Allison Brennan - Fatal Secrets

Noel was upset by the series of events that resulted in the younger boy ending up under Jones’s watch, of course, but he could let it go because, ultimately, the situation wasn’t completely Jones’s fault. What truly frustrated him was the FBI looking at Jones. He didn’t care one iota that the warrant was for financial records, Jones was a threat to Noel if he was arrested. Noel knew exactly how the government worked. They did what he did-leveraged. You give me this, we’ll give you that. The only difference was that Noel’s punishment was far more permanent than prison if the person didn’t agree with the terms.

Jones was a potential threat. And while Noel didn’t want to kill one of the best people he’d ever worked with in this business, he wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

Noel was training someone to take over for Jones should it become necessary. They might have to make the change sooner than planned, since business demanded continuous adjustments in personnel.

And if he had to let Sacramento go altogether, so be it. He dealt with other brokers like Jones. While there were few with Jones’s breadth of clients-and the added service of providing squeaky-clean money was a major allure-Noel could withstand some losses in order to protect his larger empire. Obviously, the “squeaky-clean” money Jones guaranteed was being looked at by American law enforcement. It was no longer safe to do business with him.

Noel made his decision. He’d gather the rest of the information about Saturday’s exchange, ensure that the girls had arrived safely and were secured, and then kill Jones.

His assistant came in through one of the suite’s doors and cleared his throat.

Noel motioned for Mr. Ling to join him by the balcony window. Ling was Chinese, bald, and in his early forties. He could kill a man with little effort, and had a sharp intellect. He’d been with Noel for more than a decade.

“Yes, Mr. Ling?”

“Tobias neglected to properly dispose of the girl.”

Noel’s fists clenched, the only outward sign of his anger. His brother was yet another liability. Had he been able to leave him behind in Mexico, he would have. But the last time he left Tobias for more than a day, his brother had disappeared for three weeks and left behind too many dead bodies for Noel to cover up. Noel resented having to care for the twisted, weak retard. Before their father had died, Noel didn’t have to see or talk to Tobias. But now he was truly his brother’s keeper-a job Noel resented.

“I should have killed him when Father died.”

Mr. Ling bowed in agreement, though both men knew that Noel wouldn’t have done it at the time. His father had asked him to spare Tobias. And Noel had genuine affection for the brilliant man. After traveling throughout South America for years, Johan Marchand settled farther north, in Mexico, and turned a small brothel into a thriving international organization of prostitution. Because Noel had the charm, good looks, and ability to lie as smoothly as he killed, he went on the road most of his early adulthood, recruiting or kidnapping young women to feed the business. It was lucrative and satisfied the wanderlust of his youth.

Women were good for not much outside of sex, and most of them couldn’t even do that right. So when Tobias killed for the first time, when he was fifteen and screwing one of the whores their father had given him as a birthday present, Johan finally admitted what Noel had known from the beginning: Tobias was not right in the head. Not just dumb as an ox, Tobias had been killing animals from when he was young not for sport or pleasure, but just because, as he once told Noel, he liked to hear their bones break.

Johan had allowed Tobias an occasional whore. Four out of five ended up dead, and Noel had had to clean up after him, until Noel convinced his father he was a better recruiter. Johan agreed and taught Tobias to clean up after himself when Noel traveled.

Obviously, the lessons hadn’t stuck. Noel could no longer afford to spare his brother’s life. His father would understand. Hadn’t Noel risked enough by letting Tobias play? It was over.

“Where is he?”

“In his room.”

“Watch him. I don’t trust anyone else. I’ll come up with a plan, but he won’t be returning to Mexico with us.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Send a team to retrieve the body.”

“They’re already on their way. She was left in a potentially exposed place.”

“What the fuck did he do?”

“He dumped her in the river, but her arm got caught on a bush and he didn’t want to get wet.”

Tobias couldn’t swim. Noel should drown him. Would serve him right.

Have mercy on him, son. Tobias doesn’t have full mental faculties .

Noel would live up to the promise he made his father for mercy. He’d put a bullet in his brother’s head before he weighted him down and tossed him into the river. By the time his body surfaced, Noel would be long gone, and he had no plans to return to the States. Ever.

“Four days,” Noel said. “Four days was all I needed and he screws up in less than six hours.”

“And Jones?”

“We’ll see to him tonight. In the meantime, I want full backgrounds on all his employees-”

“You have that, and-”

“Go deeper. I want to know who they’ve talked to and where they’ve been in the last two months. I want to know who tipped off the FBI about Jones, and how much they know about me. I don’t give a fuck what happens to Jones, but I’m not going to let them take me down with him.”

And at this point Noel would prefer to just kill everyone involved in Jones’s operation. Unfortunately, in the States, the murder or disappearance of a couple dozen people would cause more than a small ripple in the landscape.

“Give me everyone who has any hand in our business, and everyone who’s just window dressing. We’ll pick and choose, decide who stays and goes. Start building a list of people I can trust to do their job right.”

Noel would find out who tipped off the FBI and make a clear statement. No one would dare turn against him.

Not that it would matter. In four days he’d be back home, safe, far away from the long arm of American law enforcement. They’d need an army to get him.

Sonia could have taken half a day personal time after working through the night, but she had too much on her plate to even think about sleeping. And if she did stop home for a couple hours of downtime, she feared that seeing Charlie again would trigger the nightmares she’d buried long ago.

She had to get this part over with.

She dialed the assistant special agent in charge of the San Francisco Regional ICE office-based in Oakland.

Toni Warner supervised all field offices in the large, multistate territory. Sonia had met her nearly ten years ago when she was transferred from Texas to the San Francisco office, and though they butted heads as often as not, there was no one in the business Sonia had more respect and admiration for. Toni was smart, savvy, chic, and ruthless.

“Warner.”

“It’s Sonia. I have news.”

“You have Jones in custody and a solid case to turn over to the DOJ.”

“Not yet.”

“Please don’t tell me to turn on the television.”

Sonia cringed. Last year, she’d been caught on film in an unfortunate situation taken completely out of context. She’d led the raid of a sweatshop that “employed” illegal aliens. Only these illegals were indentured servants-not only smuggled into the country but held against their will making a dollar an hour, half of which went toward their room and board. When she’d burst in, one of the supervisors had cracked a whip across the back of a minor, a twelve-year-old boy Sonia later learned had been working there since he was seven. Sonia had seized the whip and snapped it toward the asshole who abused children. It cut across his face-she had never intended to actually hit him, only scare him. When she escorted him out in cuffs, she still had the whip and the press filmed them-highlighting the bastard’s split face.