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Tuesday, Feb. 24, 2015, Seattle
Angie had a hard time focusing on work. She did her shoots, but the computer-editing work was just not engaging enough to hold her attention. So far, she’d snapped at the sports editor every day since Mac left. She’d argued with her own photo editor — and that was never a good idea. He held grudges. She’d be doing mug shots for the next month, if she kept this up. She didn’t go out for drinks after work with her coworkers.
She didn’t even go for coffee with Janet when she invited her. And that was wrong in so many ways — Janet was her boss. She frowned. Her boss’s boss? Was there an org chart for this place? But more than that she was a mentor and a friend.
But Angie was just too twitchy to sit there and have coffee and not talk about Mac. And she didn’t know what to say — or to think — about Mac right now. So she ducked it.
Going home wasn’t much better. Michael, Toby’s daughters, and now Keisha were staying with her. She liked them all. The girls, Belinda and Sarah, were adorable. Keisha was funny and nice. And Michael? She wished she’d had a prof like him! And the way he took care of his granddaughters warmed her heart.
Keisha had flown in on Saturday. Angie hoped she was going to stay in Seattle. They hit it off and had gone to the Bohemian for drinks on Saturday night. She’d had fun. Of course, she usually had fun. But underlying all of it was this inarticulate worry about Mac. And the Rollings family were a constant reminder that things weren’t right.
She’d talked to Mac every night, but his calls were unsatisfying. She knew he feared the calls were compromised — and after last fall, she understood that fear and shared it. But that reduced the calls to description of the Del Toro home, the lake, the church. And he told her he missed her, and wished she was there.
She wished she was there too. Angie told him so and told him she missed him too.
But he didn’t talk about feelings. He didn’t talk about feelings easily under the best of circumstances, and he most certainly wasn’t going to if he thought his phone was tapped. It made her anxious.
She got more information from Nick Rodriguez, Monday afternoon. She’d gone by to check on Ben McBath, who seemed just fine as part of Nick and Anna’s brood. An only kid tossed into that family? He was doing very well to adapt. Nick was coordinating a lot of people in this. After listening to Ben’s story, he’d contacted Stan Warren. And Monday morning, Stan called Ben’s mother who apparently was an assistant district attorney. Nick thought that had gone well. A discreet investigation had been opened regarding Captain Bridgeman. And Stan had been invited to dinner at the home of Lucy’s sister. Stan was going; he thought something was going on with the invite — that it wasn’t as casual as it appeared.
Joe Dunbar was in place, and he’d reported in. He agreed with Mac’s assessment; the man up front was a law enforcement plant. Joe wasn’t sure which agency. And Ping reported to the cartel. He thought Bridgeman had a second connection — Toby obviously was one — but there might be another. Joe wasn’t sure. He said he thought his presence had helped settle the crew down. And wasn’t that weird?
It was, Nick and Angie agreed, laughing about it during her visit. She’d stayed for dinner — Michael and Keisha were perfectly capable of fending for themselves. And Angie really liked the Rodriguez household. Especially Anna, Nick’s wife. She didn’t back down on anything!
And then Angie had gone home for another frustrating call with Mac.
She wasn’t sure she could handle another one tonight. And she finally broke down and called Shorty. “I need to talk,” she said.
“Why don’t you come out here?” Shorty suggested. “I’ll cook dinner.”
“On my way,” she said gratefully.
Angie hadn’t been inside Shorty’s apartment before. She’d expected a man cave, but it really wasn’t. Oh, it had the big screen TV, and a black leather couch and chairs, but the chairs were modern, with those cool metal frames. There was a black-and-tan rug on the floor, original art on the walls, and a high-end sound system. The fireplace was surrounded with books.
Angie approved. She wandered into the kitchen where Shorty was making a stir-fry in a wok. “Did your mother teach you to cook?” she asked, leaning against the counter. Shorty had handed her a glass of wine when she first stepped in the door. She’d laughed, but he was right. She needed a drink.
Maybe more than one.
