or bring her to the island once he believes she’s alone.”
“And when she doesn’t show?”
“He’ll attempt to contact her to see if she was delayed.”
“He isn’t going to be on the mountain alone,” Jack said. “That would be stupid.”
Dillon shook his head. “No, he’s holding the ace: Lucy. If Adam Scott is on the mountain, Lucy will be nowhere near it. He’ll be in communication with his team. He’ll call for her death in a minute if he thinks it’ll buy him time or allow him to escape.”
“I’ll identify him, follow him. He’ll be pissed because Kate didn’t show, but he’ll also be expecting a tail.”
“Expect the unexpected,” Dillon said. “He’s not going to be alone. He has a trick, something that he will use to get to Kate. To force her to come with him. He could have another woman. Or I could be completely wrong and he will bring Lucy with him.”
“I always expect the unexpected,” Jack said.
“Lucy’s not with Trask,” Kate said.
Dillon glanced over his shoulder. She was staring at her laptop. “She’s still onscreen.”
Abigail was surprised when Vigo met her at the airport at two Eastern time.
“Surprise,” Vigo said and flashed his award-winning grin.
Abigail refrained from grinning back. The man was incorrigible. “What are you doing here?” She slid into the passenger seat, grabbing the dashboard when Vigo pulled quickly from his parking place.
“Peterson asked me to run Ullman’s finances and clients. Surprise, one client is Adam Scott. Double surprise, Ullman is the stockbroker for all the corporations on which Adam Scott sits on the board. And for a triple play, Ullman carries his proxy.”
“So he definitely knows something.”
“I’d say he knows everything. We may need to bring him in. Consider him armed and dangerous.”
“So why did you come up yourself?” Abigail asked.
“Peterson wants the best on this case and, well, that’s me.” He smiled again and Abigail laughed.
At Ullman’s Madison Avenue highrise, Vigo and Abigail flashed their badges and security cleared their weapons. “Let’s get up there before one of Ullman’s friends calls that we’re here.”
Paul Ullman had a spacious contemporary office with white carpets and black-and-silver furniture, against the backdrop of the Manhattan skyline. Abigail winced at the shine, polish, and prestige. “Phony.”
Ullman himself was a short, wiry man of thirty-seven with black, slicked-back hair and dressed in an impeccably tailored Italian suit. He walked into his office via a side door, immediately clasped the hands of Vigo, then Abigail. “So sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, then, all in one breath, “I was in a meeting, couldn’t get out, I hope you don’t mind.”
“We haven’t been here long,” Abigail said.
“Good, good, please sit down.” He motioned toward a black leather couch in the corner. “Please.” He sat on the arm of the chair across from the couch. When neither agent sat, he stood, his hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “What can I help you with?”
“You’re Adam Scott’s stockbroker and carry his proxy for all his boards, correct?” Abigail said, cutting immediately to the heart of the matter.
Ullman blinked rapidly several times. “Scott? Um, I’d have to check-”
“You went to school with him, I’m sure you remember him.”
“Of course, but I-”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Scott?”
“I don’t know. Years. We do business only through e-mail and correspondence.”
“When was the last time you corresponded with him?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
“Do you know what the penalties are for laundering money?”
“Laundering?” Ullman paled even more, if that were possible against his already ghostly pallor. “No, I’m a legitimate businessman, I don’t do that. You can check my records.”
Vigo spoke up for the first time. “We will, thank you very much.”
“I, um, my company. My lawyers. I would need to see a warrant.”
Vigo frowned, started searching his pockets, pulled out an envelope. “You mean like this?”
Ullman snatched the papers, read them, his mouth working but no sound coming out. “I, I…I need to get my attorney.”
“Do you remember Trevor Conrad?”
“I’m not talking to you without my attorney.”
Vigo put his hands up. “That’s your right, of course. Just don’t leave the room while you call him. And while you’re at it, Special Agent Resnick will take a little look at your computer. It’s covered there, in the warrant. Page two.”
Trask listened to his attorney.
Not good. For five years they hadn’t been able to trace him, and now all of a sudden the feds knew about Trevor Conrad.
Worse, they knew his real name. And that fucking bastard Paul Ullman was going to talk.
He shouldn’t have used Trevor’s name with Lucy. It had been arrogant, cocky. He could see that now, but at the time it had been fun. Part of the game.
He would adapt. He always did.
“Kill him.”
“The feds are with him now.”
“I don’t care. Find a way. You always find a way.”
He slammed his phone shut.
In fifteen more minutes Kate would be here. She’d better show. He was in no mood for any bullshit.
At least Ullman knew nothing of importance. Except the truth about Trevor’s death, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to talk about that.
Trask opened his computer and hacked into Ullman’s accounts. He needed to save most of his money before the feds cut him off. He’d lost millions of dollars a few years ago when they’d uncovered one of his accounts. But they’d never made the Ullman connection before.
This was definitely going to be a problem.
He turned and faced the restrained fed in the back-seat. Mick Mallory stared at him with hatred.
Trask laughed, went back to his computer.
Hate. What a wonderfully empowering emotion.
Quinn Peterson had just landed in Seattle when his cell phone rang. “Peterson.”
“It’s Vigo. Good news, bad news, worse news.”
“Give me good news. I need some.”
“We have all Adam Scott’s finances. Paul Ullman has been laundering money for years. We’ve seized his accounts, have computers and e-mails that I’m transporting to Quantico right now.”
“Fabulous. What’s the bad news?”
“Scott transferred more than half the accounts to unknown sources before we could seize them.”
“Someone tipped him off.”
“We think the attorney, but we can’t prove it.”
“What’s the worse news?”
“Ullman is dead.”
“
“We did!” Vigo said defensively. “He went to meet with the attorney-we obviously couldn’t sit in. But we flanked the room. He came out of it, nodded to us, went over to his balcony, and jumped.”
“Jumped?”
“Thirty-six stories, right there on Madison Avenue. Splat.”
