Seattle, Washington, October 3
The FBI field office in Seattle was located downtown in a sterile-looking building, with two hardwood trees trapped in a small square of dirt between the sidewalk and busy street. Skyscrapers surrounded the building, and the lack of parking reminded Kenzie of New York.
“I don’t miss city traffic,” she muttered as they exited the elevator.
“Agreed. Give me a bear jam any day,” Derek said, referencing the phenomenon common in Glacier, where bear sightings backed up traffic.
The young man at the front desk was pulling on a bright blue puffy jacket over his dark suit and narrow tie. He gave them a warm smile. “You must be Agent Harper and Ranger Reese. We heard you were coming. I’ll tell Agent Rafferty you’re here.”
A little thrill slipped through her as she mentally prepared herself to meet the agent. Garrett Rafferty had been a legend in the making when she’d been in Quantico. Barely into his forties, he’d already had a brilliant career in the bureau, capturing two serial killers in his first decade in the Seattle office.
The young man made a quick phone call, then turned sharp eyes on them. “I’m going on an early afternoon coffee run. Can I bring you anything?”
“Oh my god, will you marry me?” Kenzie blurted.
The man’s eyes went wide behind his blue-rimmed glasses, and Derek chuckled. “Don’t mind her. She’d probably kill for espresso, too. She would love a caramel macchiato, and I’d appreciate a green tea. Thanks.”
The man stuck out a hand. “My name is Blake and I’ll get you taken care of tout de suite.” He hesitated, then rushed on. “It is such a pleasure to meet you both. The work you did this summer in Glacier, well, that was incredible.”
Kenzie blinked. Was he fan boying over them? She didn’t mind that recognition one bit, but suddenly the pressure of the success of her team weighed heavily on her shoulders.
The rhythmic click of boots on the tiled floor drew her attention. A lean man in a suit jacket and tie, paired with starched blue jeans and cowboy boots, strode toward them. He glanced down at his feet, following Kenzie’s gaze. When his eyes lifted, she saw they were an intense blue. “I grew up on a ranch outside of Billings. Took the first bus out of Montana when I graduated high school and haven’t been back since.”
He extended a hand. “Garrett Rafferty. I understand you’ve had an interesting morning.”
Kenzie gripped his hand and made introductions. “You could say that. We’re hoping you can fill in a few of the missing pieces for us.”
“I can try. We’re set up in the conference room.” Rafferty led them briskly down a long hall. He had blonde hair and a no-nonsense way about him.
In contrast to the sharply dressed FBI agent, she and Derek looked like they’d spent a night camping. She discretely sniffed her jacket, wondering if she smelled like it, too. When she looked up, she caught Derek watching her. His lips crinkled in a smile. He was so freaking observant. It was one of his superpowers.
Derek leaned toward her and whispered, “You smell like the woods. I like it.”
Electricity zinged straight to her toes. Okay then.
Rafferty ushered them into a room with a jealousy-inducing full-wall white board and windows displaying a stunning view of the city. A stack of folders sat neatly on one side of a highly polished mahogany table.
Kenzie pulled out a chair on the opposite side and gave Rafferty an expectant look. “So Seattle has a drug problem?”
He grimaced. “Seattle has always had a drug problem. But it has gotten worse recently.”
Rafferty sat and opened a thick folder and slid a photo across the table. “Three major players control ninety percent of the drug business in Seattle. First, the Mendoza cartel, led by Carlos Mendoza of Mexico City.”
Kenzie appreciated that Rafferty didn’t waste time on small talk. They would get along just fine.
Kenzie studied the picture of Mendoza, a swarthy skinned man with perfect teeth. The picture could have hung on a boardroom wall. “Charming.”
“And ruthless. A deadly combination. He isn’t directly involved in the business, but they have a vast network across the Pacific Northwest.”
“What kind of drugs?” Derek asked, as Kenzie handed him the picture.
“Mostly heroin and cocaine. And he doesn’t play well with others. Mendoza has a history of violent turf wars at home.”
“Do you know how they get drugs into the city?” Kenzie asked, pulling out her own notebook.