“Mom taught me to cook Mexican dishes. My father insisted I needed to cook Filipino dishes too,” he answered. “And I found I like cooking. So I experiment.”
“Smells good,” she assured him. She found the bottle of wine and poured herself another glass. “I expected an apartment full of computer equipment,” she teased him. “The mastermind in his lair.”
Shorty grinned at her. “Check out the rest of the apartment.”
Angie did. The first door was obviously his bedroom — a large king bed, low lights, and little else. Huh, she thought, amused for some reason. She knew Shorty didn’t lack for female companionship — that was why she’d introduced him to her former roommates. He seemed to have a good time that night. But her friends reported that he hadn’t followed up. Sometime when she wasn’t so stressed about her own relationship she’d ask him about it.
But the second was the lair she’d expected to find. Three computers, one with a very large screen, and a bunch of other bits and pieces — most of which she had no clue how they were used.
“OK, I’m satisfied,” she announced as she resumed her position in the kitchen leaning against the counter. The best talks happened in the kitchen, she thought.
Shorty checked on the rice, and decided it was ready. He dished up the food, and the two of them carried it out to the dining room table — a nice, glass table. The whole place was very modern which surprised her. She compared it to the comfortable mid-century furniture they had in the Queen Anne house, and wanted to laugh.
Angie told Shorty about her visit with Nick, and he listened intently, and then nodded. So apparently that jibbed with what he had been told. Shorty had heard from Rand — the two FBI agents had sheepishly called him on Monday after they ran the plates and thought they were tailing an FBI agent. Angie grinned. That had been fun.
Rand had set them straight and sent them home to California. And the SAC, Bill Noble, had made a call to their bureau chief, who was not amused.
“They said they were doing a favor for a fellow member of the task force,” Shorty said. “Bridgeman, of course. But that’s some favor. Ten days of surveillance out of state? Rand says either a bribe or blackmail had to be involved. Stan added it to his list of things to investigate.”
Angie could see why Nick’s first request had been whiteboards at chair height. This thing had a lot of moving parts.
“Did you hear what Stan Warren learned when he was in D.C.?” Shorty asked. Angie shook her head. Shorty filled her in. “Stan says he thinks there’s someone corrupt in the CBP — Customs and Border Patrol — or Homeland Security, in the Bay area offices. He’s concerned that they’ve put Mac in danger — more danger — because this idea that he could become an undercover agent had leaked. And DEA apparently is worried about Toby Rollings going to Mexico. Or maybe that’s Homeland Security’s fear.”
Angie frowned. “Isn’t DEA a part of Homeland Security?”
Shorty shook his head. “No, they’re in the Department of Justice. So is the FBI. So we’ve interagency politics going on too. But that’s Stan’s headache. And he’s the right person to deal with it.”
Angie got up and stacked the dishes and took them to the kitchen. She couldn’t sit still. Shorty followed her and started to put the leftovers in the refrigerator. “I’m worried about Mac,” she said abruptly. “I’m scared he’ll stay there. That he won’t come home.”
Shorty was silent for a moment, and she looked at him. He looked conflicted. “Spill it, Shorty,” she demanded. She leaned against the counter again and crossed her arms across her chest. She waited.
He finished putting the leftovers away and sighed. “Not my place to spill Mac’s secrets,” he said. “But there are things you need to know. Because I think your fear is valid. And three years ago? I think you’re right — Mac would have found a home in the cartel. He was hungry to belong to someone, something; he had been ever since he left the Marines. But he didn’t really know how. His aunt. Me to some extent. But even with me, we didn’t see all that much of each other. Not until the Parker story, and he needed backup. He knew he could trust me. I was about the only person he had that he trusted.”
Angie filled her wine glass for the third time. Time to stop, she told herself firmly. She needed to be able to drive home. She topped off Shorty’s glass without asking. Sometimes it was easier to share confidences with a bit of help from the wine. And she thought this wasn’t easy for Shorty to talk about.
