Brigid took Raider’s hand. “I’m still doing a deep dive on Albert Nelson, and his aliases, in addition to one on Frank Spanek. I’ve found connections and locations for you to follow up on. If we can find Spanek, he should be able to lead us to Theresa Rhodes, and from her to Gary Rockcliff.”
Serena leaned forward, mascara on one of her eyes. Had she forgotten the other one? “I’ve decoded all of the pages, and I can give you everything Candy Folks had found for her story. She did a great job of tying everyone together. Theresa Rhodes used her companies to channel drugs. Nelson and his partner Spanek handled distribution for her. There’s a note on a big shipment coming, but that’s all Candy had dug up.”
“Probably Gary Rockcliff’s.” Mal nodded. “My contacts should get back to us tomorrow about the heroin. Raider, Force, and Jethro have reached out to their contacts in the DEA, MI6, and CIA. Among the three of us, we should be able to locate the heroin, since it was such a big shipment. Hopefully.”
Nari set her cup down. “If you want to really hit Gary Rockcliff, take the drugs. That’ll expedite everything.”
Wolfe looked around the room.
Dana caught the second he realized he wasn’t alone and that the group would never let that happen. His shoulders relaxed and his breath exhaled slowly.
“Well. I, ah—” Wolfe stumbled for words.
“Ditto,” Force said, reaching for a pad of paper. “Now. Let’s get to work.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Angus Force reached into his bottom drawer and drew out a bottle of Jack, pouring a healthy shot into the too-sweet latte he’d just warmed up in the microwave. His team worked at various places around the aged basement office space, and he had just finished compiling a complete profile of Gary Rockcliff. What a nutjob. A talented, dangerous, psychotic nutjob.
Roscoe had abandoned him hours ago to follow Pippa around the office and beg for treats. The kitten was probably in Nari’s office, where a bowl of kibble was always full.
A rap echoed on his door, and Jethro entered without waiting for an invite. “If this op goes wrong, you’re going to have to put Clarence Wolfe down,” he said mildly, drawing out a chair and sitting.
“I’m aware,” Force said, nudging the bottle across his paper-and-manila-file-folder-riddled desk.
Jethro waved off the booze. “I’m still on a sugar high from that latte earlier. Does he always bring treats like that?”
“Yep. Probably fulfills some need to keep other people happy and safe.” Angus couldn’t help but profile the people around him, although he didn’t like to get too involved if they didn’t need help. “Stress and dangerous ops have kept the team from gaining weight, but if things ever calm down around here, we’ll have to institute some sort of exercise program.”
Jethro’s eyebrows rose. “Do you believe things will calm down?”
“No, Jet. I really don’t.” Angus had no intention of stopping his search for Lassiter, and once he buried that bastard in the ground for good, he’d retire again to his cabin in the woods with his issue-riddled dog to fish and drink.
Jethro angled his head to read the top of one of the file folders. “We have not yet had an opportunity to discuss the fact that Lassiter might very well be deceased. Have you exhumed the body?”
“The body was supposedly cremated and the ashes spread somewhere.” Of course, Angus had thought of that. “Before you ask, the executor of the will was a woman named Bali Sandaniz, who was the housekeeper that helped to raise Lassiter. She died of natural causes last year.”
“You sure?” Intelligence shown in the Brit’s eyes.
“Yeah. Read the autopsy report myself.” The woman had been nearly ninety with several stints already in her heart. “I don’t think good old Henry Wayne Lassiter would’ve killed his mother figure. She tried to protect him from arrest, putting herself in jeopardy at the time, and he seemed to have a sense of loyalty to her.” The guy wasn’t able to empathize or really feel emotions, but he had felt some sort of allegiance to Bali.
“I can assist you with this current case, but there’s nothing for me to do on the Lassiter case unless he strikes again and drafts those love notes to you,” Jethro said quietly, kicking out his legs and crossing his loafers at the ankles.
“I appreciate the help for now.” Everything inside Angus knew his nemesis was out there somewhere, and soon Jethro would have plenty to do. He looked at Jethro, who wore a short-sleeved button-down with a brown belt. “You look like a college professor.” Except for his eyes. The eyes always told the whole story.
“I am a college professor,” Jet said.
Angus tipped back his Jack and sugar. “Have you found the reason for good or evil yet?”
“No.”
Angus should’ve taken a few moments to test Jethro’s temperature and make sure he was up to another round with Lassiter, but his obsession always took over before he remembered those around him. “Been able to balance the scales yet?”
“Those scales will never be balanced, mate.” Jethro’s jaw clenched and then relaxed. “You know the why of what I do what I do now, but even you have no clue what I’ve done. I suppose you can profile me without the details, but don’t ever assume you know the depths to which I swam in service to Queen and country.”
“Gaining PhDs in philosophy isn’t going to help you understand true evil,” Angus said softly.
“You do not know that to be true. You can’t beat something until you understand it,” Jethro said.
