But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.
― George Eliot
Sam’s stomach churned. “He’d do that?”
Jeannette’s laugh caused him to shiver as the caustic sound slithered over his eardrums. “You never asked how I ended up married to that SOB.”
Sam kept pace next to Jeannette, who’d begun to walk faster down the hall, her stride long and jerky. “I figured it was none of my business.”
She strode forward into the conference room and plunked down her coffee on the table. Ignoring the group of officers milling at the other end of the room, she turned to face Sam.
“It wasn’t. Until now because Bresdeen is pulling the same shit with you and Cici that he did with me.”
Sam’s face contorted in confusion. “How old were you when you married him?”
She pointed her finger at Sam. “That’s the right question to ask. I was nineteen, and he only did it to protect me from my father, who was a messed-up sack of shit, more than ready to take out his anger on his only child—and the government’s only witness. And, yes, he told me that was his reason. There was never anything romantic or even caring about the relationship. I was a means to an end—closing the case and locking up my father.”
Sam’s heart hammered in his chest, and he worked hard to keep his fists from clenching. “He manipulated you.”
“Absolutely,” Jeannette said. “And I bought into everything he said.”
Sam cocked his head. “Going into the DEA?”
Her lips quirked a tiny bit at the corners, but her eyes remained cold. “Bresdeen put in a good word.”
In other words, he’d gotten Jeannette the job for doing what he wanted—putting her father in jail. That sourness in Sam’s gut flooded up to the back of his throat.
Up to this point, he’d respected Bresdeen’s moral compass, how uncompromising he was in focusing in on criminals. Now, though…now he witnessed firsthand the ruthlessness Bresdeen employed in his job—a ruthlessness that could well destroy Sam’s career and his wife.
All to collar a man who might not even be guilty. After Frank’s commentary and actions on Monday, Sam no longer believed he was the primary driver of the money laundering. But that wouldn’t stop Bresdeen from seeking a confession and a trip to federal prison…even if it meant betraying one of his own employees.
“What if I quit?” Sam asked.
Jeannette sighed. “Bresdeen would assume you don’t want to implicate yourself.”
“And he’d still go after Cici.”
“Until we can clear her from this mess, yes.”
He clenched his jaw. “Why not simply ask her?”
She snorted. “You’ve met him. He’s all smoke and mirrors. Nothing about him has depth.”
Sam nodded, feeling even more grim. That flash of sadness in Jeannette’s eyes and the wry twist to her mouth told him more than her words ever would. She’d idolized Paul Bresdeen. She might well still love him. But he didn’t seem to care—not about Jeannette’s feelings or her needs. And definitely not that he’d put her on dangerous cases that had her body assaulted.
None of those revelations calmed Sam’s nerves or alleviated his mounting list of concerns. Seeing Frank in person—no more rushed calls that did nothing to answer Sam’s questions—became tantamount. No doubt that reaction was exactly what Bresdeen wanted from Sam. The ruthlessness of his maneuver caused Sam to grimace. He was very much under the puppet master’s thumb—and he didn’t plan to stay there long.
Sam and Jeannette’s local counterpart stepped into the meeting room, shutting down their conversation. Sam settled into his chair and opened the folder he and Jeannette had prepared last night and early this morning to ensure the local law enforcement entities had information from their undercover asset.
“Why isn’t there anything new from the asset?” George Romero, the Phoenix field office special agent in charge asked.
Jeannette narrowed her eyes. “We have strong indications that he’s been compromised and removed from duty to protect both his intel and his life.”
Interesting choice of words. Sam crossed his arms over his chest and remained impassive, watching Jeannette work the room.
George touched his steepled index fingers to his chin. “Care to elaborate?”
“You know the undercover agent was in the building when we were ambushed,” she replied.
“Yeah, but then why isn’t he in here, briefing us?”
“Very good question,” Sam said. “We haven’t received communications from him or his handler since the ambush.”
The people in the room shifted, clearly unhappy with that pronouncement.
Jeannette raised her feverish gaze, and it slammed into Sam’s. Bresdeen was a tough subject for her, and based on their pasts, Sam understood—to some degree—the warring emotions churning through her eyes. Her lips firmed as anger won.
