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OF ALL THE CRAZY THINGS I’d done in my life, apparently this was the craziest. I wondered how they would kill us and where they would dump our bodies. Bizarre thoughts ran through my mind and I couldn’t stop them. I pictured us taken out to the desert like they do in mob movies. Or shot and buried in shallow graves.
Laganga had gone to lock all of the doors. Greg Clark’s left eye was turning a shade of purple from Jonathan’s punch and he looked like he was ready to throw up. The air in the room felt like thick soup and I had a hard time breathing. A cold sweat slicked over me, dampening my blouse. Panic does that. Kate and Kim didn’t look like they were in any better shape than I was.
What seemed like hours, but was probably minutes, had passed. I managed to look at the clock and realized that Vito Laganga had been gone longer than it should have taken to lock up the factory. Since the room was soundproofed, I couldn’t hear anything beyond the door.
Then everything changed. The door slammed open and I heard loud shouts and a major ruckus coming from the reception area. In an instant our prison was swarming with the most welcome sight ever—agents wearing black flak vests emblazoned with the gold letters FBI, their guns drawn. I heard Vito Laganga’s voice yelling, “You have no right here,” over the other loud voices in the reception area.
Jonathan Reid was eerily calm when he said, “These are private premises. I demand to know what’s going on.”
However, the sight of the three of us tied to chairs plus Greg Clark with his blackening eye sort of told the story. One of the agents proceeded to untie us while the others kept their guns trained on Jonathan and Vashti.
Once untied, my wrists and ankles ached with that awful pins and needles sensation as the blood rushes back. In fact, everything ached and I felt totally exhausted. When I tried to get up from the chair, I fell back into it, my legs like strands of spaghetti.
Kate and Kim stretched and rubbed their wrists and ankles. Greg Clark moaned, “Thank goodness, thank goodness,” over and over again. We were quite the scene as we watched the agents cuff Jonathan and Mahood Vashti and then cuff Greg Clark. Poor Clark. Even though he wouldn’t go along with murder, he was part of the money laundering scheme. Since Laganga never came back, it was a sure bet they already had him in custody.
“H-How did you find us?” Kim gasped. “Oh, my God. We were going to be killed. Killed!” She covered her eyes and began to cry.
One of the agents went over to a pitcher and glasses on the sideboard at the back of the room and poured glasses of water for each of us. I gulped mine down as though I’d never tasted such wonderful water. Kate held the cool glass up to her forehead before taking some sips. Kim held her glass but continued to cry. When the agent patted her shoulder, she collapsed into him.
“We had our instructions from very high up the food chain, as the saying goes. Let’s get you out of here and everything will be explained. I’m Agent Larsen. Hank Larsen. None of you are in the shape to drive, so I’ll drive you back to your house in your car. There are some people there by now who want to talk to you.”
I inhaled deeply. “Agent Larsen, that man with the gray hair is Kenneth Monnigan, or Jonathan Reid as I have known him for many years. He owns the major interest in several of the businesses from the Fashion District, including this one, that have been part of a drug money laundering ring.”
“Actually, we know that. You three have done an amazing job, and we thank you. Sorry it got to the point it did, but when that guy out there began to lock up and your car was still here it was clear you were in danger.”
Kate said, “Our car? How did you know it was our car? In fact, you seem to know who we are. How is that possible?”
Agent Larsen steered us out the door. “I know you have lots of questions, and everything will be explained. Right now the main thing is to get you three ladies back to Ms. Harsen’s house.”
If it was strange before, it was getting wacky now. How did he know my name? We don’t put our registration on the steering post of our cars like they used to do years ago. But he knew my name. How?
I SAT IN THE FRONT passenger seat on the ride back to my house while Kate and Kim slumped in the back. Kim still had little bouts of crying, but she was getting better. We inched along the freeway in typical Los Angeles stop and go traffic. Finally Agent Larsen took the Fairfax off ramp and swung over to Washington. “Always seem to make better time on the surface streets at this hour,” he said.
He pulled up behind my garage, and we all trooped into the house. Something wasn’t right. The lights in the living room were on, and I knew they weren’t when we left. Had someone broken into my house? That would be the perfect ending to what had turned out to be anything but a perfect day.
Someone was in the house, alright—the Director of the Homeland Security office Kim was working with, two more agents and Nathan. What was he doing in California and how did they get in?
Kim ran to Nathan and fell into his arms, letting loose with full blown sobs. He held her tight and caressed her hair and back. “It’s over, Baby,” he crooned. “You did it, and just so you know there hasn’t been a moment you haven’t been under surveillance.”
“Wh-what?” she choked out. “What do you mean surveillance?”
“You don’t think I would have okayed this stunt you insisted upon doing without making sure you were safe, do you? You and my best and oldest friend, Cameron and Miss Fraud Buster, here, Kate. I’ve had a detail assigned to you 24/7. Oh, yeah, and there are trackers on all three cars.”
I tried to appear indignant, with my hands on my hips and feet planted in a firm stance. “And you broke into my house?” Then I broke into laughter. “Thank God for you, Nate. I thought we were goners.”
He led Kim around to one of the sofas and plopped down next to her. “If you super sleuths will calm down for a minute, we will fill you in on everything you actually accomplished. It’s way more than any of us thought.”
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. When I answered, Detective McCrary stood there looking very uncomfortable. The day was getting stranger and stranger. What could he possibly want?
The detective shifted from foot-to-foot as he stood there waiting for me to invite him in. When I did, he entered the room and stopped short. Nathan was very easy to recognize with his dark, handsome good looks constantly in the media. Although he didn’t know who the others were, I could see he knew they were important.
As he stood there speechless, I said, “Good evening, Detective McCrary. What can I do for you? Anything new in the murder case? This is United States Attorney General Nathan Hartman—the man you spoke to on the phone a few days ago.” I pointed around the room. “Meet Director Aaron Kincaid of Homeland Security and Agents Brown and Selden. Please, have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Clearly he was caught off guard. He acknowledged the introductions, then said, “Um, I think I’ll stand. I’m sorry, but this isn’t a social call, Cameron. Something new has come up in the case. We have identified the murder weapon as your ADDY trophy. There was a slight trace of blood on it, so we took it as evidence when your office was searched. The blood matches Tyler Cunningham’s and the bruise is consistent with the shape of the trophy. I’m sorry, but Cameron Harsen, you are under arrest for the murder of Tyler Cunningham.” He proceeded to recite my Miranda rights.”