Brie forced herself to touch Carlos’s swollen hand. He’d obviously put up one heck of a fight. The knot in her chest doubled, knowing that if Carlos could talk, she’d bet he’d say something like “You ought to see the other guy.” And she wished she could see him. The need to find the son-of-a-beach who did this bit hard.
“Carlos.” Swallowing, she contemplated her words. The nurse had told her that sometimes comatose patients said they had heard people talking to them while they’d been unconscious. If so, Carlos deserved to know he wasn’t alone.
Brie had met Carlos the day she started at the FBI. He’d been one of the few who hadn’t gotten pissy because she’d been brought into the agency in an unorthodox way. Hadn’t judged her for her size and gender.
“I’m here. I got your back. And Eliot and Sam are coming.” Her throat tightened. “And Tory should be here soon. Don’t you want to wake up?” A few hot tears fell to her cheek. “I’m going to find who did this. I swear.”
She heard the door swish open behind her. She batted away her tears before turning around.
“How’s the weather in Florida?”
Standing six foot plus, wearing a frown, a pair of dark gray khakis, and a sage button-down, Detective Pierce loomed in the doorway. Inanely, she noticed the shirt brought out the green in his eyes.
Eyes filled with a crapload of suspicion.
“I can explain,” she said.
“Really? This is going to be good.”
She started out of the room. But he blocked the door. She half expected him to start Mirandizing her.
“Do I need to handcuff you, or are you going to be civil?”
“I’m not going to run.” Her chest tightened.
“But not be civil?” His voice deepened.
“I’m not in a civil mood.” Honesty came out, while she held close to the vulnerability quaking inside her.
He stared down at her, as if cuffing her was still an option.
“Get your head out of your ass.” She forced her chin up. “If I’d planned on running, would I have given the officer your card?”
“But you lied about who you were two months ago, and there’s the text about Florida. So we haven’t built up a good foundation of trust, now have we?”
Yeah, there was that. “I needed a little time.”
“For what?” he asked.
She glanced at Carlos. “Let’s talk somewhere else.” She spoke as if she owned this conversation.
His disgruntled expression said she didn’t own crap.
She breathed in through her nose, fighting the sting in her eyes. “They say he might be able to hear.” She waved the detective aside.
He stepped away from the door, even let her lead the way. But she didn’t fool herself, his heavy footsteps told her he was less than an arm’s reach away.
She pushed open the double doors, exiting the ICU unit, and saw the small seating area in the hall was now empty. Dropping down in one of the chairs, she debated over where to start. He claimed the seat beside her. His knee bumped against hers; the human contact sparked an ache, and she jerked away.
He noticed her quick movement and frowned. “Start explaining.”
“I’m with the FBI.”
“But on leave, right? Officer Heyes said—”
“Yes, I took a leave of absence to investigate my sister’s murder.”
His brow arched. “Alma Ronan?”
She nodded.
He held up a couple of fingers and wiggled them. “Two problems.” His dead-serious tone seemed to come from deep in his chest. And considering the size of his chest, there was a lot of depth there. “First, from what I read, Alma doesn’t have a sister. Second, we don’t know she’s dead.”
“Her body was found in Guatemala five months ago. I didn’t want to report it to the local police until I had a chance to look into it. But her parents have been notified.”
“You can prove that?”
She nodded. “I have the report.”
“On you?” he asked.
“I can get it on my phone if you think it’s necessary.”
“I do.”
Frowning, she pulled her phone out and went to her email where she’d forwarded a copy. She passed him her phone.
He skimmed the email, then glanced up.
“I’ll need you to forward that to me. Now, back to the other issue. The records state that Alma didn’t have any siblings. And you just said ‘her parents,’ not ‘our parents.’”
“We’re half sisters. Our father was married to two women at the same time. I haven’t seen her since I was six. Dad’s a bigamist isn’t something you put on your paperwork. And I don’t consider him my parent.”
He studied her as if he’d heard the emotion behind that truth. “How did Agent Olvera get involved?”
