He didn’t want to respect that, but it was a trait that was crucial in Special Operations. He couldn’t help admiring it in a civilian CEO facing a massive investigation of her company and possible jail time.
“The soldiers who were killed in an ambush,” Leila replied. “Reporters say they were wearing armor. I’m guessing, since I’m here, that the army thinks they were wearing Petrov Armor?”
He could see the hope in her eyes, the wish that he’d correct her, say it was all a mistake or she’d just been brought in for her expertise. He actually felt bad for a nanosecond, then he remembered hearing the news about Jessica—over the television as her family had since the video had leaked before notifications could be made. “They don’t think it. They’ve confirmed it.”
She sighed heavily, then nodded. Her gaze stayed serious, no trace of panic, just sadness lurking beneath determination. “I want to see the plates.”
“Excuse me?” Was she joking? “They’re evidence in an open investigation.”
His words should have made her blanch, but instead the hardness in her gaze just intensified. “They’re not ours.”
He couldn’t stop the snort of disbelief that escaped. This was her spin?
She rushed on before he could figure out how to respond to that ridiculousness. “We have a lot of checks and balances in place. My dad joined the military when he was eighteen. He stayed in four years and watched three fellow soldiers die in a training accident. It stuck with him, made him want to do something to prevent it. He decided to dedicate himself to making better gear and weapons. The army paid for his tuition, helped him get the knowledge and skills to start Petrov Armor. It mattered to him—and it matters to me—that what we make saves lives. From the beginning, most of our gun and armor sales were to the military.”
The words out of her mouth were passionate, but Davis had been an FBI agent in white collar crime for four years before getting recruited to TCD. He’d learned quickly that one of the most valued qualities in CEOs of crooked companies was being a good liar. He’d also learned that when things got dicey, those same CEOs would throw others under the bus as fast as they could. So, he leaned back and waited for it.
Leila leaned forward, closing the gap between them again.
He hid his surprise at her boldness, trying not to breathe her subtle citrusy perfume.
“Nothing leaves our facility without being inspected. Furthermore, we don’t make changes without testing them with every kind of weapon we promise to protect against. There’s no way our products were breached by the kind of weapons the news reported were being used. So, either the bullets the insurgents were using changed or those soldiers weren’t wearing Petrov Armor.”
Since she was sticking with her story and he had no idea how long she’d hang around, Davis decided to help her out. “What about the person in charge of inspections? Or the people in charge of testing? Isn’t there a possibility that corners were cut without you realizing it?”
If she had any brains, she’d agree with him, give herself a little distance in case the whole thing blew up in her face—which he was pretty sure it was going to do.
Instead, the fury in her gaze deepened. “You really think I’m going to sell out one of my employees? No. That’s not possible. Anyone in a key role like that has been at Petrov Armor a long time. We don’t concentrate power without unannounced checks by other members of the team. It was my father’s rule long before he took the company public and the board of directors and I stand by that to this day.”
Davis felt himself frown and tried to smooth out his features. She was either a better liar than she seemed or she actually believed what she was saying.
The problem was, he believed the army. Jessica had been wearing Petrov Armor when she died. Which meant someone else was lying.
He had a bad feeling it might have been Leila Petrov’s father, longtime CEO of Petrov Armor and as of three weeks ago, dead. If Davis was right, then he’d already missed his chance to throw the bastard in jail. If he was right, there’d be no way left to truly avenge his friend’s death.
MELINDA LARSEN HAD seen some of the best liars in the country during her twelve years with the FBI. Before that, while doing her graduate thesis in psychology, she’d talked to incarcerated serial killers. They’d woven the most convincing tales she’d ever heard about their innocence with almost no body language tells that contradicted what they were saying. They’d also scared the hell out of her, with so much evil lurking beneath calm or even neighborly exteriors.
It had all been practice for her role at TCD, where she didn’t have the luxury of months-or years-long investigations, but had to make assessments almost on the spot. It was a near impossible task, but Melinda had discovered she thrived on the challenge.
It was also the best distraction she’d found in the past decade to keep her from thinking about the losses in her own life. Because no matter how much she’d thrown herself into her cases before TCD, there was always one unsolved case at the forefront of her mind. But here, that case was starting to fade into the background. She was starting to finally accept that she might never know the truth about the most important case she’d never been able to officially investigate. At TCD, she was finally starting to move on with her life.
Leila Petrov hadn’t presented much of a challenge. But Melinda still gave her standard disclaimer as she stared at Davis
