Their meeting with CID Special Agent Derek Tripp proved fruitless. Or at least it seemed that way to Jessie. Tripp, a man in his forties with blond hair shaved close on the sides and slightly longer on top, brought her up to speed on what they had uncovered since she had spoken to him last.
Unfortunately, after talking to the medical examiner, to Major Anson, General Holloway, and Robert De La Garza, it was mostly information she already knew.
“What about the offshore account?” Jessie asked. “There is no way my father opened a bank account in the Cayman Islands then made deposits into the account equaling a hundred thousand dollars. My mom handled all the finances when she was alive. After she died, my dad could barely balance his checking account.”
Seated behind his desk, Tripp worked the button on his ballpoint pen. “I agree finding the source of the money could be the key to unraveling all of this. It’s something I’m looking into. Unfortunately, with your father gone, my superiors want to put more resources toward finding the missing munitions. Since it’s a matter of national security, we’re working with several other agencies, including counterterrorism.”
“What about the FBI?” Bran asked.
“So far we haven’t asked for FBI assistance, but that could happen any day. If those weapons fell into the wrong hands, it would be disastrous.”
“But you won’t just let the investigation into my father’s innocence drop,” Jessie pressed.
Sympathy surfaced in the agent’s eyes. “I’ll do what I can, Ms. Kegan. That’s all I can promise.”
The meeting left Jessie as frustrated as before.
“Tripp is looking into your dad’s offshore account,” Bran said as they headed back to the Expedition. “Since it isn’t his top priority, I need to talk to Tabby, see if she can find out where the money came from. If anyone can figure it out, it’s Tab.”
“You think she can trace the money back to the source?”
“Maybe. Odds are, she can at least come up with a little more info, something that could point us in the right direction.”
“She sounds pretty amazing.”
“She is.”
Curiosity slipped through her. “So...how old is she?”
Bran’s gaze swung toward her. “Late twenties. If you’re wondering, Tab’s a great girl, but she isn’t my type. Besides, she’s got a boyfriend.”
Jessie smiled, wishing she didn’t feel a sweep of relief. It was none of her business who Bran dated. One thing for sure—a man who looked as good as Bran didn’t lack for female companionship.
But the subject of Bran’s women continued to intrigue her even after they were back at the hotel. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but I’m curious. You said Tabby wasn’t your type. So what kind of woman is?”
His eyes locked with hers and she was almost sure the heat was back. “Lately I’ve discovered my tastes are flexible.”
“Which means?”
“Which means, under different circumstances, I might be interested in a pretty little strawberry blonde with the sweetest body I’ve ever seen.”
Surprise widened her eyes and desire made her breasts ache. She had never felt this overwhelming lust for a man. It was embarrassing.
“Unfortunately, the circumstances aren’t different,” Bran said flatly. “And the lady is completely out-of-bounds.”
Jessie fell silent. Out-of-bounds because she was Danny’s sister? Or because of what Ray Cummings had done to her? The thought depressed her. She wished she had the courage to ask, but she had pushed the subject too far already.
The afternoon slid past. Bran spoke to his tech friend, Tabitha Love, who reported the license plate on the Ford pickup had been “borrowed” from another vehicle. By now, Bran said, it was probably back where it belonged.
Tabby also promised to see what she could dig up on the offshore accounts, though she cautioned it might take some time.
As evening approached, they prepared for their visit to Charles Frazier, assuming he was home when they arrived unannounced.
“You ready?” Bran asked as she walked out of the bedroom in a pair of dark brown leggings, a V-necked cashmere sweater in a soft shade of blue with a cashmere scarf to match, and low-heeled brown suede ankle boots. She liked the look, but she hadn’t expected to stay out of town this long and her wardrobe was running thin.
“I hope Frazier gives us something useful,” she said on her way out the door.
Bran’s gaze hardened. She could tell he was armed by the slight ridge beneath the brown leather bomber jacket he was wearing with his jeans.