“I contacted him.”
“About?”
“The manager at the Black Diamond started talking about a foreign investor, Dillon Armand, being in the States. He was listed as a person of interest in my sister’s murder by Guatemalan police. I called Carlos. When he looked into this, Homeland Security didn’t show he was here. Oddly enough his cousin Marcus was listed as entering the States. Part of the reason the FBI didn’t feel the need to investigate Armand was because he wasn’t listed as being in the States when my sister went missing. We did some checking and found they look enough alike to be twins. That made us suspicious that Dillon Armand may have traveled here using his cousin’s passport.”
“And you think he was who shot your agent?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Or do you think this was random? A robbery?”
Her mind raced. Could she, should she—confide in him about the possible mole? Every inch of her FBI training said no, to leave it to Agent Calvin to look into this internally. But he hadn’t believed her, so how hard would he investigate? And one of the two agents coming here could be the leak Carlos had found. The real question: Could she risk not telling him? Her loyalty was with Carlos. Not the FBI.
“Maybe not random,” she said. “It’s possible that the person responsible for shooting Agent Olvera is connected to the FBI.”
Detective Pierce’s eyes rounded.
“I’ve just been informed that Carlos, Agent Olvera, suspected there was a dirty agent.”
“Informed by who?”
“Tory Vale.”
“Another agent?” he asked.
“No, he’s Agent Olvera’s husband. I trust Tory, and I trust Carlos even more. Have you ever heard of the Sala family?”
“Just that they have a connection to the cartel out of Mexico.”
“They are a Guatemalan crime family as big, if not bigger, than the cartel. Nine months ago, the FBI, along with the ATF, worked a gun trafficking case. It went awry. We were certain then that someone with ATF had leaked something, but we couldn’t prove it.”
He held up a hand. “I’m confused. What does a gun trafficking case have to do with your sister’s murder and Agent Olvera getting shot?”
“You really aren’t very patient, are you?”
He frowned. She continued, “According to Tory, before he left, Carlos was going through the Sala case and came across something that made him believe the leak from that case was internal.”
“So you think someone from your agency shot Agent Olvera? That would mean his attack is connected to an old gunrunning case and not your sister’s murder.”
“Except Dillon Armand is a cousin to the Sala family and he just happens to be part owner of the Black Diamond where my sister worked.”
“Then maybe Armand did shoot Olvera?”
“No, I had him in my sights most of the night.”
Silence fell, as if he was gathering his questions. “Something was mentioned about human trafficking. Is that what you think happened with your sister?”
Guilt resettled in her chest. “Yes. It’s rumored the Sala family are also into human trafficking, but we have no proof.”
“What I don’t understand is if Armand’s name is connected with the police report and the club, why didn’t the FBI or the Guatemalan police investigate it?”
“The Sala family has deep pockets and practically owns the authorities down there.” She sighed. “Armand denied knowing my sister, and the witness who put him with her recanted his story. And because Armand hadn’t been to the States in several years, there was nothing to tie him to her.”
“So are the FBI opening an investigation now?”
“Not yet. Carlos was here to get his prints. If we could prove he’s been entering the country all this time as his cousin, then it might be enough to open the investigation.”
He nodded. “And stealing the Mustang?”
“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it. It’s in a grocery store parking lot on—”
“It’s been found,” he said. “Why did you…borrow it?”
“Armand came into the club. I heard him on the phone setting up a meeting. I decided to follow him, hoping he might lead me to the bastards he’s doing business with. But when I went to the parking lot, I realized he’d parked beside my car. Afraid he’d recognize it, I ran back into the club and snagged a customer’s, Mr. Dunn’s, keys. He’s careless with them. Leaves them on the table so they’re not in his pocket, in case he gets a lap dance. And since he’s sleeping with one of the dancers, he always closes the place down. I thought I’d have time to follow Armand and bring the car back without him knowing.”
Pierce sat there, staring at her as if her answer wasn’t good enough.
