“They knew I was alive five years ago in New York. I might have had an accident or contracted a terminal illness.”
“Okay, slim, but point taken.”
“They’ll also know I’ve accessed their accounts, their electronics, and have given information to the FBI. Naturally, they’d take steps to block me from the access, which would cost me time and effort. They’d also be much more careful about what they put in e-mails and e-files. But more, it would make them very angry, and increase their effort to locate and eliminate me.
“They have very skilled techs. Part of their income is from computer fraud, scams, from identity theft.”
“You’re better than their techs.”
“Yes, I am, but I’ve also had considerable time to study and program, to break through firewalls, elude alerts. It would take time to do that again, with newer, stronger security in place. In their position, I’d lay traps. If I made a mistake, they might track me. Time, again, is important. If and when I contact the FBI, the process of taking Keegan and Cosgrove, identifying other moles, arresting Korotkii, Ilya—all of that would have to happen quickly.”
“Like dominoes falling,” he suggested.
“Yes, along those lines. Bureaucracies don’t, in general, operate in a timely fashion. And before the process can begin, the agent, her superiors, would have to believe me.”
“They will.”
“The word of a fugitive, suspected at least by some of killing or certainly causing the deaths of two U.S. Marshals.Against the word of two other marshals, one of whom has been decorated and promoted.”
He covered her restless hand with his. “The word of a woman who at sixteen handed them a top-level Mafia assassin on a damn platter. They’re the ones who screwed up.”
“You’re biased because you love me.”
“I love you, but I also have good instincts. You think the FBI, the marshals, the CPD wouldn’t bend and twist to break the back of the Volkov organization? They’ll deal with you, Abigail.”
It took an effort not to pull her hand from his. “Are you asking me to trust them to protect me?”
“No. I’m asking you to trust yourself, and me, to do that.”
“I think I could.”
“Then what we need is, first, a conduit.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Someone to speak for you, to make contact and open the door to negotiations.”
“You can’t—”
“No,” he agreed, before she’d finished. “I can’t. I’m too close to you, emotionally and geographically. They’ll check out the conduit. But they’d have no reason to connect me—or you—to my former captain on the Little Rock PD.”
“I don’t know him.”
“I do. Just hear me out. Captain Joseph Anson. You can research him. He’s a solid cop, decorated, a twenty-five-year man. He’s got a wife—first and only—two kids. He’s a good boss, a smart cop. By the book, but not so much that he can’t skip a page if it’s the right thing to do. He’s trusted and respected in the department because he’s trustworthy and respectable. And he’s got balls.”
She got up, walked to the window to think it through. A conduit made good sense, would lay a reasonable buffer down. But…
“Why would he believe me?”
“He’ll believe me.”
“Even if he did, why would Special Agent Garrison believe him?”
“Because of his record, his service, because he’s clean. Because he’d have no reason to lie. He’s a handful of years away from his thirty, away from retirement. Why would he risk that by lying to the feds?”
She nodded, seeing the logic. “But why would he risk that by involving himself in this?”
“Because he’s a good man, and a good cop.” Now Brooks rose, went to her. “Because he’s raised two daughters, and if he doesn’t imagine them in your place, I’ll put them there in his head.”
