“Is Boris still active?”
The mention of the buyer causes my muscles to tighten. Griffin and I are very familiar with Boris, though that’s an alias. We don’t know his real name.
Boris is wanted by not only the FBI, but Interpol, other international agencies, and private businesses like mine. And while capture is the end goal, at the very least, we need to find out his identity, something I’ve been unable to do for years.
This pisses me off.
“Yeah, the sadistic motherfucker is still very interested in making a deal.”
Boris is the proverbial canary in the coal mine and is usually the first to know when something is about to happen. In the past, we’ve been successful in getting him to snitch, albeit small and mostly insignificant details. He likes being part of the game.
“Fuck,” Griffin snarls. “And JungleCat, that was the username, right? Anything more on them? Have you made any kind of contact with either of them?”
JungleCat appears to be in charge of this new ring. The screen name popped up out of nowhere and has been talking with Boris, among others, online.
“Yes, that’s the name. They’re still chatting but cautious and coded in what they say. Right now, I’m only lurking and gathering info, and I’ve got nothing to work with to find out who JungleCat is or where they’re located.”
“I looked into them too and I found nothing. Not a mention or a peep until you first noticed them.”
“Not surprised. We might get a break. There’ve been rumblings about Miami.”
“Is that why you’re in Florida?” His question isn’t unfounded. I do most, if not all, of my work online.
Florida is among the top four states with the highest rates of human trafficking in the US, and from what I’ve seen, it looks like JungleCat does most of their business there.
“Yeah, um, I haven’t changed the way I work.” I hope my tone’s casual and not at all awkward like the way I feel. “But I offered to stick close by. The Feds have their own cyber unit, and this way I can debrief in person if needed.”
“But why Destin and not Miami?” He isn’t buying my excuse, and I’m not about to tell him about her.
“If you must know…”—my pause is deliberate, drawing out this rare confession—”I needed something to keep me busy while I figure out my next move.”
He chuckles dryly. “You wouldn’t have this problem if you just chose HC like we both know you’re going to. I never figured you for someone who would play hard to get.”
“Fuck you.” I grip the steering wheel. “Not going to talk about this. And come on, you know how I get when something stumps me. I will find out who JungleCat is and stop them, and damn, if we get Boris too, even better.”
“Yeah, I so want to nail Boris.”
Blinking, I glance out the window at the double doors of the shooting range. It’s too soon for her to be finished, but if I’m going to do this, time is wasting.
“Griffin, I should go.” Straightening, I man up and just say it like it is. “I’m taking some time to get my head on straight.”
He snorts. “Yeah, like that’s possible.”
“You’re one to talk.” I shift in the seat, my back sticking to the car leather in this stifling summer heat. “When I know what the hell I’m doing, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Okay.”
“How’s Cora?”
She’s his woman, and surprisingly he’d readily admit, his everything. They’ve been in Manhattan for a little over six months, and while I haven’t seen them since then, I’ve been keeping tabs on her.
Griffin would kill me if he knew. Hell, come to think of it, Cora would kill me. She’s one tough cookie and has her work cut out for her, but if anyone can do it, she can.
“She’s great. While you insist on avoiding her attempts at a friendship—why she likes you, I don’t know.” He laughs and I smile. I am an asshole. “She wants you to come work for HC. She thinks we work well together.”
The way he says the last bit, it’s as if he wants me to believe he questions that very thing. Bullshit. We are a good team.
“Fuck off. You know, if I do, it doesn’t mean I’m settling in New York. Fuck that shit.”
He chuckles. “Too many people?”
“Too many everything.”
“So where would you settle? One of your existing places or Kauai?”
I’ll never sell my home in Hawaii. Never. That’s my heaven on earth. In the past, I’ve worked from there if I had to, but for the most part, I’ve been successful at not letting in the filth and depravity of the world when there.
It’s my sanctuary.
I’ve got small homes in northern California and another in Louisiana. Both are what I consider offices though I live there for long stretches of time.
“I’ll figure it out. Gotta go.”
“Later.” Griffin ends the call, and I drop the phone onto the seat beside me.
The crime scene pictures glare at me. Pools of blood are in almost every image. Food and drink litter everywhere.
A woman’s upper body is covered in blood. Her white sundress is now crimson, bare shoulders smeared red. Face tear-stained, amber eyes bloodshot and smudged with dark half-moons, and jawline blood-streaked.
She tried to save him, give him CPR, but it was too late. He didn’t stand a chance. Died quickly, maybe not within the first seconds of the bullet ripping through his chest, but close to it. Within a few minutes at most.
I scan the report, not really looking at anything in particular. Detective Polk kept meticulous notes, and though the crime took place eight months ago, the details and interview notes…it’s as if the robbery is unfolding on the pages. Here and now.
Is that how she feels every day? As if it’s happening over and over again?
Fuck, I know how that goes.
The case isn’t classified as cold, but the police are at a dead end with no new information. They captured the getaway driver, Louis Davy, two days after the robbery. The idiot hid out at his sister’s in Orlando, and I figure she felt no familial loyalty because at the first chance she got, she turned him in.
Randy Poole, the shooter, now he’s a different story.
He’s still out there, and the police have no leads or any useful information from Louis, Randy’s family, or other known associates. Randy isn’t a genius, and sooner or later, he’ll relax, get cocky, and turn up. But until then, he’s in the wind.
I know all this because I hacked into the police system. It isn’t something I’m quick to do despite my skills, but I will when I have no other choice. And it isn’t because I’m worried I’ll get caught. Not a chance. I don’t leave a trace.
No, it’s more that I prefer to do the work and gather my own intel. Moreover, I trust only the information I obtain firsthand or that Griffin—when he was my partner—finds. Anything else we come across or hear secondhand, I always verify.
In this particular situation, I’ve relied heavily on the policework. Maybe that’s why I’m here. To see for myself if there are untapped leads? Find Randy Poole? And then what? I get on a plane to New York or Langley…If only I knew my next move.