And it wasn’t. Taking the car hadn’t been her brightest move. But she couldn’t turn down the chance to find out who Armand was working with. “Look, I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“Obviously you’ve never been kneed in the balls.” He lifted one brow.
She held up a hand. “You’re right. I did do that. The police officer was about to arrest me when Armand’s Porsche drove by. All I could think about was the picture of my sister—dead, naked, and chained to that filthy bed in some Guatemalan whorehouse. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing!”
When he didn’t answer, she said, “See.”
“I’m going to have to take you in.” He started to stand up.
“Not yet. I have backup coming to watch over Carlos. As soon as they arrive you can take me in. And once I solve my sister’s case and find out who did this to Carlos, you can toss my ass in jail.”
His green eyes narrowed. Their color darkened. “You don’t get to call the shots, Agent Ryan.”
She knew her only out was to reason with this guy, but was he reasonable? “They should be arriving in a couple of hours—”
He shook his head. “I’ll have an officer—”
“The officer on duty has slept more than half the time he’s been here!”
“Officer Heyes left. I’ll get someone different.” He reached for his phone.
“I can’t accept that.” She frowned.
“Look, this whole thing sounds…”
“Crazy. I know. But I’m not willing to bet the life of my friend on it. I’m the one who pulled Carlos into this, so this is on me.” She inhaled and hoped her air of authority would at least earn her some respect. “All I’m asking for is time. Let my backup get here, then as soon as I catch who did this, you can lock me up for all I care.”
She watched the debate happening in his eyes.
When he didn’t seem happy, she added, “Didn’t I go to y’all when someone came in looking for your witness at the club a couple of months ago? I gave a description of him. I didn’t have to do that.”
He stared at her. “Do you think this Armand guy is on to you?”
“No.”
“Well someone is.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed her what looked like claw marks up his arm. “Your attack cat did this to me.”
“You were in my apartment?”
“Only after someone broke in.”
“Broke in?”
“You haven’t been notified?”
She remembered she’d missed a call earlier. “I got a message but haven’t listened to it.” She struggled to wrap her head around what he was saying. “Is my cat, Psycho, okay?”
“Fitting name,” he said. “I locked him in the bathroom with his litter box and food.”
“Thank you.” She realized what he was insinuating. “I don’t think my cover’s blown. Other than Carlos, no one knew I was here, until now, and the FBI still don’t know I’m working at the club.”
“Maybe Agent Olvera told—”
“He’d never do that.”
“Then it’s one hell of a coincidence. The agent you brought in to confirm your lead is shot, then your place is broken into.”
“Wait!” She grabbed her phone. “I have a nanny cam.”
She pulled up the app and hit rewind. He leaned in so close, his shoulder brushed against hers.
The fast-moving film showed someone walking into her place. She paused it and went back. The gun-toting guy on the screen was big, blond, and sitting next to her.
“It happened right before that.” His deep voice came right at her ear with a warm breath.
She started playing it again. The film showed her front door being kicked in.
“There,” he said.
She hit rewind. The guy moving into her living room was equally big and had red hair, and his back was toward the camera. He finally faced the camera. He looked familiar, but…her mind played connect the dots trying to identify him. “Fudge.”
“You recognize him?”
“Yeah. It’s one of Mr. Dunn’s construction guys.”
“Who?”
“Dunn. The owner of the Mustang. He runs a construction company and brings his workers in sometimes. Someone might have noticed me take his keys. Or I guess he could have figured it out, since my car was still at the club. He must’ve sent this guy to my house.” She looked at Detective Pierce. “Did you release my name to the cops about the car?”
“No. But how would this Dunn character know where you live?”
“Grimes, the club owner. Dunn probably accused me of stealing his car and Grimes gave him my address. They’re friends.”
“Excuse me.” A doctor walked up. “Are you Mrs. Olvera?”
Brie glanced at Detective Pierce, hoping he’d stay silent. “Yes. Is everything okay?”
The doctor eyed Connor.
“It’s okay,” Brie said. “Just tell me!”