Chapter Ninety-Nine

Emily Morgan laid her cell phone atop the conference room table and resisted the urge to cry. The person on the other end of the call had been the Director, and he had instructed her to “use local resources” to locate and assist the brothers, adding that she was a field agent now and needed to be able to “stand on her own.” He had screamed most of the instructions. Then he had hung up.

Perhaps she was being overly cautious and worrisome? Marcus and Ackerman had only been out of contact for a matter of hours, and they were certainly capable of taking care of themselves. Still, she was the rookie agent and had been left alone trying to hold together all the threads of a complex investigation. She could call in additional support from the FBI, but that felt like giving up. If Maggie hadn’t abandoned them, she wouldn’t have had to face the case alone.

She stared at the phone, hoping for an update of any kind from Marcus, a message she feared would never come. The screen lit up with a San Francisco number she didn’t recognize. Emily snatched up the device and said, “Hello?”

“Agent Morgan, this is Baxter. I’ve been trying to reach your colleagues to no avail. Was beginning to think I had made a bad impression.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kincaid. The other members of my team are out of contact right now, working on the case.”

“Right, they had that rendezvous with Oban Nassar. Have you heard any word from them? They had any luck?”

“No, I haven’t heard anything.”

“Did they go in without backup? That seems a might reckless.”

“What can I help you with?”

“Well, I wanted to let your boss know that I have a name connected to the hand and tattoo on the video. Stefan Granger. Unfortunately, the guy is a ghost. Appears to be a fake identity, and we have no known address on him. But at least now we have a name and a face, and we’re beating the bushes. According to Illustrated Dan, Granger was an undefeated contender in the MMA world, and so he definitely fits the mold for our Gladiator.”

Emily considered what the Director had told her about utilizing local resources, and then she thought of the display of Baxter Kincaid’s eccentric skills she had witnessed earlier. She said, “Mr. Kincaid—”

“Call me Baxter or Bax, my dear. Every time someone calls me Mr. Kincaid, I sprout a gray hair and lose a pound of muscle.”

“Okay . . . Baxter . . . I need your help.”

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