had they even gotten to this point?
A drug cartel. He was laundering money for a drug cartel.
It had all started so slowly.
“We think if you changed these suppliers, you’d help your bottom line.”
“If you switched distributors for these products, you’d be in a lot better shape.”
“These people are the cause of all that red ink. Get rid of them.”
When Graham had discovered the true source of the funds he’d used to save his business, and wanted to pull out, Vince had convinced him it was too dangerous. Vince had been right. No one ever walked away from a cartel.
Still, he’d been determined to see if there was a way out of the chokehold. Somehow—he had no idea how—word had gotten through to Cruz Moreno, head of the vicious Moreno cartel, that Graham wanted out. He was told to take his money and shut up.
“They could go after Devon, too,” Vince had told him.
God! On top of everything else he’d made both Vince and Devon targets of these miserable assholes.
In the end the only answer he’d come up with was to disappear. Maybe without him there, they’d leave Vince and Devon alone. Giving up the lifestyle he’d worked so hard to build wasn’t even a factor. If he stayed, things would be a lot worse. If he was arrested, Moreno could use a threat to Devon to keep him from testifying. If he was gone, he was no longer a threat and she’d be safe.
He hoped.
El Jefe had laid it out plain and simple. “We own you, compadre. Never forget that. And don’t screw me over.”
So he’d made his plans, quietly and under the radar.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chest, feeling the acid burn of indigestion. He hoped to hell he wasn’t having a heart attack.
As always, the television in his office was on so he could skim the day’s headlines, keeping an eye on the financial reports for anything that might affect the conglomerate. Old habits die hard. Now, a running news story caught his attention.
“That’s all the information we have at the moment. Repeating, Vincent Pellegrino, vice president of corporate finance for Cole International, has been found dead in his car on Interstate 75. It appears he swerved for some reason, crashed through a barrier on a curve, and went over the side. Authorities are calling it a one-car accident but they are still investigating. We’ll bring you more information as it becomes available.”
Vince dead?
Jesus Christ on a crutch.
Beads of sweat formed all over his body. He rewound the story twice but the details never changed. What the hell had happened? Had Moreno somehow found out what he was planning and killed Vince as a warning? For the first time in a long time, he knew real fear. What had once seemed like the answer to a prayer now felt like an octopus wrapping its tentacles around him, choking the life out of him. They could be coming for him any minute. Who knew that when he attempted to repay the money, he was inviting a possible death sentence?
Now he needed to get the fuck out of here before Moreno’s men showed up at his doorstep. But he was damn sure taking all the evidence with him. He might need a bargaining chip.
He checked the desktop computer one more time for the feed from the security cameras. Nothing. He’d triple-checked before getting ready that the alarm system was still on. Also good to go.
Satisfied he was still safe, he unplugged the external hard drive from his desktop computer and stuck it in his briefcase along with the laptop and the portfolio. Then he opened the tower, removed the internal hard drive, and shoved it into his briefcase, too. When he got to sea, he’d deep-six the internal one along with the laptop. Even if he wiped it, a good technician could restore everything, and who knows what would lead them to him. As long as he had the external he was all set. He was almost ready now, heading for the one person he could trust, to a place where he could set himself up with a new computer and figure out how to best use this stuff as leverage.
He sent a quick text to a prearranged burner phone, then took a moment to restore his phone to factory settings. His briefcase was locked, so he stuck the phone in his pocket. He was planning to toss it anyway. As soon as he was away from the harbor he’d chuck it overboard. Anyone trying to find him with a GPS locator would have a hell of a hard time doing it. Let them stick that up their collective ass. He’d be long gone by then.
If he had one regret, it was for Devon, the daughter he was leaving behind, and the damage he’d done to their relationship. He considered leaving a note for her or sending her a text, but he didn’t want anything that could connect her to this. Too dangerous. Still, it saddened him greatly that he’d probably never see her again. He hadn’t been the best father in the world the past couple of years. Once he got to his new location, he’d keep track of her through the Internet, Googling her name, and checking the newspapers as well.
He thought again of Vince’s so-called accident, and nausea bubbled. But right now he needed to get the fuck out of here. Blotting the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, he unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled out a slim portfolio. Then he grabbed his Glock 9mm from another drawer and stuck it in his pocket. He didn’t have much time, needed to move right now.
He lifted the briefcase and headed for the garage. A sound caught his attention as he opened the inside door. It sounded like it came from the kitchen and his stomach knotted. No, no, no. Impossible. There was no one here. He was imagining things. He’d given the housekeeper and groundskeeper the week off. The alarm should let him know if someone was trying to break in.
I’m imagining things. That’s what happens when you put yourself in a dangerous position, screwing over dangerous people.
He needed to calm down or he’d stroke out before he even got out of here.
Then he heard it again. A squeak, as if someone walked on the highly polished hardwood floors. He held his breath, straining to hear. Was that yet another one? His heart pounded so hard he thought it would beat itself out of his chest, his fear so strong he smelled it.
He hadn’t seen anything on the security cameras, but why hadn’t the alarm sounded? No, he was imagining things. It was his state of mind. Edging up to the door, he peeked out into the hallway, looking one way, then the other. At this time of day, the house was filled with sunlight. Surely he’d see anyone if there was someone to see.
I’m driving myself nuts. I need get the hell out of here. I’m running out of time.
Letting his breath out, he turned once more toward the garage door, stopping when again he thought he heard another sound. He grabbed his gun and started to turn around, but a hard, muscular arm locked itself around his neck. A hand yanked the gun from his grip as if it were nothing more than a feather duster and pressed it into the small of his back.
Fuck! Double fuck.
His legs had turned so rubbery he wasn’t sure he could stand if the man released his hold. If only Vince hadn’t cried wolf so many times before, Graham would have paid more careful attention to his warnings. If only he’d left earlier. If only he’d been more careful. If only a lot of things.
“Going someplace?”