Sam continued, not missing a beat. “We plan to approach our growing concerns about a possible mole for the money-laundering groups by interrogating people within the organization even as we work the angle that most of the payments are being transported in via some means outside of the traditional money-in-a-briefcase method.”
He kept an eye on Jeannette as she worked through her train of thought, the anger still simmering in her gaze.
“Do you have any suggestions as to where we should look first?” George asked.
“For those of you helping to tighten the net,” Jeannette said, “we’d like you to fan out into the various cases currently in courtrooms. Those buildings tend to be more crowded, and possible interactions occurring in plain sight fit with the potential high belief in self we think we’re dealing with.”
George pulled out a glossy photo of Frank Gurule, and Sam’s heart lurched. This shouldn’t be happening. Not like this—to this point, all the evidence tied to Frank was circumstantial. The UC hadn’t managed to pinpoint any exact transaction or case directly to Frank, just to the top floor of the firm, which housed the partners’ offices.
That meant Frank, KaraLynn, and Nelson Walker, KaraLynn’s brother and the initial principal in the law firm. How the three of them had managed to work together for the last fifteen years caused Sam to marvel, but lawyers were a distinct breed in his experience. Silly things like emotion hadn’t rattled his father’s ambition or belief in proper social cues and stature. Sam had spent enough time with Frank Gurule during his teen years to develop a less bitter impression of Cici’s father, though the man had proven Sam wrong when he’d left his daughters and sick wife.
That experience had helped to form Sam’s nearly indestructible caution. Except in the case of Director Bresdeen, whose power and knowledge had caused Sam to let down his guard.
In the process of trying to protect Cici from the despicability of humanity, he’d led one of the worst types of depravity to her very door.
He wasn’t sure how he’d manage to right this wrong.
But he vowed that he would. He had to—Cici’s future and her happiness depended on it.
With the UC’s departure, Sam’s concerns around safety skyrocketed. When he’d worked the task force in Denver, there’d been specific protocol for how to contact an undercover officer, and it hadn’t been properly met in this case. Not only that, but Sam worried Cord McGee’s behavior prior to their unintended meeting bordered on rogue.
The question was why?
UCs sometimes fell so deeply into the criminal underworld they were supposed to be fighting against that the money, the power, seduced them into tossing aside their morals to remain on the wrong side of the law. Cord had been undercover a long time—maybe too long—and the lure of easy money could have become harder to ignore.
Cord McGee might clue his criminal contacts in on the investigation, which left Sam expecting a bullet of betrayal in his back—not unlike the one Bresdeen had shot at Cici.
Sam typed some notes into his file, which he assumed Bresdeen would read at some point today. No reason to turn in shoddy work simply because his boss was a slimy, unethical turd.
In fact, that was all the more reason for Sam to follow procedure and ensure that when he caught the perpetrators—the ones that he could prove had motive, intent, and ability to launder the money for the drug cartels in Tucson and on the other side of the Mexican border—he would use that as leverage to ensure he moved off Bresdeen’s team for good.
Until then, he had to focus on the task at hand—even though he worried over Cici’s continued health and what the FBI agent planted in Santa Fe was currently doing to scare her or shake her father.
Sam had to assume that case, too, would need to follow protocol, but that didn’t stop him from following up with his former police chief, giving him the rundown on what he’d found out.
Lionel whistled long and low. “Can we prove anything on the ethics side?”
“I told you everything,” Sam said.
“But you’re sure this is the angle Gordon’s taking—harassing one of my citizens to further a federal case?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Mmm. I’ve spoken with Lucinda Sanchez. To say she’s not a fan of the special agent is a gross understatement. My understanding is she’s marshaled her troops.”
The emphasis on her caused Sam to crack a small smile. Cici was a beloved member of the small city, one who had helped many of its citizens on a weekly if not daily basis. Gordon would butt up against her reputation in ways he never had before while working in larger communities, even Albuquerque. But New Mexico’s largest city wasn’t Gordon’s home base either—Gordon was from DC, and he’d moved to the ABQ field office the same day Sam and Jeannette had flown to Phoenix.
