hush-money payments,” Hop said.
Noah shrugged. “If I were trying to pay people off in a way that ensured no one would ever know, this is how I’d do it.”
“Can I see them?” Malcolm asked.
Mack handed him the papers. The Russian and Hop looked over his shoulder as he shuffled through them.
“Doesn’t tell you anything,” Hop said, sitting back. “Just a bunch of numbers that you obtained illegally, which means you’ll be in as much trouble as Royce if you use them.”
“Then maybe we just use them to get more information,” Derek said.
“What are the rest of these pages?” Malcolm asked.
“Tax court shit.” Noah took another bite of cookie. “Royce registered a—”
Noah stopped at the sound of a soft cooing. Hazel had wandered into the room, head bobbing, searching for cookie crumbs. Noah blinked. “Does anyone else see the chicken?”
The Russian’s eyes lit up and he held out his arms. “Chicken.”
“What were you saying?” Mack asked, agitation evident not only in his voice but in the clench of his fists.
“Royce registered a nonprofit several years ago but didn’t report the taxes properly,” Noah explained. “He got hit with some big fines, didn’t pay them, and had to get it worked out with the tax court.”
“So?”
“So it was the very next year that this new charity was created in Panama.”
Malcolm’s eyes bugged out. “That was seven years ago.”
Noah nodded. “He’s been doing this shit a long time.”
Liv felt sick. Seven years? And that was just since he’d moved the fake charity overseas. But then nausea became rage, because how many fucking women had he done this to? He’d gotten away with it for years. And all along, there had to have been countless people who knew, who enabled him, who covered it up.
“So where does this leave us?” Derek asked.
“We obviously need to prove this money went to women he harassed,” Malcolm said.
“Yeah, no shit,” Mack said. “How do we do that?”
“I mean, I could keep hacking into shit,” Noah said with a shrug.
“You’re all high.” Hop stood up from his recliner, shook his head, and started to walk away. He made it as far as the door before turning around. “You should be calling the police, not messing around with this shit yourself.”
“What are we supposed to tell them?” Mack said. “Jessica has made it clear that she doesn’t want to report it, so it’s Liv’s word against her and Royce.”
“Well I can’t be party to anything illegal. I’m a cop, dammit.”
“Retired cop,” Rosie said. “And no one invited you to be part of it.”
“Then you’re fools too,” Hop scoffed. “Because I’m the only one in here with any investigative experience, and what you’re talking about is an investigation.”
The Russian began to rock, singing softly to Hazel the chicken in his lap.
“And that guy is flat-out nuts,” Hop said, pointing at the Russian.
“He’s a hockey player,” Mack said.
“Jesus Christ,” Hop muttered from the door, but he walked back to his chair.
“Right now my biggest concern is Jessica,” Liv said. “She was apparently scared enough to tell Royce that we talked to her, and he was apparently scared enough about that to confront us. Things are going to get worse. I have to get her out of there.”
Noah popped the rest of his cookie into his mouth. “Luckily, I can help with that too.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You’re sure this is where Noah said she’d be?”
The following Thursday, Liv eyeballed the door to the dive bar with a look that said she wasn’t only skeptical but maybe a little scared too. Mack didn’t blame her. The place was the ambient equivalent of a middle finger—dirty and offensive with an enter at your own risk vibe.
Mack shrugged. “Noah said she posted on Facebook that she’d be here tonight.”
“Her page is set to private. How does he see that stuff?”
“He hacked into an overseas bank. You think he can’t get into Facebook?”
She looked at him sideways. “Good point.”
Mack settled his hand on her back, smiled to himself at the way her muscles twitched beneath his touch, and nodded to the door. “Let’s go. Hopefully we beat her here.”
The handle of the heavy wooden door had been worn smooth over its thirty years as a student favorite, but the door itself bore the rough scars and dents of what appeared to be countless boot kicks and bouncer throws. That didn’t bode well for what they’d find inside. Mack kept his hand on Liv’s back as they walked in.
They both stopped briefly to let their eyes adjust to the