“You said it, boy.” Ryan gave the bloodhound a sage nod.
“The difference is that, when Hero doesn’t sleep, he takes it like a man,” Marc noted dryly.
“Very funny.”
“Not meant to be.”
“Enough, guys.” Casey was in no mood for their ornery banter. Right now, she was totally focused on Emma. “Let me hear the overall premise you need to convey tomorrow,” she instructed her. “Make it frank and direct.”
Emma didn’t even glance at her notes. She just interlaced her fingers on the table and met Casey’s gaze.
“I’m explaining to Lisa that we now believe that Shannon was part of a big medical experiment involving numerous targets and designer PEDs. Shannon was just one of many. We’re on the brink of figuring out who’s at the helm and who that person has working for him or her, doing things like the attempted kidnapping, the surveillance, etc. It’ll only be a matter of days. Then it will all be over and they’ll be safe.”
“Good girl.” Casey gave her a supportive smile. “Concise. Optimistic. Honest. And with just enough new information to satisfy their need to feel included. You’ll do great.”
“Casey,” Patrick inserted, “if you can spare me for a few hours, I can personally drive Emma to Upper Montclair, keep an eye on her, and then drive her back.”
“No way.” Emma didn’t wait for Casey’s response. She just blurted out her words—and then thought better of it when she saw the expression on Casey’s face.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking from Casey to Patrick. “That sounded awful. Patrick, you’re awesome. But, with all due respect, that idea is a mistake. Whoever’s watching our clients—seeing me roll up in a car with New York plates, driven by a guy who smacks of FBI, and who acts as my babysitter? I’m supposed to be
a friend and a fellow gym rat. I’ve got to keep up that image, not raise red flags.”
“She’s not wrong, Patrick.” Ryan lent her some support. “Now that Lubinov knows we’re on to RusChem, he’s bound to have his best guys on the surveillance beat. Emma’s got to look like a regular person. If they suspect she’s a PI or any other kind of threat, she’ll be in more danger than she will be going this alone.”
Patrick frowned, clearly torn between instincts and logic.
“You can assign one of your security guys to watch me when I’m in Upper Montclair,” Emma suggested.
“I’ll do better than that.” Patrick leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. He wasn’t backing down. “I’ll have my guy ride the same trains as you. He’ll keep his distance. But he’ll also keep you in his sights.”
“I like that idea.” Casey rose, going over to pour herself another cup of coffee. “That’s how we’ll do it.”
“But…” Emma began.
“No arguments.” Casey shot Emma a no-nonsense look as she returned to her chair at the head of the table. “You’re not winging this alone. It’s Patrick’s way or no way.”
“Fine.” Emma slumped in her seat, but she didn’t push Casey any further.
Casey resettled herself, taking two long sips of hot, black coffee, which shot the ongoing and essential burst of caffeine into her system. “And while we’re addressing the rules, remember, I want you back at the office by four o’clock, before the serious rush hour traffic begins. That’s more than enough time to spend with Lisa and Shannon. We need you here.”
“I have to make a few calls,” Patrick told Emma. “But I’ll text you the name, specs, and photo of the security guy I assign to you. You’ll have the information within the hour. Memorize it—especially the photo—and call on him if anything seems off or if you feel like you’re being watched. No foolish heroics.”
“I promise,” Emma replied. She might be irked by the restrictions, but the flipside was nice. She now had a new family who actually cared about her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Vitaliy and Alexei were cut up into pieces and dissolved in acid before Slava returned to his hotel to check out and head to Upper Montclair. No more sloppy bullshit burials, like the one he’d done with Jim Robbins. Max was too fucking worried about extreme, time-consuming measures translating into capture. The truth was that acid eliminated evidence. Exhumed bodies told secrets. But Max had no experience with this kind of thing. Beneath his self-imposed ruthless exterior, he was nothing more than an inventor. Slava was a born killer.
The Passaic River had washed the last of Vitaliy’s and Alexei’s blood off his hands and arms. He’d yanked off his red-splattered T-shirt and soaked it in the river, as well. Then, he’d pulled on a casual sweater. His jeans were dark, so any trace of blood he’d missed would blend in with the denim and never be noticed.
He’d climbed into the van and driven back to his hotel, where he’d carefully showered away any last vestiges of the murders. He packed the sweater, T-shirt, and jeans in a plastic bag, which he shoved into his suitcase, donning a store-bought business suit before checking out. He scowled down at himself. The clothing wasn’t his taste. Everything he wore was custom-made, with style and flair. But it was imperative that he blend in with the crowd. And wearing this boring gray thing with its equally boring striped tie would ensure that no one remembered him.
He reached West Orange, New Jersey, as planned, making a few phone calls along the way to issue orders and ensure that his replacements for Alexei and Vitaliy were already stationed and doing active surveillance. Everything was in order. He’d expected no less. This time, he’d done the hiring. And the men he’d hired were skilled and hard-core. They didn’t make mistakes.
He checked into the Best Western he’d preselected using a pseudonym and the corresponding fake credit card. The place was as close to Upper Montclair as he could get without upgrading to a fancier hotel. It was about twenty minutes away by car and was large enough and populated enough for him to fly under the radar. He normally preferred first-class accommodations, but he wasn’t here for a vacation.
Traveling light—one suitcase and a suit bag—he got to his room and put out the Do Not Disturb sign before flipping the deadbolt. Carefully, he hung up his suit bag. His suitcase he simply tossed onto one of the double beds. He was tired and he was hungry. It was barely eight o’clock. His men were in place. He had time for a power nap and a big breakfast.