A few seconds later, the door began to slide open.
“Shit.” Hawk jumped into the truck and started the engine. “Buckle up and hold on.” He waited until she was secured, put the truck in gear, and sped out of the spot.
“What’s the matter?” Her voice was surprisingly calm.
“We’re about to have company.” He didn’t know who it was, but he wasn’t sticking around long enough to find out.
Her gaze shifted toward the elevators as the doors opened fully, and an angry-looking older man in a sharply tailored suit came charging out, shouting Charlotte’s name.
“Ms. Cavanaugh! Charlotte!” He was waving his arms overhead. “Stop! Stop!”
“Oh, my God!” She twisted to look at him as they passed by. “That’s Ambrose Pennington.” She faced forward, fuming. “Damn Helene and her big mouth.”
“Remy, down.” The dog lay flat on the back seat and kept his head down.
“We’re heading to my place.” Hawk’s wheels squealed on the concrete with each turn he made to get to the main floor. He didn’t slow down until he got to the street, where he was forced to wait until there was an opening in traffic before he could exit the lot.
Hawk doubted Pennington would hop in a car and pursue them, but he continued checking his mirrors as he sped away from the HRA building.
“I still need to get my bag from my house.” Charlotte gripped the handhold again and watched the road. “And I’d really like to see my mom.”
“We’ll have someone get your stuff, and we’ll figure out a way for you to see your mom.” He set the tissue-wrapped electronic listening device in one of the cupholders. “Hey, Siri, call Cole.”
“Calling Cole Lambert.” A disembodied voice came through the car speakers.
The phone rang twice, and he answered. “Lambert.”
“We just left Charlotte’s office.” He pressed the gas pedal and merged into traffic on the freeway. “Pennington came charging into the parking garage as we were leaving.”
“Dulce’s dad has known Pennington was scum for years,” Cole said. “The senator will be glad to see him exposed for the piece of shit he is.”
“I found an HJ-697 in the fire sprinkler in her office. I’ll send it to Beatrice, and maybe she can pull some prints. In the meantime, I took a picture of the side with the serial number and will send that to her and Sammy.”
“Those devices are cheap as hell and easy to get ahold of,” Cole said. “But maybe we’ll get lucky and they can use that serial number to figure out where the device was purchased.”
“My guess is Kimball put the bug in her office after she found that file.” Hawk was sure he was the one responsible, since he had unfettered access to the building and all of the offices in it.
“Luna tracked that plate number you gave her.” Papers shuffled in the background. “It’s registered to HRA, and the description you provided of the man behind the wheel fits Vincent Kimball. I’m texting his photo to you now.”
“What do we know about him?” Hawk checked the mirrors, and his phone pinged with Cole’s message.
“Sixty-two years old, a glorified thug with a huge, very unstable chip on his shoulder.” Cole continued. “No dad around when he was a kid, middle child with a bunch of brothers and a sister. They all grew up running the streets in a rough part of Norfolk, Virginia. He pulled a lot of petty stuff as a juvenile—shoplifting, underaged drinking, flattening tires. He stole a woman’s purse from a grocery cart once. On his eighteenth birthday, he decided to up his game and stole a patrol car, took it on a joy ride, and ended up wrapping it around tree. To send a message to him and any other kid who might think it’s funny to steal a patrol car, the judge sentenced Kimball to twenty-two months. Instead of scaring him straight, it just made him meaner.” Paper shuffled. “He pulled a seven-year stint for armed robbery, released after three.”
“How does someone with that kind of history end up working as the head of security for an organization like HRA?” Charlotte was understandably confused. “I would think a position like that would warrant at least a background check and substantial experience.”
“He grew up with a guy named Leonard Everett, who owns Bernardi Transportation. In addition to trucking services, Everett also owns a fleet of commercial buses. And I’ll give you one guess who signed his company to a hefty contract a few years back.”
“HRA.” Hawk shared a look with Charlotte before turning back to the road.
“You guessed it. Kimball was added to HRA’s payroll system three days after that contract was signed. And the contract award amount is much higher than the average cost of other bus transportation outfits. Right now, all we know about the contract is that it provides buses and drivers, so there’s no explanation for the higher cost.” Cole’s frustration was apparent in his voice. “Sammy’s working on another project, so Luna has pretty much taken the lead on this, and she’s determined to figure it out.”
“Cole, I might know what the buses are for.” She made sure to speak loudly enough for him to hear. “HRA has intake facilities all over the Southwest for families and unaccompanied minors who’ve come across the border illegally.” Her brows drew together as she thought it out. “Perhaps this Everett person was contracted to pick them up and transport them.”
“Where are they transported to?” Hawk asked.
“I don’t know—I’ve not been made privy to that information.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m not even sure who would have those details or why there is so much secrecy surrounding them.”
“It’s no coincidence those two are connected to HRA.” Hawk had never been a believer in coincidences, especially when so many powerful people with a lot to lose were involved. “Everett must’ve used his contract as leverage to get his friend the job at HRA.”