“So Mac has always felt he owed Toby,” Shorty continued slowly. “I see it differently, but Mac has felt guilty that Toby went to prison and he didn’t. You know that story.”
Angie nodded.
“So after Mac got out of the Marines, and he’s in college, Toby would call him whenever he needed backup.” Shorty hesitated. “Has Mac talked to you about this?”
Angie shook her head. “No, but I could read between the lines from what Rand said at that first meeting,” she volunteered. “Mac was a hired killer.”
Shorty winced. “Blunt,” he said. “But not inaccurate. Tore him up some, I think, but he did it. Maybe three times? And I don’t know that he killed them or if a thorough beating was all that was required. I’ve seen what Mac can do when he needs information — it was a nasty beating. Contract enforcer, I think Toby and his crew called it.”
“And they think Joe is the same?” Angie asked. It made her laugh. Joe was pretty clean cut — a straight arrow, if she ever knew one.
Shorty gave a half-shrug. “They seem to accept him as Mac’s backup,” he said. “Doesn’t say much for their observational abilities. But he’s supposed to be a corrupt cop who doesn’t mind making a little money on the side. And let’s face it, that crew is rife with connections to corrupt cops that don’t mind making a little extra.”
Angie laughed. “True.” But then she sobered and took a minute to really think about what that meant about Mac. She’d been avoiding this, she realized. Mac was a killer.
Well, so was she.
But what she had done was very different than killing someone for money. “College money?” she asked.
“Supposedly,” Shorty said. “But truthfully, he didn’t use much of it. Blood money, he called it, and he set up an account and asked me to invest it for him. A rainy day account. Just so you know, I tapped into it last week and used it to buy plane tickets at all the likely airports. Open dates. All of them are one-hop exits from Mexico to the States. Two tickets actually, because I don’t think Mac will run for it without Toby. And Toby’s injured, which complicates things.”
Angie frowned. She hadn’t heard about Toby getting hurt, had she? She asked Shorty what happened. His description didn’t reassure her in any way.
“Mac told you, but he didn’t tell me?” she asked, hurt.
“Mac said six words to me, I think,” he said. “And I hacked into the hospital system to get a bit more. Hospital records that disappeared 12 hours later by the way. Anyone investigating a stabbing incident, or asking about Toby Rollings, would come up empty-handed at this point.”
“That’s not Mac’s doing,” Angie said. She smiled at Shorty’s hacking skills. He just said it so nonchalantly — I hacked into the hospital and took a look at patient records?
“No,” Shorty agreed. “The cartel, I suspect. Or the hospital may have done it themselves because Toby was linked to the cartel. I have the info if we need it. I doubt we will, but the important thing is Toby Rollings is recovering from a fairly deep stab wound, and that’s going to limit Mac’s options.”
“You think he’s going to need to run for it?” Angie asked. “I’m more worried that he’ll stay.”
Shorty drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “They waited too long to bring him in,” he said. “Mac has made the family he was looking for. Look at all the people he’s connected to now. I think it bewilders him. He doesn’t know how it happened.”
Angie laughed, because that was so true.
“And most important, he has you,” Shorty continued. “If Mac comes back — and again, I think he will — it will be because of you. Everyone on our task force knows that — we’re all worried that he will find family so attractive he can’t bring himself to leave. And then they’ll suck him in further and further. He’ll be the capo of the cartel by the end of the year.”
“It’s telling that no one thinks he might have ethical issues with running a drug cartel,” she muttered.
“He does,” Shorty said, as if he was thinking this out loud. “But family might outweigh ethics here. Mac really only has one ethic anyway — he takes care of his people. And if the Del Toro family needs him as badly as people think, then he’d have a hard time walking away from them.”
OK, Angie could see that.
“But there’s you. He loves you. He’s buying a house, and he wants to share it with you. He wants to build a life with you,” Shorty said. “You go about life, connecting to people, making friends, building community as if it was the natural thing to do. You welcome me into your lives — Sunday night has become a regular thing, and I value it. But Mac has never had that. You’re healing him, Angie, healing all the broken places caused by that bitch of a mother who dragged him hither and yon and then dumped him when he became inconvenient.”
