“Yes, sir,” I say, schooling my features.
This is the first time he’s deviated from his schedule.
Let the games begin.
Chapter 5
Lucas
To my surprise, we pick up the accountant, Conner Bailey. A forty-seven-year-old widower who started working at Cahill about two years ago. From what I know of Conner, his office is on the same floor as Emmett’s, but he rarely comes out of it. Emmett does go in there though. And now I’m starting to wonder if maybe the two are conspiring together.
It’s odd, but when I look at him, I feel like I’ve met him before. I know for a fact I haven’t, but he looks so familiar.
Per Emmett’s instructions, I pull into a parking lot a few blocks down the road where Conner waits outside of a dated silver Toyota Tacoma. He gives me a firm nod, as always, when I open the car door, but he looks tired and grim. I’m on high alert right now because I have no clue what this get-together is about and from Conner’s expression, it doesn’t seem like it’s good.
A multitude of scenarios are running through my head as I drive south to Chula Vista. The car is silent the whole way, Emmett on his phone and Conner keeping his sights out the window. Too bad I can’t just outright ask either of them what the fuck we’re doing in this part of town. It would make my job a whole lot easier.
When we finally pull up to the location, it’s no surprise that the place has seen better days. The old diner has a generic restaurant sign with faded paint and graffiti all over. There’s a letter in the window, indicating the health department has been here, and it’s definitely not an A-plus establishment.
“I need you to stay outside by the front door. No one comes in. Understand?” Emmett barks, his tone noticeably hard. I’ve never heard him this serious before, but I nod and follow his instructions.
Conner follows him but pauses before he enters the establishment. Both of his hands are in a fist and his shoulders are visibly tense, but he steps through the door and Emmett closes it behind him.
I’m taking note of my surroundings. This part of town isn’t nice. There’s a car alarm going off nearby and some questionable people standing on the corner whispering to each other. So, why is a prominent businessman dragging his accountant to a place like this? And why does said accountant look like he’s going to the gallows?
These are all questions I’m going to need answers to.
Since I’m not allowed to enter the building, I slowly pace the front door so I can look inside. Sure enough, Emmett is sitting next to a well-dressed Latino man and Conner is sitting across from them. Conner is nodding his head and typing away on a laptop that I know he didn’t bring, with an expression on his face I can only describe as annoyed.
This is something I can work with. After a month of nothing, this sure seems like something.
~ ~ ~
The rest of the day is uneventful. Both Conner and Emmett went to their respective offices after their little meet-up and didn’tspeak to each other again. It only fueled more questions that I don’t have answers to.
I’m itching to tell the captain what happened today as I pull onto the freeway and make my way towards our designated meet-up spot, a seedy dive bar east of Daybreak.
Captain Miller is a hard looking man in his early fifties. He sports a shaved head and a peppered gray handlebar mustache that makes him look intimidating. His no-nonsense approach to undercover work has made him a household name amongst people in the police force. The organized crime unit in San Diego runs a tight ship because of Miller, and because of him, they’ve put away some big names. It was a no-brainer when I got asked to cross jurisdictions and work for him.
When I arrive in the parking lot of the bar, I chuck my fake glasses and change into jeans, a dark shirt, and baseball cap before I get out of the SUV. I find Miller in a booth, the furthest from the door, and sit down across from him. We wait for the waitress to take our order and bring it back to the table before we start the conversation.
“Anything yet?” he asks, taking a swig of his iced tea.
“There wasn’t until today. I was asked to pick up his accountant and drive them both to a hole in the wall diner down in Chula Vista. They met up with a Latino guy, but I don’t know much more than that. He clearly didn’t want me to hear their conversation because he made me wait outside.”
He nods like it’s good information. “Get me the name of the diner and I’ll have a few guys case the place. What do we know about this accountant?”
“He started working there two years ago. He’s a widow, forty-seven, and keeps to himself. He looked pretty fucking irritated going into the meeting though. Angry almost.”
“I’ll do a little digging. In the meantime, try to get close to him. Who knows, maybe he’ll have some of the answers we need.”
I give him a terse nod. “Sounds good.”
“Just keep your head down and your ears open. No distractions. There’s a reason the company’s name came out of that cartel member's mouth. It might take a little time to figure it out, but this is a good start. And remember… don’t get caught.”
I spend a few more minutes describing today's events so he can relay it to the team and then we say our goodbyes.
It’s still light out by the time I get back to my rental in Daybreak, and I decide to change into some workout clothes, put my glasses back on, and go for a run to clear my head. I weave my way through the neighborhood and make my way to the boardwalk. There are surfers in the water, even though the temperature is dropping, and the beach is speckled with a few people enjoying the last remnants of the summer sun.
