Chuckling, he relaxed back in his chair.“So there’s wonky stuff with Becca’s financials?”
“Not exactly.”She slid her laptop onto his desk, turning it to face him.“This is an account statement for Rebecca Monroe.”
It took less than a second for it to click.“Rebecca Wright and Abigail Monroe.A joint account?”
“Yes and no.”Lauren rotated the laptop half around so he could see while she clicked through windows, reaching one with an Account Holder Agreement opened.“Becca’s listed as the account holder and signatory.Becca and Abby are both listed as beneficiaries.”
“Did Abby know about this?Did she access it?”
Lauren shook her head, long strands of brown hair escaping from her pencil bun.“Only one user has ever logged in, from a single mobile device we don’t have on record.I’d bet that’s Becca.”
“On a burner.”He ran a hand over his jaw, prickly since he’d skipped his morning shave two days in a row.“They could have shared the login.”While Nic seemed convinced of Abby’s cooperation, Cam wasn’t sold.Even less so now that they’d found a bank account with her name on it.
One with multiple sizable deposits.“Are those?—”
“The third-party payoffs,” Lauren said with a nod.“We were only looking at Scott’s account for the bankroll.”
Cam glanced back at the board and the list of deposits.“He had them.”
“The payouts to his crew too, but these”—she pointed at her screen—“don’t match up.They’re bigger than Scott’s fee.”
“By a lot,” Cam said.“Have you traced the origin yet?”
“Hitting private bank walls.I’ve got calls with Switzerland and the Caymans on my agenda tomorrow when they reopen.”
“We need to update Nic.”
“Already texted him that we had a development.”She closed her laptop, slid it off the desk, and stood.“He said he had a meeting this morning and would be in around noon.”
As keen as she was at reading people, Cam hoped Lauren’s own movements had distracted her from noticing his.Nic had told him he was doing paperwork at the brewery this morning.Maybe he was meeting someone there.Or maybe the prosecutor was lying about something.The same something that had ruffled Nic last night, even if he hadn’t wanted Cam to see him off his cool, collected game.How was Cam supposed to help the man who’d grown to mean more to him than he should if Cam didn’t know what the fuck was going on?
He shook his head.Beside the point right now.He needed to focus on the case, not distractions.
“All right,” he said.“I want all our bases covered.Keep running down that account and dig for others with wonky aliases or activity.”Lauren smiled at his use of her word, the deflection working.“Dig deeper into Abby too.I’m going to bring her in for questioning.Would be great to have more to go on.”
“You got it.”She breezed out the door, and Cam waited for her to turn the corner before drawing his own laptop back in front of him.He logged back in and the screen came to life.
To the picture of Nic.
The man who was hiding something from him.
Nic clutched his steering wheel, debating whether this was the right call.Last night, in the heat of the moment after Vaughn’s thugs had tried to jump him, consulting Mel had seemed like the best plan.He trusted Mel more than most, professionally and personally, and she had the connections and discretion to get him what he needed.Answers.But would her other connections—to the Talleys—require disclosure when Nic required secrecy?She wouldn’t put her family in danger, which was exactly what Nic was also trying to avoid, but would she see it that way?
That said, he didn’t really see any other option.He couldn’t trace the handguns and call himself without triggering flags, and there would be a dozen more of those if he took this to the feds.He’d be walled off, ethically, and Aidan and Cam would be so far up his ass that he wouldn’t get another moment’s peace, much less what he really wanted from the latter.Or worse, they wouldn’t want anything to do with him at all.He didn’t want to admit he’d become attached, but yeah, that list of his was fucking growing all right.
He pulled Vaughn’s business card out of his pocket, turning it over in his hand.He’d have to play this carefully.Try to feel Mel out with the handguns and call trace before he showed all his cards, this one in particular.He resigned himself to losing up against someone so well-trained in interrogation and torture, but with his SEAL training, he could hold out longer than most.
Maybe.
Pocketing the card, he grabbed the briefcase off the passenger seat and climbed out of his truck.He approached the private marina’s guardhouse, badge in hand, ready to prove his identity to the rent-a-cop on duty, but the uniformed guard greeted him with a smile and waved him on through.He didn’t need to ask which of the dozen or so docked yachts was the one he wanted.The American and Irish flags flying from its stern were a dead giveaway.As was the striking and imposing woman waiting for him on deck, her brown skin glowing under the morning sun.
“I’d heard you and Danny moved.”He tucked his briefcase under his arm and climbed aboard.
“We did,” Mel replied, brushing back her windswept curls.“But ay dios, living and working with him, I needed a space of my own.”
Nic laughed.“So you turned the floating bachelor pad into your office?”
“Let me show you the improvements,” she said with a smirk.
