Exposed (23 page)

He refrained from telling him hens didn’t have teeth. “Sir. She’s in trouble. That’s all I can tell you, because right now that’s about all I know.”

He’d left the part out about getting hit by a car trying to protect her.

“And you’re treating her like one of your witnesses,” Dan said.

Well, not exactly. He didn’t sleep with his witnesses.

“Yes, sir.”

Another long, long pause.

“Okay. Anything you need from this end?”

“Time.”

“It’s a homicide, Frank. Of a police officer. They’re wanting blood. Anyone’s. Even a fellow law officer’s.”

“I know that, Dan. I also know that someone with long arms, deep pockets, and probably military connections is behind this.”

“Are you telling me you have a conspiracy going on?”

“In theory, but things are starting to fall into place.”

“I can’t hold back the police investigation. Not this time.”

“But you can act as a go-between.”

“What do you have in mind?”
Dan’s curious. That was a good thing. Might be the thing that saves my career.

“Arrange a meeting,” Frank glanced at his watch. “Tonight. Me and the lead homicide detective. I’ll give him everything I know. But make it someplace out of the way.”

“Will do.” Another pause. “And Frank?”

“Sir?”

“We’re seriously going to have to talk when this is done.”

The phone died in his ear.

Shit.
He might’ve appeased Dan’s anger a little, but he had a serious feeling he was inches from finding himself canned.

“Castello, you might want to come in here.” Doyle’s voice sounded in the room.

The man must have intercoms in every corner of the place.

“On my way.” Whatever the older man had found, it didn’t sound like it was good news.

Walking into the command center, he stared at the grotesque image on the huge monitor screen to Doyle’s right.

“What the hell is that?”

“That’s what I found in the email message posted by Sydney’s brother.”

Frank let out a low whistle, moving closer. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yep. A dead woman. Looks like she’s in the woods and wrapped up in something thick, maybe a rug inside a trash bag. Whatever your young woman’s brother is involved in, it just got very messy.”

Poor Sydney.

Sydney.

Sydney’s downstairs, developing pictures.

“Shit.” He bolted out of the room as fast as his two bum legs would move, heading to the basement and Doyle’s darkroom.

“Syd!” he called, as he took the steps two at a time. “Sydney, stop what you’re doing!”

He slammed open the darkroom door, hoping he’d destroy whatever she was working on. She didn’t need to see it. Didn’t need to know her brother was involved in a murder.

Slowly, she turned towards him, her eyes huge with shock, tears on her cheeks. Devastation riding her stiff shoulders.

He was too late.

“Frank,” she whispered and his heart ripped open.

In two strides he was at her side, scooping her into his arms and holding her tight, willing some of his strength into her desperately still body.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

“He…” She gave a hitched gasp. “Ian watched…he photographed…”

“I know. I’m sorry you have to see it.”

“A murder. A young woman. Shot.”

The last word didn’t make sense. The image in the picture Doyle found hadn’t shown anything more than a dead woman. He pulled back to look down into Sydney’s face.

“How do you know she was shot?”

“The pictures.” She pointed at the pictures hanging up on the wire strung across one side of the darkroom. “Ian photographed the whole thing through her window,” she said, her voice rising with righteous indignation. “He sat across the street and took pictures while a young woman lost her life.”

He let go of Sydney to move closer to the pictures. She was right. It was an image-by-image recording of the girl being shot by a man, then two more men rolling the girl up in a rug—probably the one visible in the color picture upstairs. These were all in black and white.

Then the images changed.

“Looks like Ian moved closer,” he said, pointing to the first one in a new series.

“Yes. My dear, self-centered bastard of a brother got close enough to capture the faces of the men who’d shot her. He made sure to show them putting the bundle in their SUV. And then, instead of calling the police or someone to stop them, maybe help her, Ian took the time to get a clear shot of their license plate.” She poked her finger at the final image. “Instead of trying to get her help or bring her killers to justice, he hid behind a camera, took these pictures, and I’ll bet you that’s how he plans to earn the money to pay old Bobby Two-toes. Blackmail.”

