“Someone tossed your room.”
ELEVEN
Mitch
“I’ll go,” Matt says, breaking the status quo.
I’m physically blocking Kate, who shot out of her seat and had been heading for the door. She’s mad at me for not letting her through. Not that it would do any good, her vehicle is still at the motel.
“I need to go.”
“You may have been made,” Matt tells her.
“We don’t know that. It could be a coincidence.”
“You don’t really believe that,” I point out.
She snaps her eyes at me.
“What did Jacob say?”
It’s more a challenge than a question.
“I called Pearl when you were in the shower to stop by your room and pick up a change of clothes for you. She was going to drop them off here. When she got to your room, the door was open and the place tossed. She called Jacob, Jacob called me.”
“Did anyone call the police?” Matt asks.
“No. Jacob is holding off on that until we can have a look.”
“Then let’s go,” Kate says impatiently.
I place my hands on her shoulders and force her to look at me.
“Listen to me. Let’s for a moment assume you’ve been found out. Do you really want to broadcast you’ve been working with the FBI? It would send anyone who may be watching scrambling for the woods. We might lose any headway we’ve made.” I give her a gentle shake when I still see doubt in her eyes. “What do you figure would happen to the other kids then?”
I know she heard me when her head drops and her shoulders slump under my hands. Over her shoulder, I nod at Matt, who grabs his phone off the table, shrugs on a jacket, and picks up his keys.
“I’ll call you when I get there.”
Kate lets me move her aside so Matt can get out the door, but when it closes behind him she twists out of my hold. She moves to the glass sliding door and stares out into the night. I let her be for a moment and busy myself making a pot of coffee in the tiny kitchen. I have a feeling we’re going to need it tonight.
“Does someone have eyes on Kendrick?”
I look up at her question. She’s facing me from across the room, her arms wrapped around her midsection. Only now do I notice she’s wearing my clothes. Her hair still wet and unruly from the shower, a soft flush on her face, it’s like she just got up after a hot night in the sack. With me.
Fuck.
I’m staring. Not much I can do about my dick’s response without making it even more obvious so I turn back to the coffee maker.
“Lampert and Punani are on him. They would’ve called if there was a problem.”
“Is there any way they can make sure?”
“I’ll call.”
While I get hold of our team, I watch Kate walk into my bedroom.
“What’s up?” John Punani answers.
“Whereabouts are you?”
“Outside the Cheetah Club in Lexington.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, Cheetah is labeled as a gentleman’s club, otherwise known as a strip club. Classy.
“We’ve had some developments on our end,” I inform him. “You guys still have eyes on your target?”
“Affirmative. Kendrick was joined by a couple of friends and moved into a private room with a steady flow of bottles and women going in. Looks like a party. He’ll be a while.”
“Any idea who the friends are?”
“Lampert got pictures. I’ll forward them to you. What developments?” he asks, changing tracks.
“Our contact inside the center was targeted. Was run down in the street tonight and we just found out someone broke into her motel room. She may have been exposed.”
“She okay?”
I glance over at the door to my bedroom.
“Yeah, should be. We’ve got her here.”
My phone pings with incoming messages. I assume the pictures John promised.
“Byron and Dresden are relieving us in thirty minutes. I’ll check in with you then.”
“Sounds good.”
I end the call just as Kate walks back in, her own phone in her hand.
“Kendrick is at a strip club,” I let her know, chuckling at the expression of disgust flashing over her face.
I pull up the pictures John sent me. One of the men I recognize as a local real estate agent, whose face I’ve seen on the side of transit buses and billboards across the city. Another high roller. I’m not surprised to recognize another as councilman Russel Germain, but I don’t know who the other two are.
I show Kate the pictures.
“Either of these two guys look familiar to you?”
She barks out a harsh laugh.
“Marshall Browning.”
She taps a finger on the image indicating a large, bald man with a goatee, my guess would be mid-forties, maybe fifty.
“Who is he?”
She glances up from under her lashes, a pinched look on her face.
“The son of George Browning, one of Lanark’s former chiefs of police.”
“No shit?”
“Not a single one. He was a few years ahead of me in high school.”
I make a mental note to look into Marshall. See what he’s up to now and how he may be connected to Kendrick. This is becoming a virtual who’s who of prominent figures. People in positions of power.
The whole thing gives me a foul taste in my mouth.
“By the way, I just talked to Pearl,” Kate informs me, changing the subject. “She says she was able to rescue some of my clothes, my phone charger, and my toiletries, but everything else is a loss. My laptop was taken, but she wiped it remotely as soon as she noticed it missing so the bastard won’t be able to access any sensitive information.”
“Good to know.”
“Yeah, but my truck is missing. It holds my gun safe. All my weapons are gone as well.”
“Weapons?”
I shouldn’t be surprised. The woman already showed me she’s tougher than she looks, but I’m having a hard time imagining her handling a gun, let alone owning several of them.
“Yes, my weapons.”
She rattles off an impressive arsenal of guns that have my eyebrows disappear in my fading hairline.
“Wow,” is all I manage.
She sighs deeply before moving to the table to pick up her drink, and takes a sip.
“I was a marksmanship master trainer for the U.S. Army and after some years took the job as firearms instructor at the Kentucky State Police Academy before joining GEM. Those weapons are my babies.”
I’m shockingly turned on by the fact the woman obviously knows how to handle a gun. She continues to surprise me, and not in a bad way. At all.
Then my rational mind takes over.
No gun registration in Kentucky, but anyone can find the owner of a vehicle with a license number.
“What name is your truck registered under.”
“Opal Berry.”
“Home address?” I probe.
She shakes her head. “The address is for an empty farmhouse south of Louisville registered to a property management company, which is owned by a dummy corporation front for Jacob Branch.”
Smart. I already knew GEM wasn’t a mom-and-pop operation, but this added a whole extra level of sophistication. Knowing Branch went through such lengths to protect his employees made me feel a hell of a lot better.