from a wedding hostess stating there were masked intruders holding people hostage.”
My mouth went completely dry. Oh, God, was it the server from the kitchen? It had to be her.
“Approximately twenty-three minutes later, the sheriff arrived and was greeted by a team of men claiming to be a mixture of local police and FBI, who promptly sent him on his way. No police reports were filed, no investigation inquiries were sent to our local office, and the person who made the 911 call has not been found.”
I gasped, my hands trembling as I clasped them together.
“As a matter of fact, if Orin had not contacted me regarding your situation, there would be absolutely no record of what happened to you at Goodacre Farm. Ryzen Goodacre has not made any type of statement regarding his missing fiancée. There have been no posts on social media from any of the wedding guests, who have all been accounted for as safe, excluding the hostess. Life for everyone at your wedding has gone on completely normally the last few days, including your fiancé’s. We don’t know exactly what happened after you were brought here.” Dobbs watched me closely, looking for my reaction.
I didn’t acknowledge what they said, just looked at Cian, my eyes wide. That didn’t make any sense. How could nobody have said anything or filed a report? You didn’t just show up with guns at a wedding and go unnoticed. Cian’s jaw was clenched, heat radiating off his body. “How?” I whispered to him. “How can that be possible, Cian?”
Delove opened the briefcase and pulled out a thick manila envelope. “Miss La Roux, can you tell me if any of these three men look familiar?”
He laid out a series of photos of three different men, all of whom looked strikingly similar, with dark hair and tattoos covering their exposed skin. One had a tattoo of a skull and hourglass on his hand, the words “memento mori” over it. Another had the word “omerta” written across his neck. A third was older, maybe in his seventies, leaning on a cane with skulls carved all over it. They looked more than dangerous. They looked downright evil.
I shook my head and pushed the pictures back over to Delove. “I’ve never seen them before.”
“You sure about that, honey?” Dobbs puckered his lips, not trying to hide that he didn’t believe me.
Cian put his elbows on the table. “The next time you call her ‘honey,’ Delove is going to be taking you out of here in pieces.” His voice was low, menacing, and the way Dobbs’ face reddened, he knew Cian was serious.
“I’ll lock your ass up right now, Blackwood,” Dobbs huffed, his face twisting in anger.
Cian snickered and rolled up his sleeves. I placed my hand on his arm as Delove ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “It’s OK,” I said. “Yes, Agent Dobbs, I’m sure. I think I would remember seeing men like that. What do they have to do with this?”
“They’re your lover boy’s bosses, Miss La Roux. You’re sure you haven’t seen them?” Dobbs was sweating profusely, his eyes drilling into me. “Kind of suspicious you don’t recognize them.”
“That’s it. Dobbs, take a walk and calm yourself before your damn heart gives out again.” Delove handed him a set of car keys. “Go check your blood pressure before you keel over.”
“Wiseass. Wet behind the ears, giving me orders,” Dobbs muttered and stomped out of the room.
I had a feeling that whatever was going on with Dobbs had nothing to do with me. Or so I hoped. Maybe this was how the FBI operated. They put pressure on you and forced you to admit to something you hadn’t done. You heard about dirty cops all the time. Hell, Cian had even said it himself earlier.
“My apologies.” Delove cleared his throat and scanned the photos on the table. “Agent Dobbs has been building a case on the Voledetti family for over a decade.” He pointed to the older man with the cane. “Victorino Voledetti. Retired boss. Handed the reins down to his first son, Kaviathin, age thirty-six.” Delove held up the picture of the man with the skull and hourglass tattoo. “He is the leader of their organization, and his brother”—he nodded his head at the other photo—“Althazair, age thirty-three, is his right-hand man.”
