The Red Ledger 9 Page 2

  “You’re using me to set him up? Then what? What is this really about?”

  “This is about figuring out who wants you dead.”

  “Then don’t bother. Whoever is behind this, it’s not him.”

  “If it’s not him, it’s someone he knows. And I can’t get to that person unless I talk to Keegan directly. It has to be unexpected, or things could get complicated.”

  Several seconds pass in silence. I worry she’s going to renege on the deal.

  “Fine,” she says. “But I have one condition.”

  I roll my eyes but do my best not to sound as frustrated as I’m getting. She has no idea what’s at stake, and I’m not about to tell her. I just need her to cooperate.

  “What’s your condition?”

  “Once you meet with him, I want to see him.”

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “Those are my terms,” she says firmly. “You want the meeting, then give me mine.”

  I pace a circle, mentally mapping out ways to prevent this from turning into a disaster. Bringing her into the mix is a complication I don’t need. If every single thing goes right and Keegan proves a friendly resource, having her there could work in my favor. But that’s a big if. I need her help, though. I don’t have time to follow him around DC and figure out his patterns.

  “All right, but if you stray from the plan and fuck this up for me, I can’t protect you anymore. Do you understand? You’re putting your life on the line, and I have enough people I’m trying to keep alive right now. Got it?”

  “I’ve got it. I understand,” she says shakily, like suddenly she’s overwhelmed with hope. Like she’s so in love with this guy she can barely get the sentence out.

  “Set up the meeting. Call this number when it’s done.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Isabel

  My father is behind the wheel, his jaw set with determination or perhaps fresh worry. I doubt he slept well, if at all. After waking from my own restless night, I quickly realized Mom hadn’t come home. Concern for her wellbeing compounds the heavy guilt of having driven her out with yesterday’s events. She may still want time, but I’ll call her when we get home later if she’s still gone. My father may be furious and my mother may be too, but after more than two decades of marriage, they’ll have to talk this out at some point.

  “Are we going back to your office?”

  He shakes his head. “We’re meeting at a bar a few miles away.”

  I lift my eyebrows. “A bar?”

  “It’s dark and quiet, and the barflies who hang out there before a respectable drinking hour won’t remember a damn thing we say.”

  “Okay,” I say, trusting that when it comes to keeping things under the radar, he knows best.

  Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the Widow, an Irish pub set on the corner of an intersection about twenty minutes from our house. We find Jax Rivero and my father’s colleague, Damon Parish, at a table in the back. As promised, the bar is dark and quiet, and the two older men at the bar are fixed on the TVs above and pay us no attention.

  “Gentlemen.” My father pulls out my chair before sitting in his own. “Thanks for meeting here.”

  “I’m positive no one will find us here,” Rivero says with a sarcastic smile.

  A night’s sleep hasn’t warmed me to him since he yanked Tristan and me into the airport security offices. And a night’s sleep doesn’t seem to have eased his agitation at the predicament we’re facing.

  Parish, however, seems perkier than the rest of us. He places his laptop on the table, his eyes bright. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I couldn’t stop running all this through my head last night. So I hacked my way into Knight’s computer. Lots of interesting things to work with.”

  Rivero leans over to peer at the screen as Parish lifts it open. “Like what?”

  “Well…in my experience, just because someone has a lot of money doesn’t necessarily mean they’re careful with their information. He really must have thought he was above the law to be this careless. Everything is in the cloud. I mean everything. Organized? Yes. His file structure makes finding everything really easy. All the corporate filings, most of which are shells, I’m guessing. Spreadsheets of accounts with balances.”

  “Too bad he’s dead,” Rivero snaps. “We could nail him on everything and get him to dime out all his associates for a plea deal. Easy stuff.” His lips form a disappointed curve as he looks my way.

  I didn’t kill him, I say to myself with a strange kind of defensive detachment, like a kid trying to dodge blame. I just watched him die and walked over his body on my way out of the building before Crow blew it up. Of course, they can lock me up before I tell Rivero any of that.

  “I think we both know it wouldn’t be that easy by a long shot,” my father says sharply. He focuses on Parish again. “So where do the accounts lead?”

  Parish cants his head. “Most are linked up with the shell companies, the majority in Knight’s name. Some with Mirchoff, some with Pope. Interestingly I haven’t found anything formally associated with Simon Pelletier. There are some international ones I can’t access, though. I have no idea whose name those are in.”

  “Where are the accounts located?” I ask.

  “Cayman Islands. A couple overseas,” Parish says.

  I don’t want to say it aloud, but I’m almost certain one of those accounts was the one Mateus was given.

  “Can you find out who’s on those accounts? Work with the local government or something?”

  “There are agreements in place to combat tax evasion, but they don’t really help us in this case. The Cayman banks have to report tax information on accounts owned by US citizens, but it’s channeled through the IRS. That’s some pretty significant red tape on our end.”

  “This is why we need an investigation, Foster. We can’t subpoena shit without one,” Rivero barks, his voice carrying loud enough to reach the bar patrons. Thankfully no one seems to care.

