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Rooster cleared his throat and looked toward Stash.
Gate followed his gaze. “What?”
Stash shot a look at Rooster and answered, “The Feds got involved.”
“Okay, so what? He changed platforms again?” Gate wondered.
“You could say that,” Stash agreed like he was drowning and had been thrown a life preserver. He went on, “Not just platforms, but he deleted every trace of any old social media accounts, and then he went from the deep web to the dark.”
“What are you not telling us?” Deuce asked from where he watched in the corner.
Stash looked up like a deer caught in headlights.
“Quit pussy footing around,” Deuce said. “You’re leaving something out, and as twitchy as you two are, which is twitchier than usual, it’s pretty fucking big.”
Gate leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “You leaving anything out?”
“Well,” Rooster started, “it’s not really pertinent to our involvement with Freemont.”
“So whatisit pertinent to?” Gate asked.
“It’s more of a personal facet of the situation,” Stash admitted.
“Whose person?” Gate prodded.
“I’m about to start pulling teeth,” Deuce muttered, looking to the ceiling.
“Your person, Gate,” Stash said. “Well, not so much you, but Anna.”
Gate frowned. “What’s she got to do with this?” he asked, waving a hand at the techno takeover of his desk.
“She’s one of the Feds,” Rooster answered, swiping through footage on an iPad until he got to a series of photos of Anna, in all her ball busting business suit glory, in various settings with Brent and two other men Gate had never seen before.
“So you’ve got some pictures of Anna and her husband with colleagues. What does that prove?” Gate growled.
“Brent’s not Anna’s husband,” Stash corrected.
“He’s her partner,” Rooster tacked on. “As in Federal Bureau of Investigation partner in the sex trafficking ring task force they’re heading up under the direct supervision of a very fat cat in Washington.”
“Which right now is laser focused on Blaine Freemont and the girls he’s shipping out of D.C.,” Stash said.
Gate’s eyes bounced between the two of them.
Then his gaze stopped on Stash. “He’s not her husband?”
“No, Gate,” Stash answered. “You are.”
Gate closed his eyes for a beat and drew in a deep breath. Then his eyes sprang open, “I signed divorce papers for that woman.”
Stash’s voice went quiet when he said, “Yeah, but she never did.”
Gate stood so violently that his chair crashed against the wall behind him, and Stash and Rooster started grabbing their Macs and pads before Gate flipped the whole desk.
Gate was halfway across the office before Deuce stepped between him and the door.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Gate said, his voice deeper than its usual gravel pitch.
Deuce stepped closer, “Not until you give it a second.”
