if he uncovers something with his visit to Astor.”
He steered onto the road, following the sheriff but not too close. His cell rang. The display read Bridger County. He answered.
“You’re following me—why?” Sheriff Taggart asked.
“I thought that would be obvious and you would understand.”
“I don’t like being followed, McKade.”
“We’re headed in the same direction, Sheriff. That’s all. We could have just driven to the house and waited for you.”
“I don’t recall inviting you. But let’s cut to the chase. What are you planning?”
“After you leave, we want to see if there’s a reaction.”
“I want to hear from you later today.” Sheriff Taggart ended the call.
Except I don’t work for you, as you keep reminding me, Liam thought. Still, everyone would benefit if they worked together. Liam had seen firsthand what happened when team members didn’t play well together.
Liam followed the sheriff on the straight road out of the valley and then onto a curvy, winding mountain road that swept past houses hidden on steep inclines in a densely wooded neighborhood. Finally, near Enzo Astor’s home—the same house they had watched earlier—Liam parked along the road. “I’d like to hike in and watch.”
If nothing happened today, maybe he would surveil the home tonight.
Rae continued to work on her laptop. This was more what stakeouts were like—sitting and waiting and nothing at all like action movies. But the hunt stirred him. This felt right.
“I got an email from Reggie.”
Rae’s super geek resource guy. “And?”
“Reggie says he might have something for us on the shell companies, but he’s having trouble tying Astor to it, which is what makes him think he’s onto something.”
“I get it. In the DEA, we could find the drugs coming in and watch the cash flowing out, but where it went, nobody knew. Usually it went to an anonymous shell company incorporated in Delaware. Just one big dead end.”
Rae lifted a finger. “He says it isn’t out of the ordinary for real estate investment funds to own multiple properties, and for those properties in turn, for example income-producing commercial properties, to also own companies that own more properties. That said, E.S.A. Holdings is unusually convoluted. He has a friend in the US Treasury’s FinCEN—Financial Crimes Enforcement Network—who’s looking into it for him to see if there are any anomalies.”
“Oh boy. As in officially looking into it?”
Rae shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
“Why doesn’t Reggie work for the feds? They need him.”
“He’s British.” She chuckled. “In the meantime, he attached some documents for me to look through, though I feel wholly incompetent compared to him. I’m just glad I have him. He can save us a lot of time. When I’m working on a story, it can take months. Sometimes years. That’s what has me concerned—we don’t have that kind of time.”
He understood. Infiltrating trafficking rings and building trust took time. “What else?”
“Sam mentioned a client had stalked Zoey, so we know Simon frequented their heli-skiing business. Maybe once was all it took for him to become obsessed with her. That brings me to this. I’d like to talk to Zoey’s mother again.”
“What about our stakeout?”
“We could split up. Time is running out for Zoey.”
“Not a good idea. The guy in the mask? He’s been watching us too.”
A vise squeezed his chest, cinching tighter with each day, each hour—he feared time could be running out for Rae too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
3:02 p.m.
“What?” Rae gasped. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
Rae looked in the mirror to check behind them.
“Don’t worry. I don’t think he’s following us now. All that to say, I’d prefer it if we stick together.”
Because he couldn’t let her get hurt? It seemed the two of them working together was inevitable. The chemistry between them remained, despite issues that needed to be worked through. He seemed to have let go of his resentment regarding her previous actions, and she hoped it was more that he finally understood she’d had no choice. Maybe he’d been hurt that she hadn’t let him in on her plans, but what was done was done.
As Providence would have it, they were here now working together as though they were being given a second chance to make things right.
Her cell phone rang. A fist gripped her heart.
“It’s my brother.” She answered. “Alan. How are you?” Stupid question. But what else could she say?
“Rae . . .” His voice croaked.
Oh no, what . . . “Alan?” Tears choked her throat. She imagined the worst kind of news. “Please tell me what’s going on.”