That she’d come to the logical conclusion didn’t surprise Frank. Sydney was smart.

No. It was the heat in her voice. Finally, her brother had done something to anger her. She could tolerate his indifference to her, his callous using of her for his own needs. What she couldn’t tolerate was him using someone else’s tragedy for his own gain.

“What we need to do,” she said, pulling down the pictures and making a pile of them, “is find out who this poor girl is and let her poor family know what’s happened to her. And we need to find these men and bring them to justice.”

In a matter of minutes, she’d gone from fragile waif reeling in a shocking revelation about someone she knew, to strong Amazon princess, hell-bent on avenging another woman’s death.

His Syd was magnificent.

And she might not know it yet, but she was definitely his.

The corner of Frank’s lip lifted.

“What?” she asked, turning all that beautiful anger on him. “You think this is funny?”

“Not in the least.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then why the smirk?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Preferably when he had her naked and tucked up close to him. “Right now, you’re right. We need to figure out who this woman is, and why someone wanted her dead.”

* * * * *

“You have to do something!”

The panic in the middle-aged man pacing on the other side of his desk grated on his nerves like someone nervously tearing a Styrofoam cup into pieces.

“Calm down, Morris. Sit down and tell me what has happened now?”

“I got a second email. You told me you’d take care of it. That there’d be no more trouble.” The other man flopped down in the leather chair, his head in his hands. “I never should have gotten involved with you.”

Ah, the publically respected congressman was quickly looking for someone to blame for his mistakes. Typical politician.

“You were more than happy to dip your cock into the barely legal little intern, Morris. No one forced you to do that.”

“You told me you’d protect me if I continued my relationship with the girl. I didn’t know you were going to kill her!”

Of course he didn’t. He hadn’t gotten to be the head of an international crime consortium by letting anyone know of all his plans.

“Reply to the email that you’ll need a little more time to get the money together. Did your blackmailer set a place for the exchange?” He needed time for Geist to take out the Peele woman and her protector before the deadline. If not, he’d have to have his other team in place to handle all the loose ends at once.

“No, he said he’d be in contact later with details.” Blanton looked at his very expensive Rolex.

“I expect it will be in your home state somewhere.” Given Geist had said that was where Sydney Peele and her marshal were hiding. Too conspicuous for them to fly to D.C. to pick up their money. Of course, he hadn’t informed Blanton who the blackmailer was. Another secret he planned to keep close to the vest. “Tell him you’ll have the money in two days. We’ll use my jet out of my private hangar to fly there, that way security won’t be scanning your bags.”

Blanton’s gaze shot to his. Fear and surprise filled the man’s nearly weepy blue eyes. “You’re coming with me?”

He studied the Congressman, sizing up just how he was going to end his tenure. “Yes, you can leave your security detail at home. After we take care of this blackmailer, all your troubles will be over.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I’ve been running the picture in the face recognition program,” Doyle said, as they entered his command center once more.

Sydney narrowed her eyes, moving closer to the computer screen. The image was a color picture of a woman, pale as a sheet of paper, blood on her face. Her dark hair in wild disarray hid half of her face, and she seemed to be wrapped in a thick material, which was in turn wrapped in what appeared to be a black trash bag.

“Oh, my God, is that her?” The same sick feeling she’d had down in Doyle’s darkroom settled over her.

“This is the image I found in your cloud files,” Doyle said.

Something touched the back of her thighs. She turned to see one of the roller chairs behind her, Castello holding the seat back. He didn’t command her to sit, but his face said she should. Clutching the photos to her chest, she didn’t argue.

“This was taken with a digital camera,” she said, pointing to the image, focusing on the style of the image and the background, not the poor woman in it. Her anger from earlier flared to life. “My bastard brother used both his film camera
and
his digital to record her death. Couldn’t be bothered to stop the killers or at the least call the police as it was happening. Nope. But let’s be sure to get really good photos to use for his own needs.”