  I chew the inside of my lip. Tristan has the account number Mateus gave him. I can’t narrow the list down for Parish without it.

  “Isabel, do you know anything about this?”

  My father’s calm request invites the truth. A part of me wants to give it to him, but I can’t tie any of this to Tristan or the people who’ve helped me along the way. But if I don’t work with them, we’ll never get ahead.

  “An account number was given to us through a friend. Someone who was helping us. Simon wanted him to clean the funds through his international businesses before depositing them into an account in Cayman.”

  Rivero frowns. “So what’s the account number?”

  “I didn’t memorize it. But if you can’t link it to the account holder, why do you need it?”

  He blows a frustrated breath out through his nose like an angry bull. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  So much. And he can stomp around all day long and I’ll never tell him half of what I know. At the end of the day, he works for a government agency and I’ve broken more laws than I can count. I don’t trust Rivero, and I never will.

  “You work above the board, Rivero. I don’t. If I’m being evasive, it’s because I don’t trust you. I have information you want, and I have ways of finding it that probably go against your moral code. But if you want names on the accounts, give me the list. I know someone who can find out.”

  “Who?”

  I pause. “A friend. He’s a hacker.”

  Rivero rolls his eyes. “Right. Some kid living in his mother’s basement hacking websites for credit card numbers. That’s not what we’re talking about here.”

  “I know exactly what we’re talking about. Banking software. He knows it better than anyone.”

  Parish looks at me like he’s discovered the Holy Grail. His jaw falls open slightly. “Oh shit,” he says on an awe-filled exhale.

  My father stares at him with a bewildered look. “What did I miss?”

 
The way Parish is looking at me makes me feel like he can read my mind. Or maybe I said something I shouldn’t have.

  “Blake Landon? Has he been helping you?”

  I don’t answer and try to school my features, even though I’m freaking out inside. How the hell can he know that?

  “You were in Boston,” he continues, his words coming fast like a stream of consciousness as he puts it all together. “That’s where his offices are. That makes sense. Did you meet with him? Do you think he’ll help?”

  His questions are coming too fast for me to mask my reaction to them—the stunned, very obvious way his name resonates.

  “Who’s Blake Landon?” my father asks.

  Parish’s next words are excited and rushed. “He’s…basically a legend. He’s one of the most respected hackers in the world. If anyone can get the job done, it’s him.”

  “If he’s so well known, why isn’t he behind bars or hanging out in Russia?” Rivero asks.

  “Because he got caught when he was still a minor. No one knows the whole story, but he got off the hook, and then he developed Banksoft. Every major bank’s software runs off the framework he built. He sold it for billions.”

  All three men look at me like they’re waiting for me to confirm what Parish already seems to know is true. What the hell am I supposed to do now? If I lie, they’ll know it.

  Thankfully my father doesn’t give me a chance to debate it any longer. “You think this hacker friend of yours would be willing to get the account information for us?”

  I share a look with him. It’s filled with worry and hesitation because Landon has already done more than he should have. He has a life and a family to think about.

  “This can’t come back to him.”

  Rivero crosses his arms and leans back in his seat. “Listen, I don’t even care who this guy is. I’ll probably forget his name tomorrow because there’s a lot more to sift through here. Get us the details, and we’ll forget how they showed up. Same way I guess we’re going to forget how this dead guy’s laptop showed up.”

  I hate Rivero, but I feel like we’re matched in an odd way. Some balance exists between what he’s willing to do to get to the truth and what I’m willing to do to protect the people I care about.

  “I’ll work on it,” I promise. “What else? Can we get the DEA involved now?”

  “I have a meeting with a contact of mine tomorrow,” my father says. “I’ll point him toward the ports Knight was targeting.”

  “The bribes were cash,” I say. “It’s going to be hard to pinpoint the leaks.”

  He tilts his head. “I’m hoping they’ll take this seriously enough to ramp things up across the board. If they know there are bribes involved, they’ll start looking more closely. Once they find one, hopefully they can start connecting the dots.”

  Then it hits me.

  “Javier Medina. You should start with him.”

  Not wanting to get into how Tristan and Jay led us to Medina or the meeting Mateus and I took with him, I never mentioned him before. If they need a starting place, though, he could be it.

  “He works under the director of the Port of Miami,” I continue. “He’s closely connected to Simon, and I’d be willing to bet Knight met with him when he was in Miami a couple of weeks ago. If Simon gets wind of the DEA poking around that part of the operation, it could be a way to scare them into at least slowing things down.”

  “I’m on it,” says Rivero, scribbling notes onto a small pad he pulled from his pocket.

  My father’s expression remains tense, but there’s an energy between us that feels promising, like we have enough threads to pull to start making a difference.

  TRISTAN

  The map of DC is spread out on Makanga’s coffee table. I memorized it an hour ago, plotting out points of interest—the Hotel Madera, Keegan’s condo in the city, and his office at the Capitol. I’ve gone as far as I can go without a meeting locked in with Simon. I’m edgy and frustrated. I’m ready to work, but all I can do is wait for Devon to follow through with details.

