Axel
Located ten blocks from the Smithsonian, the Patten Securities’ brownstone building would easily pass as the home of a foreign dignitary. The first time I visited, I thought I got the address wrong until I read the unassuming plaque to the right of the front door.
Now, Bear and I sit in the third-story office with Lucky and his boss, Slate. My phone rests on the square glass and chrome coffee table above the cherry parquet floor. I’ve opened the spy-application so we can eavesdrop on Gwen and Danbury’s conversation.
Staring at the two-hundred-year-old bricks, I cringe as my wife offers to trade her skills for my life. “How do I know you will send it?”
Danbury chuckles. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
What an arrogant motherfucker.
While my wife negotiates, I turn to the man behind the desk. “Were your people able to copy the file?”
Frowning, he glances down at his screen. “Heavily encrypted. Not looking too likely.”
Fuck. Hoping the FBI can do better, I message my trusted analyst in the chat window.
Wulf: Any luck?
Trever: Not yet.
Wulf: How long before you know?
Trever: Seconds, or maybe never.
Shit. Done texting, I shift my focus back to my wife, expertly brokering the exchange. “You send the first half of the file now and the second before we take off.”
“No deal.” Danbury’s bartered everything from underage girls to cutting-edge semiconductors. How in God’s name did she think she could compete?
“Well, then I’m not accepting his job offer. You’re supposedly one of the best negotiators in the world. Convince me.”
The notion she would ever work for Ledbetter sends my heart racing until I remember her strategy.Calm the fuck down. It’s a ruse.
In the background, a train whistles. After the thumping of wheels on tracks passes, Danbury clears his throat. “How about I send the video to a trusted third party, let’s say… a bank in Switzerland. One of your people can verify it.”
“Fine. Make it happen.” When she hangs up, I scowl at Lucky, who I blame for agreeing to her outlandish plan.
“What does my wife’s plan say we’re supposed to do now?” I read her whole damn cockamamie scheme, but I need to know if these guys understand what they’ve signed on for.
“Follow her, and don’t get caught.” When Slate shrugs as if it’s no biggie, I growl. Jesus, I wonder if he’d be so cavalier if it were his wife.
“So basically, she’s a fucking worm on a hook.” My heart can’t take this. Gwen is not a goddamn operative. Sure, she’s brilliantand capable and has spent some time at the shooting range. However, the people she’s up against are some of the deadliest in the world.
The two Patten men exchange glances, the kind that make me feel like the crazy one in the room.
No doubt wondering if I’m about to call the whole thing off, Slate narrows his gaze and projects a new window onto the wall. “She’s in no danger. I have over ten operatives following her. We will always have eyes on her. Her plan will work. Trust her.”
I do, but why am I getting the feeling that the proverbial shit is about to hit the fan?
Chapter 18
“If you can’t face the wolves, don’t go in the forest.” ~Unknown
Gwen
I did not account for Evan Danbury’s painstakingly lengthy negotiations. However, I did predict Ledbetter would continue to have the weasel act as his intermediary. His use of a Swiss bank surprised me, but it shouldn’t have. The FBI’s most wanted arms dealer would employ sophisticated methods, unlike in movies where criminals conduct business at gunpoint.
After refreshing my emails, I forward the link to Trever. I trust he will verify the murder video is genuine and not AI-generated. In precisely one hour, the FBI will have the evidence it needs to prove my husband did not kill Joanne Cormack.