She didn’t try to hide her disgust.

Big, warm hands settled on her shoulders, calming some of her rage. Not all of it, just enough that she could focus. She peered over her shoulder at Frank, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes bright with his own anger. She had to wonder if gripping her shoulders was as much to dampen his need to strangle her brother as it did hers?

“I know it’s gruesome to look at, but do you know who she is?” Doyle asked her, drawing her attention to the problem at hand—the murdered girl.

Once more, she stared at the image on the huge monitor. Slowly, she shook her head. “She’s not anyone I know personally. She might be an acquaintance of Ian’s, but I know so little of his life. Hell, let’s just admit it. I don’t know my brother at all, much less any women he might’ve been involved with.”

“I don’t think he was involved with her,” Frank said from behind her. He squeezed her shoulders then pulled up the straight-backed chair once more, stretching his left leg out in front and rubbing the injury on his other leg.

“Why do you say that?”

He pointed at the pictures in her hand. “I don’t know your brother, either, but I can’t imagine anyone even casually involved with a woman calmly taking pictures of her murder. Much less have the foresight to photograph the car’s license plate, follow the murderers to the dump site, and photograph her body.”

“How do you know he did that?” She knew Ian had gotten images of the murderers and license plate. The evidence of his callousness was in her lap.

Frank leaned forward and brought up a second image on the other monitor screen. “This was another picture Doyle found in your cloud.”

The picture showed more of the young woman’s wrapped body and the surrounding foliage.

“He followed them.”

“I’d say he watched them from a distance to see where they dumped her, then checked the site out for himself.”

“Do you think he was hoping to find her alive and help her?” she asked, knowing it sounded like she was grasping for something positive in the situation.

Frank stared into her eyes a long moment. “He might have.”

So few words to say so much. Ian could’ve been trying to save the woman, but Frank highly doubted it. Not with the whole blackmail scheme and putting his sister in jeopardy. Sydney read it in his eyes, the doubt, the resignation, and the compassion for her.

She took a deep breath.

Time to pull up your big-girl panties, Sydney, and face the truth. Your only living relative is scum.

“Then let’s see if we can figure out who she is, who did this to her, and why,” she said, laying out the photos in front of her so they could all see them. “And mostly, let’s screw my brother in the process.”

Castello admired her grit. Every time he assumed the situation would be more than she could handle, Sydney managed to find some inner strength to not just carry on, but thrive under the stress.

“Doyle’s running the woman’s face against a facial recognition program,” he said. “Hopefully, she’ll pop up as a match to someone reported missing.”

“Will it be able to do that? I mean, it’s not a full-frontal image, and we can only see half her face due to her hair and…” Sydney leaned in closer. “I guess that’s leaves and dirt?”

“Probably blood, too,” Doyle said. “This program doesn’t need a flat, two-dimensional image looking straight at the camera to do its matching. It can use a face at angles to the camera. Up to about ninety degrees. It’s a new one that I’ve been beta testing for the company.”

“Let me guess,” Frank said. “The whiz kid hooked you up with them.”

Doyle flashed him a grin. “Doesn’t hurt to have friends in high places.”

“The whiz kid?” Sydney asked.

“Another nickname for Luke,” Frank answered. “You have older brothers, I guess you get lots of nicknames. Of course he has some for them, too.”

“Like what?” Sydney asked, a twinkle of curious humor in her eyes, softening them to a paler purple.

“Dave is Bossman or Head-dick-in-charge.”

A snort of laughter escaped her. “I bet he loves those.”

Frank shrugged. “He’s the oldest, and used to giving orders to the others.”

“I guess it would come naturally. Just like Luke resenting him for it. What about Matt?”

“Dudley.”

“Dudley?”

“Yep. As in Dudley Do-Right.”

“The cartoon character?”

Frank nodded. “The guy was pretty much a by-the-book patrolman until he met Katie.”

“Really? How did she change him?”

“Guess when you fall in love, all the rules go out the window.”