Rafferty rubbed his chin. “No, though we suspect it’s a combination of tunnels and corrupt border officials across the Mexican border.”
Derek leaned forward. “The National Park Service and FBI have busted multiple grow operations run by Mexican cartels in parks in California and in North Cascades here in Washington. They have destroyed unique landscapes, killed animals with pesticides, redistributed water and left tons of trash behind, all in the name of profit.”
Rafferty nodded. “The cartels have their fingers all over western Washington. We helped the DEA with a bust in Port Orchard across the sound recently. Fentanyl and meth. Even the most idyllic place isn’t safe anymore.”
Rafferty opened another file and withdrew a photograph. “Robert Beauchamp, old school Canadian who has been expanding his territory into the Pacific Northwest for the past decade.”
The grainy picture showed a gray-bearded man in his late fifties surrounded by tall pines. He looked as comfortable in the woods as Derek.
“Canada has drug dealers? Are they smuggling them out of Tim Hortons?” Derek asked.
Even though Kenzie was still full from Lucas’ delicious food truck, her stomach growled at the thought of Timbits.
Rafferty continued, “Rob has an interesting moral compass. He usually keeps the violence to a minimum. And limited to his rivals.”
“What do you know about him?” Kenzie asked.
“Rob lives off the grid, and he’s been near impossible to track down.”
That explained the low resolution photograph.
“What kinds of drugs do they deal?” Derek asked.
“Originally? Backwoods meth, mostly.”
Derek listened intently as he rolled up the sleeves of his green and gray flannel shirt. “What do you mean, originally?”
“They’ve recently expanded into oxy and other painkillers, and ecstasy for the party crowd.”
Kenzie drummed her fingers on the shining table as she considered that.
“Who’s in the third pile?” Derek asked.
This time, the photo was of a beautiful, dark-haired woman with cunning eyes. “Isabella Rivera inherited the operation from her family in Colombia. She’s using her MBA to expand the cartel’s reach globally.”
“Including Seattle?”
Rafferty’s gaze hardened. “Yes. The family has a network of contacts across major U.S. ports. They use cargo or fishing vessels to smuggle cocaine.”
Blake slipped in and set a paper coffee cup in front of each of them. Kenzie resisted the urge to hug him. “Thank you,” she said with genuine feeling. Blake disappeared as quietly as he’d arrived.
Kenzie sipped her drink, envisioning the espresso winging through her bloodstream. They really knew how to make great coffee out here. She wished Claire would break down and get an espresso machine back in Granite Falls.
Rafferty was still talking, and she refocused on his words. “To further complicate things, we’ve only ever recovered a small amount of Icarus X.”
“What’s Icarus X?” Derek asked.
“The designer drug flooding our streets.”
“Why haven’t you confiscated more of the drug?” Kenzie asked.
Rafferty’s face tightened. “Good question. Word of any impending bust seems to get there before law enforcement each time. What we’ve got so far is the table scraps left behind.”
Derek leaned forward. “What kind of drug are we talking about here?”
“Because we have little to test, we’ve focused on non-destructive lab analysis. It keeps us more in the dark than I like,” Rafferty admitted.
“Best guess?” Kenzie asked.
“Icarus X is a custom cocaine blend, and it’s gaining deadly popularity. And it’s a big enough problem that we’re working jointly with the DEA to understand who’s distributing it.”
“Overdoses?” Derek asked.
“Three in the last month alone, more before that and a dozen near misses. Someone is targeting kids too. A high school party got out of control and five kids ended up in the hospital. And they don’t remember a thing.”
“What?” Derek paled beneath his dark stubble.
“Yeah, a fun side effect of this drug. Blackout level amnesia. The kids don’t remember who gave it to them. Hell, they barely remembered their own names.”
“You think they were roofied?” Kenzie asked.
Derek’s brows pinched in concern. “Is amnesia common in these kinds of drug cases?”
“No, most users want to remember the hi—.”
A knock on the door cut him off. Rafferty looked over his shoulder and waved a broad-shouldered man with thick gray hair in to join them.
