Love me darkly, p.14
Love Me Darkly, page 14
part #1 of Behind The Veil #1 Series
Suede sneered but nodded that he understood, and Mateo wrenched him to his feet.
“Alpha-one report.”
Williams answered him a moment later. “All clear, Bravo-one. Hostiles neutralized. Civilians evacuated.”
“Good. Send a car to the laundromat on Lee Street. I got Tariq Hayes on ice.”
“Copy. Transport on the way.”
He paced away from Suede, who still lay where Mateo had left him, hands zip-tied behind his back. Mateo paused and doubled over, still fighting for breath. Now that the adrenaline had faded, he felt everything. He felt every one of his forty-two years.
Suede laughed again, shoulders shaking as he watched Mateo straighten and then crank his neck from side to side with a groan. “Rough night?”
Mateo scowled and fought the urge to kick Suede in his vulnerable ribs. His bodycam was still on, and he was in enough trouble with Carlisle as it was.
Still, he sneered and spat on the ground near Suede’s face. “Shut the fuck up.”
Mateo stared at the pitiful lump of shit chained to the table in front of him. The bright overhead lights and stark surroundings of the room put Suede’s rough night on full display. His white undershirt was filthy and torn at the neckline, and his gold chain, which had been broken in the struggle with Mateo was now absent. His forehead had been cleaned and bandaged, but had started bleeding again, a crimson stain showing against white gauze. A nasty road rash stood out on one cheek, red and angry. His lower lip was busted and swollen, and he’d likely bitten it when Mateo had taken him down. At close range and in this lighting, Mateo could finally make out the cursive scrawl of Suede’s neck tattoo.
Thug Life.
Donovan sat in the only other chair in the room, directly across from the pimp. Arms crossed, legs spread and slouching, he silently stared Suede down. Mateo paced behind him, hands shaking from hunger and fatigue. There hadn’t been time to get back to his hotel to shower and change clothes. There wasn’t time for coffee or breakfast. As the blistering sun had risen over New Orleans for the day, Mateo, Donovan, and Darcy had come straight to the field office. He had given Smith, Williams, and Jones strict orders to go back to the hotel and rest. He didn’t want to see them again until at least noon. This gave him and Donovan five hours to crack Suede, and Darcy the same amount of time to sift through what had been found at the NOLA house. An entire room filled with hard drives and a surveillance bay had been discovered, and Darcy had copied everything onto her own drives so she could start investigating.
“Cut the shit, Tariq,” Mateo said, hands folded behind his back as he paced, back and forth, back and forth. “You want to know what you’re looking at here? A mandatory minimum of fifteen years for trafficking. Ten more for the drug charges. Don’t even get me started on the RICO and conspiracy charges. You’ll spend the rest of your life in a cement box.”
Suede shrugged. “If I’m up on all those charges, what’s the point in talking?”
Mateo paused as if thinking that over. “You know, you have a point. We have more than enough evidence for a conviction. There’s the footage of you with Wilson and Morrison at Solstice and the wiretap recordings on which you mention ‘fifty fresh ladies new to the circuit’ as well as the NOLA house, which has your name on the lease. There are the victims we found imprisoned inside that house. There are the crates of the BAZ-024 drug we found in the basement and manifests of distribution plans and destinations. And to top it all off, you were apprehended with a .22 caliber handgun on your person while fleeing a trafficking site during a federal raid. That’s what is affectionately known in the bureau as a slam dunk. Yeah, Donovan?”
“Absolutely,” Donovan replied. “And you should know that Morrison has been apprehended in a raid on Berenger Warehouse. There is currently a warrant out for the arrest of Lieutenant Wilson, so we expect him to be brought in sometime today. What we found further solidifies your ties to Morrison and Wilson, as well as Valemont Holdings.”
Suede scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you mothafuckas already know everything.”
Mateo stopped pacing and reached for the file resting in front of Donovan. He held up the photo of the whiteboard they’d found in the basement, marked with the mysterious code. “Not everything. For instance, we don’t know who R.K. is. His initials were on this whiteboard and in the contact list on your burner phone. As a matter of fact, you’ve called and texted R.K. more in the past four months than anyone else.”