The taint of setup leaked its noxious fumes all over this case.
“I’m not convinced the body and break-in weren’t timed as well.”
Lionel grunted. “Planting evidence is a crime, too.”
“I’m not saying that—and I have concerns about the probability of this being perfectly orchestrated. But someone above my pay grade knows more about all the actors than they’ve mentioned to Jeannette or me.”
“I don’t understand the lengths, though, Sam. And for the record, it’s not that I don’t believe you—I’d be concerned to find my wife involved in an active murder investigation. But that doesn’t mean the guy’s wrong to look into Cici.”
Sam’s annoyance swelled, and he bit his tongue to keep from growling at the one man who could help him.
“I appreciate your restraint,” Lionel said, humor filtering into his tone, “because I’m not sure I’d have it in me if I were in your position. But, as I told you already, Lucinda’s taken Gordon on. The man’s in for quite an eye-opening experience if he decides to proceed down his current path.”
“Has he given you an indication that he won’t?”
“So far, I haven’t had the pleasure of his acquaintance, much less a courtesy call to let me know he’s in my district.”
The low grumble reminded Sam of Rodolfo, Cici’s male Great Pyrenees, when another male entered his space without permission. While typically laid-back, the large white dog never allowed himself or his territory—which seemed to grow by the day—to be tested.
Lionel Mendoza was fair and always gave his officers autonomy, but when a question came to his desk, he dealt with it with brutal efficiency. Based on Lionel’s reaction today, the same would be true for Keith Gordon.
Especially if the man proved unscrupulous enough to plant evidence.
“That’s my biggest concern,” Sam said. “That he won’t offer you the common courtesy—same as he won’t offer Cici due process. Something big’s about to go down.”
Lionel sighed. “You do have a way of finding those cases. I’ve never worked with a man with such a good instinct for career cases. You’ve had multiple in the span of a couple of years.”
Sam pursed his lips, realizing he’d said something similar to Cici. Maybe she was correct, and they’d been brought together because they were able to solve cases others couldn’t. Sam frowned, not liking the idea that his love for Cici was based on a cosmic benefit.
“Thanks for your help,” Sam said.
“I’ll keep you posted once I have news to share.” Lionel clicked off.
Jeannette rapped her knuckles on his doorframe. “You caught up?”
He held up a finger before he dialed Frank’s number.
“Sam,” Frank said when he picked up, “I don’t like that Gordon guy bothering Cici.”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
“She’s all I have left. I don’t want her hurt.” He heaved a long, heavy sigh. “I don’t want this enmity between us either.”
Sam hesitated, meeting Jeanette’s gaze. She chewed on her lip but gave a faint nod. “We think Gordon’s there in an effort to put pressure on you through Cici.”
“On me? What for?” A short pause. “That’s why you’re in Scottsdale.”
“Yes.”
“Can you elaborate?” Frank asked.
“No.”
“I…don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
Sam clenched his jaw. “Then Cici’s going to keep paying.”
“Dammit, Sam—”
“We need to talk. Soon.”
Frank sighed. “I’ll do my best. But this would have been much easier if you let me know what I’m supposed to be sharing.”
Sam debated for a moment, wanting to share more information but duty bound not to give his potential perp any details of the investigation. “Just…think about how this can and will hurt Cici,” he said.
“I have to go,” Frank grumbled.
“Call me back when you can.” Sam clicked off the call as he glanced at the clock. He met Jeannette’s questioning gaze. “Still plenty of daylight to burn.”
She leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. “What do you have in mind?”
“Let’s go fishing.”
She looked at him askance. Then her mouth settled into a grim line, and she dipped her head. She turned and headed down the hall. Sam grabbed his suit jacket and his phone from the desk and followed.
“I don’t have any better ideas. Where do you want to go first?” Jeannette asked when he caught up with her.
Sam’s shoulders cramped, but he forced himself to pull out the car keys.
“Let’s head back to Cord’s condo, see if there’s something we’ve missed,” he said.
Jeannette nodded. “Bresdeen calls these hunting expeditions.”
“Same difference. And now we’re hunting his motives, too.”