He wore a shirt and tie, the sleeves of his button-down rolled to the elbows. But it was the golden eagle perched on the top of the badge slung around his neck made that made Kenzie sit up straight.
“This is SAC Frank Donovan. He’s with—”
“DEA.” Kenzie finished Rafferty’s statement. She stood and shook Donovan’s hand. “Kenzie Harper, FBI. This is Derek Reese, a park ranger with Glacier National Park.”
Donovan’s sharp hazel gaze cut between her and Derek, a subtle scowl etched on his weathered face. He stood with the confident authority of someone used to being in charge.
“Harper? Glacier? Weren’t you involved in that serial killer case earlier this year?”
Oooh, that recognition felt good. Like an addict getting another hit. “Yes, we helped solve a major case in Glacier.” The killer currently sat in a Montana prison awaiting trial.
“What are you doing in Seattle?” Donovan asked suspiciously.
“We’re here as tourists. We stayed in the Tolmie Lookout in Mount Rainier National Park last night,” Derek said. At Donovan’s blank expression, he continued, “It’s an old fire lookout perched high on a ridge overlooking the mountain.”
Donovan gave a curt nod. “What exactly did you find this morning that led you to search a plate on one of our undercover vehicles?”
So he was the pissed off supervisor that called Finley.
Kenzie sipped her coffee. “A little after sunrise, we reported a plume of smoke in the distance. When we eventually reached the site, fire crews had already put out the blaze, which was centered on an SUV that had crashed into a tree. Inside the vehicle was a badly burned male body.”
Donovan grimaced. “No one else was in the vehicle?”
Kenzie sat up straighter. “No. Did you expect someone else?”
Donovan shook his head.
Kenzie narrowed her gaze. Liar.
Derek interjected, before she could pounce. “I’m sorry for the loss of your agent in the car. Had he been with DEA a long time?” Derek’s condolences reminded Kenzie why he was an asset to the team. He had the empathy, she had the tenacity.
“Rick Martinez was a decorated veteran with nearly twenty years with the agency, though things had been rocky lately. He had a pretty public blowup with his ex wife’s new boyfriend a few months ago and he’s been on probation ever since. The vehicle you found was supposed to be sitting in a lot in Seattle. Which is why when you ran the plates, it flagged all the way up the chain to me.”
“Any suspicions why he was in the park?” Kenzie asked.
“I can only think of one reason. He was meeting with Tori.”
“Who’s Tori?” Kenzie asked.
Concern flicked across Donovan’s face. “Agent Tori Runningbear. Rick was her handler.”
Donovan pulled out his phone. He flipped through it for a moment, then turned the screen toward Kenzie and Derek. The woman was in her twenties with flowing black hair and haunted eyes. Like she carried the weight of the world on her slim shoulders. Tori’s striking cheekbones were a subtle indicator of her Native American heritage.
“Rick met Tori Runningbear while working a joint mission with the US Coast Guard. Rick liked her ability to think on her feet and recruited her to join the DEA,” Donovan said.
“You said Rick was her handler?” Derek asked.
Donovan tapped a finger on the table, looking like he was weighing his words carefully. “Earlier this spring, she came to me with a tip about the operation in the national forest north of Rainier. She thought she could get in with them and damned if she wasn’t right.”
Kenzie blinked. “You have an agent working with whoever is peddling deadly drugs in Seattle, and you still can’t arrest them?”
Donovan grimaced. “It’s not that simple. Yes, she’s embedded with the drug operation, but they keep the leadership isolated. And based on her reports, no one talks. Snitches don’t get stitches in this operation, they get dead.”
“Does NPS know about this?” Derek asked. Despite his quiet tone, the ticking muscle in his jaw suggested he was upset.
Donovan shook his head. “I do not know what Rick was doing there. We’ve never had any hints the operation was occurring in the park.”
“Can you reach out to Tori and find out?” Kenzie asked. Was that even an option? Undercover work was incredibly dangerous, and operatives often had no easy way of communicating with the outside world.
Donovan’s gray brows pinched. “That’s going to be difficult. She’s missed her last two check ins. For all we know, she’s dead.”