“We know that building inspector who died was the leak.”
“And we have no actionable evidence. Even though Christian figured out the man leaked the story to Adrienne Whitman, there’s no direct line of proof for the $25,000 deposit from an offshore account made to his checking account the day after the explosion—the same day he condemned the pool house.” Ian tossed the file across his desk.
“She’s remembering more. Her walls are going up again.” He sifted through the photographs of Cassie found in the Russian invaders’ hotel. Some of the images were from the tabloids after the Helping Hearts dinner; one was an old stock photo. Another was a picture of Cassie in the outfit she wore at the Mellon 21 exhibition. The file also held disturbing candid photographs of Cassie, including stills of her from the hospital and the lounge chair on the patio. That photo had to come from someone on the water. Ian blew out a harsh breath. “I can’t keep Cassie in a bubble much longer.”
“You’re beating yourself up. Go take a run; you’ll feel better,” Kieran suggested.
More bad news followed in the next few days. Garett vanished after Ian spoke with him on the roadside. “Without Garett, we’re still in the dark about what happened to Cassie that night—and who William’s father was.”
The morning after the explosion, Ian ordered a forensic accounting of Ellis Art Finds. He pored over the files that came in. “These animals are all tied together. Arkady Sabitov runs a gallery linked to Ellis Art Finds. On the side, he runs criminal and legitimate enterprises in Moscow. His brother, Viktor, is his partner. Victor’s wife, Irina, Vera Liukin’s sister, is the stay-at-home mom of a five-year-old boy. Our murderous radiologist, Vera, was spotted shopping in Moscow the day after the bombing at the Chase Group. Sabitov has not legally entered United States in the past seven years.
“Their gallery manager, David Sucov, handles the United States transactions. Records show he hasn’t traveled to the United States in the past five years. Instead, representatives of each company met in Switzerland to handle the EAF transactions. Kier, tell me Mark Devereaux is not involved.”
“I wish I could.” Kieran frowned.
* * *
Under the watchful eyes of her medics, Cassie worked out beside her family, Sophie, Martin, or Ian. Her strength and stamina grew daily. “I gained another pound,” she said gleefully.
After family dinners, Ian spent the evenings with her. They spent hours talking about everything and nothing. They watched movies and made love.
During week two, Cassie was cleared to take a bath. He filled the tub with lavender-scented water and lit candles in a beautiful, romantic gesture. “Sweetheart, I want you to enjoy your soak.” He kissed her softly.
Cassie sighed and climbed into the water. Her body relaxed; her eyes grew heavy, and she slipped beneath the water. “Screeeech.”
Ian took off at a run. “Cassie?” He searched their master suite. She was curled in a corner of the dark second bedroom. “I’ve got you.” He held her until her shivering stopped and she calmed.
Stephanie was brought in for therapy. “I agree, Ian. Cassie is hiding something—you need to be hyper-aware of her actions.”
* * *
“Boss, to protect her, I need her to trust me,” Martin said, explaining his plan.
Recovering from his second concussion, he played up a slow recovery. They worked out, watched her reality TV favorites, and played video games. He realized she was cataloging the house security.
“I’m so out of touch with what’s happening in the world.” She told him, trying to get computer access.
“I’ll speak to IT. We’ll get you one, Gator.”
“Why do they call you Farmer?”
“Ian didn’t tell you?”
“No. I get that you guys call yourselves nicknames so the enemy can’t identify you. I don’t know Ian or Kieran’s nicknames either.”
Martin chuckled. “Well, I grew up on a farm in Iowa. That’s where my folks believe I got the name. I was initially called Iowa. The truth is that we were in Iraq for nine miserable months—it’s like living in a giant sandbox. My brother sent me some seeds, said the green would make me feel better. He said the university swore they were drought resistant. Outside our housing, I built a little garden. Because we were Special Ops, we were able to break some of the rules—like having beards and better housing. The damn things grew. The crop turned out to be very unconventional. My brother thought he was cute; the idiot sent me pot seeds. As you can imagine, that went over well with command. That rule was a hard one, but Ian went to bat for me. I lost some pay, but I wasn’t discharged.”
Cassie tried not to laugh. “I’m sorry, but that’s funny.”
Martin smiled. “It is now. I was facing the end of my career before it started.”
“What did they call Ian?”
“Ian’s nickname is Hornet. Kieran’s is Genius.”
“Green Hornet for his favorite color? And Genius because he’s super smart?”
“Right on the money, Gator. Can you figure out the reason behind Mike’s?”