Suede suddenly sat up straight, refusing to meet Mateo’s gaze. He kept his eyes locked on the wall across the room, hands curling into fists on the table. “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I don’t got shit to say to you.”
“Not even if we could guarantee a reduced sentence? Maybe even the possibility of parole?”
Suede emitted a harsh chuckle. “Fuck that. I’m dead either way.”
Donovan inclined his head. “Yeah? Why is that? Is R.K. your boss or something? I mean, it’s clear you, Wilson, and Morrison are just the middlemen. The owner of Valemont … now there’s power.”
“Is that who he is, Tariq?” Mateo prodded, leaning closer over the table. “Is R.K. the owner of Valemont?”
Suede’s lips peeled back to reveal clenched teeth, and he glared at first Donovan, then Mateo. A set of gold caps glittered on his canines. “I’m done talking. I like all my limbs attached.”
“So that’s it,” Donovan mused. “R.K. won’t be too happy when he finds out what went down at the NOLA house and Berenger last night. He’ll want someone to blame. Someone who was sloppy enough to talk business in the open at Solstice.”
“I’m safer on the inside,” Suede replied.
Mateo offered him a humorless grin. “That’s what you think. Allow me to let you in on a little secret. I have one of the best intelligence specialists in the United States digging through the financials and real estate dealings of Valemont. Now that we have the initials, it’s only a matter of time until we find out who R.K. is. A man with that kind of influence? I don’t think he’d have a difficult time reaching you on the inside.”
“I never said R.K. was the owner. You assumed that.”
“You didn’t have to say it. I know it’s him. Like I said, it’s only a matter of time until we can prove it. And you know what, Donovan?”
“What’s up, Bossman?”
“When we catch up with R.K., I think I’ll have a little chat with him about our friend Tariq here. Tell him exactly who was responsible for the NOLA house raid.”
Donovan stroked his chin. “While you’re at it, you might mention what we turned up at the warehouse. But, you know, maybe don’t bring Morrison and Wilson into it.”
Suede’s complexion had gone ashen, and his gaze darted back and forth between Mateo and Donovan. “I want a lawyer.”
He’d nearly whispered the words bringing the entire interrogation to a screeching halt, but Mateo had heard them. Pounding his fist on the table, he turned for the door.
“Suit yourself. Donovan, get him a phone.”
Mateo slammed the door and leaned against it, letting out a frustrated sigh. The gnawing sensation in his stomach was nearly unbearable, exacerbated by his irritation. He’d thought they were getting somewhere with Suede but had just hit a dead end. They had more than enough to convict the pimp and his accomplices, but they needed more. They needed the owner of Valemont.
“Uh … someone! Come! Help! Please!”
Darcy’s raised voice drew Mateo toward her office door. It hung open and he found her inside, standing in front of her monitors. Her rolling chair had been pushed back and overturned, and her cat-eared headphones lay on the floor beside it. She jumped up and down, pointing at her screens.
“I did it! I found him! I fucking found him!”
Mateo wrinkled his brow, glancing from one monitor to the next to make sense of what he was seeing. On one of them, a photo of a man with fair skin and Slavic features stared back at him. Light blond hair was scraped back from his forehead and slicked, flaunting the square jaw, high cheekbones, cat-like blue eyes, and long, sharp nose. His piercing eyes seemed to penetrate the screen, sending a chill down Mateo’s spine.
“Who?” he urged while putting Darcy’s chair upright. “Who did you find?”
Rolling her chair back into place, she clicked her mouse a few times. “Prepare to bow down and name me the Queen of Everything. Meet Roman Korenic, owner of Valemont Holdings and Solstice nightclub, uber-rich trust fund kid, and all-around douchebag. This guy layered his assets better than a lasagna. Everything loops through trusts, LLCs, and offshore shells.”
“So how did you find him?”
“He slipped. Once. Left a digital fingerprint on a logistics invoice tied to Gulf Atlantic Freight. A burner email with the name korenic.r@gmail.com was used to register the document. Probably meant to delete it and didn’t.”