Angie had tears in her eyes, and she blinked them back. She’d taught herself to reach out like that. After her first relationship ended disastrously and she’d moved to Seattle, she wanted friends. She hadn’t been willing to risk a relationship, but she hated being alone. So she made friends. And then what does she do? She falls for the ultimate loner, who was a stone-cold killer and heir to a drug cartel?
Good job, Angie.
“So people are leery of telling you too much,” Shorty was saying, and Angie focused on him instead of her own thoughts. “They worry that you’ll back away, and that will break the strongest tie Mac has to coming home.”
She considered that. “I’m not backing away from Mac,” she said at last. And something settled inside of her. She felt her shoulders relax. Was that what had been agitating in the back of her mind? She repeated it. “I’m not, Shorty. I’m in this with him for the long haul. They ought to be worried in the reverse — if he asked me to, I’d go to Mexico.”
Shorty nodded. “And I think the more you know, the more you can feed him when you talk, and get from him in return.”
“That’s not going to happen,” she said. “Unfortunately. He’s afraid that his phone is tapped. And he keeps cautioning me to be careful. To be aware of my surroundings, to not be out alone at night. He knows about the FBI following me, but I don’t think that’s what worries him. I think they’ve made threats against me.”
Shorty grimaced. “I’m tapped into a Del Toro private discussion board,” he said. “It makes me laugh. They’re really just like any large corporation. And they use a discussion board for job assignments, announcements. If you didn’t know what ‘product’ they produce, you’d think they were selling Mexican art and crafts for real.” He shook his head in amusement.
“But that tracks actually,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Could the cartel reach me here?” she demanded.
“Easily,” Shorty said.
She was silent. “Maybe I should be carrying,” she said at last.
Shorty grunted. “You any better a shot?”
“Only up close and when it matters,” she said grimly.
Shorty crossed the small kitchen and gave her a hug. She leaned against him. “God, Shorty. How did I manage to fall in love with a ‘contract enforcer’?” She made air quotes around the phrase. “Who has ties to a drug cartel?”
“You didn’t,” he said. “You fell in love with a newspaper reporter who was a former Marine. And that’s the Mac you need to keep firmly in mind. That’s the man who will come home to you. So remind him of who he is. Gossip about the newspaper. Keep him up-to-date on Janet’s woes with contractors — construction contractors.”
Angie laughed at his correction.
“Remind him of who he is now,” Shorty continued earnestly. “Because they’re reminding him of who he was — and he’s going to find that persona comfortable. He was that person for a long time. Before the Marines. After the Marines. And let’s face it — during the Marines. Marine recon was just a legitimatized version of what he did in the gangs, and for Toby.”
Angie nodded. She set her wine glass on the counter. “I should go,” she said ruefully. “If I stay, I’ll have another glass, and then I’ll be too drunk to drive. Will you keep me in the loop, Shorty? I think I was aware there were things people weren’t telling me. And since the things they were telling me were bad enough, it was freaking me out that there might be things they hid that were worse.”
“I get that,” Shorty assured her. “And I’ve argued that you can handle whatever Mac throws at you. You’re strong, and you’re resilient. So I’ll use my initiative and tell you what I know.” He grinned at her. “And trust me, I know it all. I hacked Nick’s computer.”
Angie shook her head at that. Of course he did. She gave him a quick hug. “Glad you’re on our side,” she said sincerely. “We don’t need an evil mastermind in his lair. A mastermind for the good is scary enough.”
Shorty laughed and walked her out to her car. He watched Angie as she started the car, and when she looked back, he was watching her drive away. She wondered why. He wasn’t telling her everything either.
And that knot of dread reappeared in her stomach. She glanced at her watch — 10 p.m. She needed to hustle or she would miss Mac’s call. One thing she did agree with — she was Mac’s lifeline to normalcy and sanity. She wouldn’t risk missing a call. She drove a bit faster.