Chapter 8
A man like Xavier Santos-Markland should never have been allowed into the Bureau.
He was a liar and a fraud and now, Special Agent Dorian Wilson had reason to believe, a murderer. As a professional courtesy he’d tried calling Markland a couple of times yesterday and last night. Dorian figured he’d set up a meeting, toss out a few questions, and get a feel for where Makland’s head was. But he’d never reached him; voicemail picked up every time. If he was a guilty man, that was probably on purpose; if he was innocent … well, Dorian wasn’t really considering that.
Admittedly the evidence he had against Markland was circumstantial. Still, his gut told him whatever had happened to Diamond Turner was connected to Markland. It was also likely connected to the murder of Senator Baines and his daughter months ago, and those two prostitutes. In addition to these brutal killings, there had been half a dozen other deaths in the last three weeks involving an unknown drug. The DEA wanted to know if Roman Reynolds was somehow linked to the development and distribution of this killer substance. After their initial investigation into Reynolds’s law firm they’d found nothing connecting him directly to any cartel in Brazil. But there was definitely a lot of movement coming out of South America. One cartel they were specifically watching was Cortez, even though informants couldn’t pin this new drug to that long-running drug empire. It had to be Reynolds, and Markland was one of Reynolds’s most trusted confidants.
Some would say Dorian was obsessed. He wouldn’t quite take it that far. So what, he’d had this growing file on Roman Reynolds and the law firm he owned, Reynolds & Delgado, for almost three years now. It didn’t matter that he’d made a point to get a copy of the Metropolitan Police Department’s file on every murder that had occurred in the city in the last twenty-four months. Hell, it was a stroke of luck that his sister was married to a lieutenant in the homicide division or that wouldn’t have even been possible. And just because he worked for the Drug Enforcement Agency didn’t mean he couldn’t also investigate a murder, especially if that murder may very well be connected to a homegrown drug cartel. But none of that meant he was obsessed. Just really, really interested in what Reynolds and his crew were doing.
He parked his car across the street and walked toward the high-rise condominium building that had only been built about three years ago. It was twenty-five stories of glass and steel and futuristic in its crisp and angular design. Reportedly it had cost more than ten million to build and was touted as the new direction of the city. Dorian thought it was a waste of space and money. Why couldn’t they have built another school or a recreation center? In his mind there were at least ten million other more sensible things to do with this space and that type of money than to build more homes for the rich.
That fact, to Dorian, solidified Markland’s unlawful involvement with Reynolds. He lived here, on the top floor.
His shoes made a clicking sound as he crossed the glossy marble floor. He liked dress shoes, liked dressing up for work, period. That was something that had been instilled in him when he was younger. Yolanda and Stuart Wilson made sure he and his two sisters dressed impeccably for church and wore only the cleanest starched uniforms at the strict Catholic schools they’d attended. Besides, Dorian knew he received more respect than a lot of the other agents because he was always professional about his work and his appearance. This morning, visiting one of his own on suspicion of murder, was no different.
Flashing his badge at the young attendant, he said simply, “Xavier Markland.”
The attendant was shaking his head negatively before Dorian could finish saying his name. “No guests after midnight or before eight AM.”
Dorian almost chuckled, but he wasn’t really in the best of moods right now. “What’s this, a frat house?”
First response was a shrug, then he said, “Rules. Besides, you’ve got to be on Mr. Markland’s approved list of guests or we’re not to let you upstairs anyway.”
Dorian nodded, pulling a wad of money out of his pocket. He wasn’t rich, but he tended to carry some extra cash just for situations like these—when, as a sign of the times, the badge wasn’t working as well as it should.
He lay three twenties down on the counter with his badge, then pushed his jacket lapel back to expose the nine-millimeter sitting quietly in its holster.
“Let’s try this again. Xavier Markland,” he said, his voice low and hard as steel.
With a lick of his lips a slow smile began to spread across the attendant’s face. He reached for the money but Dorian slapped his palm over it.
“Mr. Markland?”
“Take the second elevator up to the nineteenth floor. There are two elevators all the way to the back of that hallway. Take one of those to the penthouse. He’s the only one on that floor. And if he asks, tell him I wasn’t at the desk when you came in.”
Moving his hand away from the cash, Dorian retrieved his badge, pushing it into his pocket. “Won’t you get in trouble for not being on your post?”
“Probably get written up,” the attendant told him. Then he looked straight at Dorian, a serious expression marring his face. “But Mr. Markland will kill me if he finds out I took money to let you in.”
Dorian nodded, letting the words
“Where the hell is she?” Nick Delgado asked Eli and Ezra Preston the moment he saw them in the dining hall.
They were the twin guards assigned to Nick and Rome. Last night, however, they’d been called away from Havenway to assist at some nightclub in the city named Athena’s. Nick hadn’t grumbled too much because it was two in the morning when he’d received the knock at his bedroom door and the announcement that there’d been a Rogue sighting. On any other night Nick would have happily climbed out of his bed and headed out with the two Lead Guards, but Ary was just entering the sixth week of her pregnancy and since neither of them had ever experienced this miracle before, Nick was inclined to stick as close by her as he could.
It wasn’t until this morning when he’d spoken to Rome that he’d learned the full extent of the story. Rogues had indeed been sighted at Athena’s, where Caprise had apparently been working as a stripper.
That last fact was still hard for Nick to swallow, and his temples throbbed incessantly with the effort. Rome was sitting at the desk in his home office. Both of them lived at Havenway now, their refuge from the city and all the attention that had come to Rome’s estate just about a month ago. The facility was still undergoing construction, but to date was coming along nicely. Nick, however, did not plan to stay here indefinitely. He wanted his own house for Ary and their family. And he definitely did not want to remain in hiding from the world they deserved to live in just as much as the humans. Still, he understood that, for now, the safety of his wife and child came first.
“She’s not here. We checked her room and she didn’t come home at all last night,” Eli replied, slipping his aviator jacket onto broad shoulders covered by the fitted T-shirt he wore.
Eli was the more somber twin. While his green eyes, mocha skin tone, and cleft chin mirrored Ezra’s, he wasn’t as flamboyant and outgoing as his brother. That was most likely the reason he’d been assigned to Rome as soon as he’d been appointed Faction Leader. With Nick’s enigmatic personality and previous popularity with the females, Ezra was the best pick for his guard. Even though, right now, Ezra was keeping a tight lip, probably because he knew Nick was very close to going off totally.
“Where the hell is Seth?” he asked, keeping a tight rein on his temper. Once upon a time this would have been a task for Nick, but since finding Ary again, his temperament had taken a less volatile edge. Today remaining calm was proving difficult. And who could blame him? Caprise was his little sister. Before a month ago she’d been gone for five years and he hadn’t known where she was or what she was doing. Then she just showed up, with secrets in her eyes and a chip on her shoulder as big as a damn boulder. Now she was missing. They couldn’t blame him if he wanted to break something or someone in two to find out where she was.
“Seth checked in already this morning. He says she’s safe,” Ezra told him.
The guard stood across from Nick, about four feet away. He wore black slacks and a white silk shirt. His jacket was probably in the car. Since Ezra accompanied Nick everywhere, he tended to dress for the occasion.