She clicked her mouse again, pulling up a dark web screenshot with a forum thread highlighted in yellow.
“Azrael’s Gate’ and dosage experiments are mentioned all throughout this forum. One of the uploaded BAZ-024 design files had metadata from a device labeled ‘Korenic-Win11.’”
“He named the device after himself?”
Darcy snorted and shook her head. “Criminal mastermind … bad at IT hygiene.”
“How long has he been active?”
“The RK crate tags match shipping routes going back three, maybe four years, all tied to Miami warehouses under other aliases. But the pattern repeats—same shipping loops, same shell corps, same name fragments.”
“Criminal history?”
“A few charges for aggravated assault and obstruction, but it looks like Korenic’s daddy has long money. He was able to sweep it all under the rug.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, Mateo allowed himself to smile. He rested a hand on Darcy’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Good fucking job, Queen of Everything. We got him.”
Darcy beamed up at him. “You bet your ass we do. Oh, and I’m still working on that little side project. The number from Ms. Johnson’s burner phone is a match for one Tariq has been calling from his, but when I trace it I hit a dead end. The number is also a burner with no registered information. But, I’m chasing a few leads, and I think I might be on to something.”
Mateo wanted desperately to ask Darcy what she knew, how much information she’d been able to dig up on Melody. But it was too soon. Waiting until she had a full profile to present to him would be the smart thing to do. Besides, he had just figured out how to get Suede to talk.
A few hours later, Suede had agreed to cooperate fully with the investigation, giving up locations of brothels and warehouses in other states, as well as details on how shipments were orchestrated, and how the victims were recruited. His lawyer had negotiated the terms, pressing at first for complete immunity and witness protection. Mateo had laughed in the lawyer’s face, reminding him of the severity of the charges. In exchange for his cooperation, Tariq Hayes would get no more than a plea deal and a reduced sentence. If he was lucky, he’d only do ten to twenty.
By then, Williams, Smith, and Jones had arrived, fed, freshly showered, and professionally dressed. He would leave Suede’s debriefing to Williams, who would ensure every bit of information was properly documented. Jones and Smith had tasks of their own to carry out, and Darcy had declared her intention to go home for lunch and a nap before resuming her online sleuthing.
Right before leaving the interrogation room, Mateo had stood over Suede, who was still chained to the table. His lawyer hovered in the corner, briefcase under one arm.
“You’re doing the right thing. Probably for the first time in your pathetic life.”
The pimp stared up at him, one gold canine flashing when he sneered. “Won’t matter in the end. You think Roman is just some rich mothafucka with too much power, but it’s more than that. The man is a freak. He’s into some pretty dark shit.”
Mateo raised an eyebrow. “Dark shit, huh? Like carving up women and draining them of their blood?”
It had occurred to Mateo that Roman could be the UNSUB. He fit the profile well enough, being the right age and having the wealth and connections needed to move under the radar. But, something had given him pause and he wasn’t yet ready to point the finger at Korenic. He had looked into that computer screen, into Korenic’s eyes. Something in him would have recognized Mari’s killer—he was certain of it. Still, the man’s involvement was worth considering. If nothing else, he provided the means by which the UNSUB obtained his victims.
Suede shook his head. “Look, I’ll tell you what I know about Roman because that was the deal, but that’s it. If you’re too stupid to see how high this thing goes, that ain’t my problem.”
Mateo leaned closer, forcing Suede to meet and maintain his stare. The pimp’s dark eyes had gone cold with dread.
“How high, Tariq?”
“Too high for my Black ass to ever reach, and that’s all I have to say about that. Otherwise, I end up in a bathtub with all my limbs severed.”
Mateo left the room then, knowing they had already milked Suede for all he was worth. Donovan was waiting for him when he emerged.
“Well, that was easier than I expected,” he drawled.
“Thank God for the Mad Hatter,” Mateo replied. “If Darcy hadn’t uncovered Korenic’s identity, Tariq might not have cracked.”
“So, what next?”
Mateo grimaced, looking at Donovan. Despite their sleepless night and long morning, the younger agent appeared to be wide awake. There wasn’t a single line on his smooth, dark face and his silver eyes were wide open and clear. Mateo was dead on his feet, starving, exhausted, and still sore from the beating he’d taken the other night. He had only just regained the feeling in his fingers.
