Dead in a Week (Forensic Instincts 7)

Marc had instantly agreed.

Now he walked over to the nearby bench and sat at the edge, legs spread apart, hands gripping his knees, ready to snap into action at the first sign of Danijel and his CI. He breathed deeply, watching his exhales emerge in clouds of icy mist. As always, he was outwardly calm, internally coiled to strike. It was the Navy SEAL in him, a quality that was as much a part of him as breathing.

“Your guests have arrived,” Philip announced.

“So I see.” Marc had spotted them approaching out of the corner of his eye. He rose, wishing he’d worn his damned gloves. It was freezing, but given what Danijel had said, there was no way Marc was shoving his hands into the pockets of his parka. Too much of a risk that the informant would think he was reaching for a weapon. He just turned to face them, arms at his sides, putting on his let’s-do-business rather than his intimidating expression.

“Good evening,” Danijel greeted him, purposely avoiding the mention of his name.

“Chief Inspector Horvat,” Marc replied with a nod. “Thank you for meeting with me tonight. And please thank your contact.”

While Danijel was doing just that, Marc gave the anonymous CI a quick once-over. He was short and stocky, wearing a heavy work coat with the hood pulled as far over his face as possible. All Marc could make out was a long face with a shock of black hair, a large nose, and a stubble of beard. And the guy was a nervous wreck, shifting from one foot to the other and gazing furtively around as if he expected to be shot dead at any given moment.

Marc was glad he’d listened to Danijel about the weapon.

“In English, tell me exactly what you want him to know,” Danijel instructed. “I haven’t told him anything other than you’re American, that you’re trustworthy and in trouble, and that you require his help. I want to be sure I convey as much or as little as you choose. But be as detailed as you’re able. It’s the only way we can find out how much help he can and will offer you.”

Marc cleared his throat, keeping his gaze on Danijel as he spoke—and not only because it would be Danijel who did the interpreting but because a direct stare could freak this quaking CI out and send him running. Which was the last thing Marc wanted, not when his gut instincts were telling him that this liaison could yield major results.

“Please let him know this situation is urgent,” he responded to Danijel’s request. “We’re looking for a kidnapped young woman. She’s an American college student and we have reason to believe she’s being held in Croatia by an Albanian crime group. If he can do anything to help us—and fast—we’d be very grateful. Assure him that this is a low-risk, high-reward arrangement for him. For the right information, he stays nameless and safe and also receives a large cash payment.”

Danijel turned and spoke to the man in rapid Croatian, clearly saying a whole lot more than Marc’s tersely worded statement. The CI listened intently, spitting on the ground when the name Sallaku was introduced.

Derica spoke up in Marc’s ear. “Chief Inspector Horvat is saying that he is certain the Sallaku family is behind this kidnapping and that he knows about this man’s personal vendetta against them,” she said. “He expressed sympathy about the murder of his brother. He also assured him that this conversation would be completely confidential on the law enforcement front—no official reports filed or red flags raised. And he gave his word that you can be trusted and talked to.”

The man hesitated for a few seconds, and then fired back a reply to Danijel.

“He’s frightened,” Derica translated. “He says they’ll slit his throat if they find out he talked to you at all, much less gave you damning information. He wants certain reassurances in advance—more than just Danijel’s word that you can be trusted.”

Even as Derica spoke, Danijel was turning to Marc. “I think an incentive might be in order.”

Marc had already figured that one out and was reaching into his pocket. He waited only until the chief police inspector had averted his gaze.

“This is for you,” Marc said directly to the informant, handing over some folded bills. He knew it didn’t matter that his words couldn’t be understood. He was speaking the universal language of cash.

Even though the man’s face was partly covered, Marc could see the look of surprised pleasure that lifted the corners of his mouth. One thousand American dollars wasn’t something he was offered every day.

He stuffed the money in his pocket, then said something to Danijel’s averted profile.

“Chief Inspector,” Marc murmured to Horvat. “Why don’t you rejoin the conversation.”

Danijel complied, turning to Marc. “It seems that my contact is willing to help you—given your offers for now and for later.”

Marc stifled a chuckle. The guy was making sure there was more cash to come.

This time he looked directly at the CI and nodded.

Satisfied, the man glanced back at Da

nijel and resumed speaking.

“He’s saying that Croatia is too broad an area for the kind of time frame you’re talking about,” Danijel told Marc. “He’s sure you have a more specific location in mind. And he wants to know what that is.”

“Slavonia,” Marc replied without hesitation. “She was taken there less than a week ago. We need specifics about where to look. And just so your informant knows, all we want is her safe return. We have no interest in anything or anyone else.”

Danijel again rattled off something in Croatian, and a brief back-and-forth ensued.

“Danijel just repeated what you said and then reminded his informant that he owes him a favor,” Derica reported. “The informant hedged, saying he’s based in Zagreb and knows nothing about Slavonia. Danijel jogged his memory, commenting that the CI has a well-connected uncle in Slavonia—one whose hatred for his nephew’s killers is equally powerful.”