it. I’m so tired, deliriousness is the next logical step to full-blown craziness.
Phillipa waits for my chuckles to settle before nudging her head to my phone. “Are you going to show me what Melody sent you, or should I wait for you to fall asleep then hack into your phone?” When I give her a look as if to say, I’d like to see you try, the smugness on her face triples. “Melody’s birthday, am I right?”
When she scoops up my phone, I snatch it out of her hand, grumbling about how I have a knack for picking up annoying strays. Once I have my message app open, I scroll down so Phillipa can’t see I was unaware of Melody’s private cell phone number until now, then pass her my phone.
“That’s Kwan Turgenev. Why do you have a photo of him?”
The collision of our eyes is almost brutal. I’m desperate to find out how she identified the perp so quickly, and she’s dying to know why I have a photograph of him.
Since Phillipa had a nap, her stability is more noticeable than mine. I dive over her legs without the teeniest bit of concern my male parts brush her shins on the way by. I need my laptop, and I left it on the dining table when I gathered the bedspread for Phillipa.
Phillipa’s craziness jumps up a notch when I yank out a chair from beneath my dining table and take a seat in front of my laptop. “Whatcha doing?”
“Running a background search on Kwan Turgenev.” I raise my eyes to hers. “Does his first name start with a K or Q?”
“K…” I stop typing Kwan’s name into the search bar of the Bureau’s mainframe when Phillipa adds, “But you won’t find anything on him. He’s a ghost. Has been for years.”
With my lips twisted, I finalize typing his name, certain I have access to channels Phillipa doesn’t know about.
Ten minutes later, I’m chewing on my tongue. There’s not a single shred of evidence that a Kwan Turgenev exists, much less had an invitation to the campaign fundraiser I saw flyers for in the backdrop of the photograph Melody sent me.
“I told you he’s a ghost.” Phillipa slumps in the chair across from me before balancing her feet on part of the seat not taken up by her backside, so she can cradle her knees with her arms. Melody used to sit in the nook at her window the same way anytime she was tired. “It’s been like that for years. Other than a handful of long-range surveillance photos a few years back, his file is empty. I’m shocked you have an image of him. I doubt you would if he noticed it was being taken.”
Ignoring her underhanded comment that Kwan is dangerous, I ask, “Do you still have access to his surveillance photos?” Although the late hour could be playing havoc with my mind, I’m reasonably sure I’ve seen Kwan before. I just can’t recall where.
Phillipa lowers her legs to the floor before she leans across the table to seize control of my laptop. “How long after a suspension does access to my Bureau email remain?”
I smirk a smug grin. “If you know the right people, your access will never expire.”
3
Brandon
In a painfully quick thirty seconds, the images Phillipa mentioned are being uploaded to my laptop. I say ‘painfully’ as I wouldn’t have minded flexing some hacking muscle tonight. If I have a reason to brag, my head might stop striving to work out what Melody has been up to in the eight hundred and thirty-six seconds since she ended our call. If the knot in my stomach is anything to go by, I won’t eat for a week.
When the first image pops up on the screen, my brow arches. I’ve seen Kwan before, I’m certain of it. “How long ago were these photos taken?”
Phillipa’s lips twist. “I’m not sure. Around seven or eight years ago.” She swings her big, tired eyes my way. “Have you seen him before?”
I lift my chin. “Do we have any intel on how long ago he got his neck tattoo?” I stop just before I disclose his tattoo is the most telling sign that we’ve crossed paths before. It’s a match to the family crest Crombie had tattooed on his neck, meaning Kwan has links with the debunked Bobrov crew. The only thing I can’t work out is why he didn’t have his tattoo in the images dating back to when the Bobrov