“Xavier?” Paul whined. “Are you there?”
“I think I’ll go home.”
“Didn’t you just hear me-”
“The best way to confront pompous prick cops like Dean Hooper is head-on. Show him that I have nothing to hide, that I am not scared of what he might find. That he sought to deliver the subpoena while I was out of town- rude, to say the least. I should be there while they paw through my things.”
“But-”
“Trust me. Who was the judge?”
“Barnhardt.”
“Hmm.” Barnhardt wasn’t one of his, but he also wasn’t one of theirs-the jurist distrusted cops as well as criminals. A wild card. Xavier didn’t like the unknown. Like the missing Zamora kid. He wondered why Hooper had gone to a judge like Barnhardt. He’d have thought Tucci was the more logical choice, considering that he liked fishing expeditions. Perhaps Tucci wasn’t available.
Vega said from the rear of the jet, “Your driver is at the runway.”
“Good. Did he say anything?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are there any problems down below?”
“No. Nothing. He’s been there since eleven-thirty, like you asked.”
His driver doubled as a bodyguard. Xavier liked Chuck. He was quiet, punctual, and lethal, all appreciable qualities. He was beginning to think maybe Chuck could replace Vega-if a replacement was necessary. He hoped not. It would be messy, since Vega had been with him for many years and the other men took orders from him as well. Xavier didn’t want dissension, but sometimes it became unavoidable.
He could always make it look like an accident.
The Learjet descended and touched down at the private airstrip outside Jackson. As they taxied to the waiting Escalade, Xavier called his favorite information broker.
“Darla, it’s me. I need you to find everything you can on Dean Hooper, an FBI agent currently in Sacramento.”
“Do you have anything else on him?”
“He arrested Smitty.”
“Good place to start. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Sooner, Darla. I’ll make it worth your time.”
The rumors were wrong: Sonia Knight wasn’t just pretty, she was a knockout. Long, long legs packaged seductively in jeans that hugged round hips; a masculine black T-shirt that couldn’t hide her feminine attributes; and functional black boots that only added to her allure. Hell, Sonia would look good in a burlap sack.
To avoid looking at the sexy ICE agent, Dean Hooper pulled out his notepad and scrawled notes he didn’t need to write. He still saw her hazel cat eyes watching with the quiet intensity of a feline predator deciding when to pounce on a mouse. Any other woman with looks like Sonia Knight and Dean would suspect-rightfully from his experience-that she’d obtained her position on her back. But Sonia was not a woman to compromise, either a case or her principles. In that, her reputation was dead-on. Fiery, dedicated, smart, and a marksman. He’d seen the first three in short order; he looked forward to seeing her in action as well.
No warm-blooded male could ignore the passionate and notorious ICE agent, but Dean put his physical reaction on the back burner. He had a more immediate concern: Jones wasn’t home. He should have been here an hour ago. Dean had planned the raid to coincide with his return. Had someone talked? Alerted Jones while he was still in the air that the FBI was coming? Dean didn’t see how-he’d gone to the judge at the same time Jones was scheduled to land.
There could have been delays, Dean knew, but he didn’t have anyone inside the organization to give him up- to-the-minute status reports, and he feared Jones would flee if he knew the FBI was on his ass. He had enough money to make it extremely difficult for anyone to find him. Especially since Dean didn’t have an arrest warrant and not enough evidence for the U.S. attorney to take over the case.
He’d already taken a huge risk going to Barnhardt and pushing for a full-on search-and-arrest warrant without actually wanting it. He’d played a delicate game, but in the end got exactly what he wanted: a limited and specific subpoena for Xavier Jones’s personal and professional tax records at his home. He didn’t expect to find anything, but he couldn’t tell that to Barnhardt. A man like Jones wouldn’t leave incriminating documentation lying around where it could be easily seized. What Dean needed to complete his analysis were the unconnected details, but those innocuous items wouldn’t give him enough cause for a warrant. He had to use Jones’s link to a known criminal to make the case to Barnhardt.
All Dean wanted to do was rattle Jones’s cage. Make him nervous. Force him to make bad decisions. But men like Xavier Jones didn’t rattle easily. The subpoena was just the first step. He
Having ICE and Homeland Security involved was a problem, but not such a hindrance that Dean couldn’t turn it to his advantage. He needed to make a few calls to neutralize Sonia Knight. She was a hothead who could jeopardize his investigation. Corruption of this magnitude demanded patience and finesse.
Sam Callahan returned with Sonia’s partner and reported that no one was on the property.
“No one?” Dean asked.
“I could have told you that,” Sonia Knight snapped. “We’ve been sitting on this house for two days.”
Dean wanted to ask why, but that would have to wait. “Did you reach his attorney?” he asked Sam.
“Left a message at eleven-thirty when we left Barnhardt’s house.”
“Has his plane landed?”
“What?” Sonia asked.
He raised an eyebrow and said rather mockingly, “You didn’t know he was out of town? I’m surprised.”
She tensed and Dean was almost sorry that he’d rubbed it in, but she’d pissed him off with her not-so-veiled comments about his motivations. He cared more about the people Jones hurt than he wanted to talk about.
“He didn’t take a commercial flight,” she snapped.
“He has a private plane. Learjet.”
“I know that.” But it was clear from her expression that she thought it was still at the airfield. Which made him think she had some bad intel. Or was ICE running with too much work and too few resources, like the FBI?
“We’re on the same team,” Dean said, extending the olive branch. “I want to compare notes. But right now we need to prepare for his arrival.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s after oh one hundred hours. When did he land?” He’d been told Jones was going to be back between eleven-thirty and midnight, which was why he had delayed arriving by an hour.
“Twenty minutes ago.”
Sonia put her finger to her ear, listening. Dean waited, hoping she would share the information without being asked. Any branch of Homeland Security could be dicey to work with, but ICE used to be independent, and while the FBI didn’t have the best relations with their sister agency, Dean had never encountered any problems himself.
Sonia said, “Jones’s car turned off the highway. ETA four minutes.”
“You really do have a-” he stopped. An idea occurred to him. “Jones knows who you are.” He said it matter- of-factly.
“Of course he does, I’ve been in his face enough.”
“Right now I’m serving a limited warrant for specific financial documentation.”
“Why would-”
“I don’t have time to explain, but I’m asking you to trust me. Take your partner and go back to your surveillance post. You’re entrenched right now; we didn’t make your team anywhere on the property.”
A hint of a cocky smile emerged on her lips. “Of course you didn’t.”
He gave her an appreciative nod. “You train your people well. I’m asking you to let me serve the subpoena and shake Jones’s confidence. Then we’ll leave, and you monitor comings and goings, see who Jones taps when he’s on the hot seat. Do you have a wiretap?”