  Once I get my hands on Keegan, I’ll be one chess move away from Simon. He won’t see it coming, which will be the best part. Seeing the devil himself and letting him see me. Recognizing his shock, then his fear. The old Tristan would make it quick. Get it done and get out. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it that way. Not this time.

  I close my eyes and press my temples hard like it will drive out the dark thoughts that won’t quiet. Isabel is a better person than I am, and she doesn’t want him alive any more than I do. That doesn’t make me feel better. Every step of this journey has made me despise Simon a little more. It’s been a runaway train of hatred for the man. And I’ve never cared this much. I’ve never been this invested in someone’s imminent death.

  Holding on to this kind of contempt is about as foreign to me as love used to be. I can’t tell if it makes me more or less human. Either way, it’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. And the only person who makes me feel the least bit normal isn’t here.

  Fantasies of ways I could kill Simon are almost better than missing Isabel. I hate not knowing where she is. I can’t risk a drive by her parents’ house yet, but I console myself by imagining her there. Safe with Morgan. Hopefully he got Rivero to back off. If he did, they’ll still want to know what she knows. Unfortunately, so much of it points back to me. The more they know about me, the harder it’s going to be to get close to her again.

  The front door swings open and Makanga walks through, bringing a blast of cool air and sunlight into the living room.

  “Hey, man.” He shuts the door and tosses an orange package beside me on the sofa. “Special delivery.”

  I stare at it. If I didn’t feel like such a mess already, the package guarantees it.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “It’s nothing,” I respond flatly.

  He chuckles and tugs at one of his short dreads. “Okay. You’re looking at it like there’s a body part in there or something.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’d be able to tell if there were.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve delivered some pretty messed-up stuff. You’d be surprised what’s possible with the right packaging.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  He moves to his recliner. “What’s up with the map?”

  I rub over the creases in my forehead. “Trying to figure out where Keegan might want to meet Simon or vice versa. He’s paranoid about where he’ll be seen. Rightly so. Any place good for a hit probably isn’t a place he’ll agree to go.”

  “So you’re trying to get ahead of the game.”

  “Probably just spinning my wheels until I get my hands on Keegan.”

  “Oh yeah. How’s tomorrow night sound?”

  I pause and meet his eyes. “Devon confirmed?”

  Makanga grins. “They’re on their way to DC right now.”

  “They?”

  I can’t mask my alarm, but Makanga only laughs.

  “I’ve had her staying with my sister. It was the best I could offer on short notice. It’s a long drive, but they’ll be here tonight.”

  “Here?”

  “Hell no. I set them up in a room at the Madera.”

  “We have to be able to get her out of there if Keegan doesn’t cooperate.”

  “You worry about Keegan. I’ll worry about the girls,” he says.

  I rest back on the couch with a stressed sigh.

  “You gotta relax, man. We’re not there yet. You’re going to run out of adrenaline before you get a chance to pop this guy.”

  “Unlikely.”

  He runs his fingers over the seam on the armrest. “You hear from Isabel yet?”

  “That’d be a miracle since she has no idea where I am. I got rid of my phone before I got here.”

  He purses his lips. “You think she could be at her parents’ house?”

  I remember then that Makanga had dropped her there when I disappeared to see my old army friend, Br
ennan. Against my wishes, but I know better than most that Isabel can be persuasive when she wants something. Makanga knows more than I’d like about her personal life, but I’m short on allies at the moment and he seems like he wants to help.

  “It’s possible,” I finally say.

  “Why don’t you take a ride over there?”

  I lift my eyebrows sharply. “You really think that’s a good idea? The last thing I need is the FBI on my ass while I’m trying to pin down Simon.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Just figured it would give you some peace of mind.”

  “Peace of mind is a luxury I don’t have right now.”

  I can tell Makanga wants to push the issue, but there’s no talking me into it. I’d do just about anything to see her—or at least know she’s all right—but it’s not worth the risk…for either of us.

  I fold up the map and grab the package, ignoring the stab of anxiety that lodges in my gut when I think about its contents.

  “I’m going out. I’ll see you tonight,” I say, my tone clipped.

  A gleam of mischief hits Makanga’s dark eyes.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to see her. She might not even be there.”

  He laughs and lifts up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying anything. Just figured you might be in a better mood if you checked it out.”

  “I’m not going, so get used to me being a miserable bastard in the meantime.”

  He just shakes his head as I gather up my things, leave the house, and toss my bag into the passenger side of the coupe. The engine roars to life when I turn the key in the ignition. Being behind the wheel of Dion’s loaner is a nice upgrade from riding shotgun in Betsy. Maybe it’ll be the distraction I need to clear my head.

  I drive around Arlington, no destination in mind, until I find myself in front of Brienne’s old apartment, the place where her life ended thanks to one of Jay’s men. The spot where Isabel witnessed her best friend die shows no trace of what happened here. I study the buildings across the street, wondering which window her killer hid behind. I was too busy getting us the hell out of here to care.