“Good.”Aidan rested against the opposite counter next to Jamie, who threw an arm over his shoulders.“It’s as contained as it can be.”
“Except for the fact Vaughn knows about my sister now.”
A surge of guilt slammed into Cam.Vaughn knew about Nic’s sister because he’d been wearing a bug.He hadn’t thought to check after Cole stopped him.Honestly, and obviously, he hadn’t given the double agent enough credit.“Nic, I’m so?—”
“Not your fault, Boston.Aidan’s right, it could have been worse.And we’ve got Vaughn on tape now, making threats, if veiled.We need to get hold of that audio.”
“Do we need to get extra protection on your family?”Jamie asked.
“I don’t think so,” Nic said, eyes still on Cam, seeking confirmation, which he gave with a nod.“Mel and Eddie are both with them now.Garrett’s MARSOC.”Jamie’s eyes went round as saucers.“And Lette’s a black belt.”Aidan’s widened to match.
“Badass runs in the family,” Cam summarized.
“We should still move them into a safe house,” Aidan said.
“No, not if Cole—” Nic started.
“Mobile Command,” Cam said, referring to Aidan’s brother’s former bachelor-pad yacht that Mel had converted into her own private command center.“It’s secure, mobile, and stocked.”
“It’s the best option we’ve got,” Aidan said.
“Do it,” Nic agreed, and Aidan and Jamie went into motion, Jamie reassembling phones so Aidan could set up transports.Nic, however, didn’t look all that reassured.
Cam scooted closer, laying a hand over his where it’d curled around the counter lip.“We’ve got this.We’ll protect your family.You work your legal magic and get Vaughn locked up for good.”
Fifteen
Nic sat behind the prosecutor’s desk and spread his hands over the wood, soaking up the quiet calm before the storm.Not that there would be a full-blown storm here, not like in a normal courtroom.There wasn’t a judge’s bench or jury box, no other table for the defense, and no peanut gallery full of spectators.Hell, there wasn’t even a lectern.In this renovated grand jury suite, there were display screens behind a folding faux-wood wall, an L-shaped box for the court reporter and bailiff near the entry door, the prosecutor’s boxed desk on the opposite side of the room, and in the middle, at the front, a boxed desk where either he or his witness would sit when addressing the three elevated rows of federal grand jurors.
It was more like a classroom than a courtroom, and it reminded Nic of mock trials in law school or JAG court-martial proceedings.He appreciated the changeup but only on occasion.Grand jury proceedings were a double-edged sword.Less adversarial, the prosecutor worked with the grand jury—no judge, opposing counsel, or defendant were usually present.But the cases heard before the grand jury were not the sorts of high-stakes endeavors he’d want to regularly endure.So much more was on the line.
The click of the door’s electronic lock jostled Nic out of his thoughts.Standing, he buttoned his gray suit coat and adjusted his blue tie as the bailiff ushered in the grand jurors.Nic greeted them cordially, sayinghellos andhow are yous to the faces that had become familiar over the past few months.They filed past with their case tablets in one hand and their beverage of choice—soda, water, tea, or coffee—in the other.They were due hospitality and appreciation, no matter how they ruled.They’d been accommodating with their time and attention, meeting on short notice when he needed them and handling the evidence in a professional and expeditious manner.Today was the culmination of their work, and Nic wanted to do right by them as much as he wanted to do right by all those he was protecting by prosecuting Vaughn.
Once the jurors were settled with their tablets plugged in and the court reporter signaled ready, Nic nodded for the bailiff to close the door and start the session.The bailiff called them to order, then handed the proceeding off to Nic.
“For the record, Dominic Price, Assistant US Attorney for the Northern District of California.I have called this federal grand jury to assess the merits of the case, the United States versus Duncan Vaughn and related entities.”Nic strolled to the center of the room and rested back against the witness desk.“Now that that’s done, thank you all for coming in on such short notice and for your continued service.We’ve seen a rapid mobilization of this matter in the last week, including two suspicious deaths.Time is of the essence before more crimes are committed and more lives lost.
“With your help issuing warrants earlier in the week, we’ve made significant progress on the case.Today I intend to present evidence and testimony supporting the issuance of indictments based on the charge sheets you’ll find on your tablets.”He waited for thetap-tap-tapof nails and pens to quiet, the appropriate documents on everyone’s screens.“The US government aims to indict Duncan Vaughn, his affiliate enterprises, and his associates identified on the charge sheets with racketeering, bank, loan, and wire fraud, witness tampering, assault and battery, conspiracy to commit murder, and murder.”
“There’s a charge sheet for your boss, US Attorney Bowers,” the jury foreman said.
“And for an FBI agent,” added another juror.
“Hence the reason I brought this case before you, the federal grand jury.We’re avoiding a public hearing to one, make sure it’s in the best interest of the people to bring this case, and two, because we’re dealing with several high-profile individuals and very sensitive legal and financial matters.
“Duncan Vaughn is an influential local investor.Implicated in his operation are multiple federal, state, and municipal employees.Before charging these individuals, before uprooting their lives and their companies and agencies, we want to be sure the evidence meets the highest standards justice requires.You, the federal grand jury for Northern California, are charged with protecting the people of this district and the United States.This falls under your purview.”
Realizing the true enormity of the case, some of the jurors appeared understandably cautious and apprehensive, but an equal number sat up straighter, features determined.Nic was likewise determined to have them all looking that way when he was finished today.
“I’d like to start by calling Elton Moore, Assistant Director of the FBI for Northern California.”The bailiff stood and opened the door to the holding room.Walking confidence in a tailored navy suit, El flashed his smile at the jurors, shook Nic’s hand, and slid into the witness box like he owned it.
Which he did over the next ninety minutes, working with Nic to guide the jurors through the full case background—displaying timelines on the wall screens, laying out Vaughn’s organization, and detailing the FBI’s efforts up to last week.By the time he was done, Nic understood how El had scaled the FBI ladder so fast.He was concise, clear, and charming as hell.
He had the jury eating out of his palm, the background set up and the bases loaded for Cam and Lauren to knock it out of the park.
Cam’s dark gaze was carefully neutral as he entered the room.A voice in the back of Nic’s head had warned him that maybe this suit and tie—Cam’s favorite—wasn’t the best idea today.Too distracting, too on the nose.A louder voice, however, had shouted that it was exactly the confidence boost they needed to tackle this as a team.Together.The louder voice had been right.Cam took a seat in the witness box, their gazes briefly locked, and they were instantly on the same page.The both of them at their best.
Their back-and-forth was easy as they explained the past week’s developments, walking the jurors through crime scene photos, toxicology results, biometric readings, and interrogation transcripts.Charming in a different way than Moore, Cam wasn’t slick or polished.He was your next-door neighbor, your average everyday FBI agent—granted, an assistant special agent in charge, but he’d been the one putting in the work on the ground—at the crime scenes and at the interrogations.And his experience dealing with kidnap and rescue cases, with grieving families, translated amazingly well to the courtroom, giving him the patience and ability to speak in plain English that Nic would readily admit was often lost on lawyers and higher-ups.