“I couldn’t tell you right now if I wanted to,” Mateo muttered. “I’m going back to the hotel for a few hours. Don’t call me unless it’s earth-shattering. I’ll report back later.”
“Yeah, man,” Donovan replied, pounding his shoulder. “You look like shit.”
“So nice of you to point that out.”
Mateo wasn’t sure how he managed to make it out to his car, and then to the hotel, but it seemed as if he’d blinked and then arrived at his door. He ordered room service before stepping into the bathroom for a long, hot shower. He washed away the aches and pains of a body that had been battered far too much in the past year. He washed away the smells of desperation, fear, and human waste that always seemed to cling to a body after a brothel raid. He watched it all run off him and pour down the drain, head lowered under the spray.
He'd just managed to dry off and pull on a pair of sweatpants when a knock on the door announced that his lunch had arrived. For at least an hour, his mind ceased its constant motion, the mental rummaging through the various pieces of information he’d gathered over the last few days. He stopped trying to rationalize any of it with what he already knew and tended to his physical needs for the first time in over twenty-four hours. He ate until he felt his stomach would explode, then drank an entire liter of water, having been unaware how dehydrated he was until the first trickle hit the back of his throat. He collapsed onto the bed and slept like the dead.
But when he woke it was all waiting for him. The sun had set, and he had missed two calls from Donovan and one from Darcy. There were messages from Carlisle indicating that his warrant for further surveillance of Solstice had been approved—they could now install wiretaps into the club’s back rooms in hopes of catching wind of something useful. After being unable to get a hold of him, Donovan and Darcy had sent texts. Donovan wanted him to know that Suede had given his full statement and been put into protective custody. Darcy wanted him to know that she’d uncovered a private jet itinerary that was scheduled to bring Roman Korenic back into town in a week. None of it could be acted on right now. It was getting late, and Mateo had slept through what was left of the day.
Filling a tumbler of Scotch, he paced to the window and peered out into the night. He could easily fall back into bed and sleep another twelve hours. He’d wake up fresh and ready to tackle all the latest developments in the morning.
But as the Scotch forged a fiery path down his throat and into his chest, Mateo shrugged off the idea. Now that he’d determined there was nothing left to do for the day, his mind took him where it always did these days.
Melody.
Had she heard about the raid? Did she know that her VIP regulars had been taken into custody and started talking? Now that he’d made his first move, had her situation become more stable or more dangerous?
His fingers tightened around the tumbler, and he closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the windowpane. She had been crystal clear with him the night before; he was to stay far away from her. Without any real evidence, Mateo had no legal basis to keep following her around. At least, not unless Darcy unearthed something that implicated her in this mess.
The longer he stood there arguing with himself, the more futile it became. Every contention his logical mind made against the idea of going to Solstice was torn to shreds by one simple, irrefutable fact. There was nothing logical about it. He had to see her. He had to lay eyes on her and make sure she was still living, breathing, walking and talking. He had to peer into her eyes one more time and try again to puzzle out the truth.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he downed what was left of his Scotch and left the glass on the windowsill. He threw on the first clean clothes his hands fell on and took up the keys to his rental. He left his work phone behind, taking only his personal cell. No weapons, no surveillance tech, nothing but himself and Melody. He wasn’t leaving until he got answers.
Mateo leaned against the wall and followed Melody with his eyes. The throbbing bass of the music pounded through his veins, making him aware of his heartbeat. Its rhythm was steady, but each beat thumped through him in throbbing pulses. He had been at Solstice for nearly an hour, but Melody gave no indication that she was aware of his presence. Instead of sitting in her section, Mateo lurked on the fringes of the second level, watching her every move. The club was as busy as ever, which kept her in constant motion—taking orders, fetching drinks, clearing tables. She wore ruby red tonight. The body-hugging dress flaunted the nip of her waist and the flare of her hips. The short hem made her legs appear endless, and the matching fuck-me heels gave her a few extra inches of height, making it easy to keep her in his sights.
