“I’m not talking about the armor,” Pembrook replied, her gaze still laser-locked on his, even as agent-at-large Kane Bradshaw slipped into the meeting late and leaned against the doorway. “I’m talking about Jessica Carpenter.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The gazes on him seemed to intensify, but Davis didn’t shift his from Pembrook’s. “Thank you. And no, it won’t affect my judgment in the case.”
Pembrook nodded, but he wasn’t sure if she believed him as she looked back at the rest of the group and continued her briefing. “Petrov Armor won a big contract with the military five years ago. The armor this team was wearing is their latest and greatest. It’s not worn widely yet, but their earlier version armor is commonly used. The military is doing a full round of testing across all their branches. They’ve never had a problem with Petrov Armor before, and they don’t intend to have another.
“Meanwhile, they’ve asked us to investigate at home. We got lucky with the news coverage. We’re still not sure how it was leaked, but not all of it got out. Or if it did, the news station only played a small part. And somehow they don’t have the name of the body armor supplier. Not yet,” she said emphatically. “Rowan, we don’t have to worry about PD this time. I’m putting you on the media. Hendrick can lend computer support if you need it.”
Rowan Cooper nodded, looking a little paler than usual, but sitting straighter.
Since the TCD team traveled all over the country and abroad, they regularly had to work with police departments. Sometimes their assistance was requested and cooperation was easy. Other times the local PD didn’t want federal help at all, and it became Rowan’s job to smooth everything over. Davis had never envied her that job. But he envied her dealing with the media even less.
“What’s our initial read on the situation?” JC asked. “Did Petrov Armor just start sending inferior products or are we talking about some kind of sabotage?”
“At this point, we don’t know. The army hasn’t had a chance to begin evaluating the vests yet. They’re still dealing with death notifications and shipping home remains.”
The clamp that had seemed to lock around Davis’s chest the moment he’d heard the news ratcheted tighter. Jessica had lost her husband a few years earlier. Davis had met him once, when he and Jessica happened to rotate back home at the same time. He’d never met her kids in person, but he’d gotten to talk with them once over a ridiculously clear video chat from seven thousand miles away. They’d been funny and cute, jostling for the best position in front of the camera and all trying to talk at once. They were orphans now.
Davis took a deep breath and tried to focus as Pembrook continued. “Petrov Armor has recently gone through some big changes. About a year ago, founder and CEO Neal Petrov retired. He passed the torch to his daughter, Leila Petrov, formerly in charge of the company’s client services division. One of the biggest changes she’s made has been to shut down the weapons side of their business and focus entirely on the armor. But you can bet Neal Petrov was the one to convince the board of directors to agree to that decision. He had controlling stock share and a lot of influence. He stayed involved in the business until three weeks ago, when he got caught up in a mugging gone bad and was killed.”
“You think the new CEO is cutting corners with dad out of the picture?” Kane asked, not moving from where he’d planted himself near the doorway.
That strategic position was probably in case he wanted to make a quick getaway. The agent-at-large had known the director for a long time, but he was one of the few members of the team Davis couldn’t quite get a read on. He seemed to flit in and out of the office at random, more often away on some secret assignment than working with the team.
“Maybe,” Pembrook replied. She looked at JC. “I want you to bring her in. Take Smitty with you.”
Laura Smith nodded, tucking a stray blond hair behind her ear as Davis opened his mouth to argue.
Before he could, Melinda jumped in, sounding every bit the profiler as she suggested, “Make it a spectacle. Do it in front of her people. We don’t have enough for a formal arrest at this point, but Leila Petrov is only thirty, pretty young for a CEO. Technically, she’s been in charge for a year, but we have to assume her father has been holding her hand until recently. Almost certainly he convinced the board of directors to let her take the helm when he retired. If we shake her up from the start, get her off balance and scared, she’s more likely to cooperate before contacting a lawyer. And she’s more likely to slip up.”
Pembrook nodded and glanced at her watch. “Do it in an hour. That should give her employees plenty of time to get settled in before you march her out of there.”
Davis squeezed his hands together tighter under the table. He could feel the veins in his arms starting to throb from the pressure, but he couldn’t stop himself any more than he could prevent blurting angrily, “Director—”
That was all he got out before she spoke over him. “Davis, I think your military background will come in handy, too. I’m going to let you run lead on this.”
Shock kept him silent, but
