studied each shot carefully. “Wow. Great telephoto lens work here, Jasmine. And just look at the infrared quality of these.” She passed each picture to Marc, after checking the backs for dating references.
“At the beginning I thought I’d get a few candid shots that would be useful for an article,” Jasmine said. “But the longer I sat there, the more I realized that nothing much happened at that office during the daylight hours. No one important went in or out. So I started watching the building late at night. That’s when I got the best shots.”
“What did Wes have to say about all this late night work?” Marc asked.
“You know Wes. He’s a computer fanatic,” Jasmine told Dana with a chuckle. “After-midnight work might as well be broad daylight to him.”
Jasmine hesitated a moment before continuing. “Well that is, until he suddenly figured out which part of town I’d been going to all those late nights. He has asked me not to go back alone.”
Dana shot a concerned glance toward the self-assured woman. “He’s absolutely right. Don’t go there alone…in fact…don’t go back there at all. Let the FBI take over the surveillance now.”
Jasmine raised her chin. “It’s my story.”
“Naturally. I’ll ask my boss to make sure you’re the one to break any news.” Dana spotted a blurry face in one of the night shots. “Is that Escalante?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve only seen his photo on the Internet.” Jasmine handed her a magnifying glass. “Whoever that man is, he arrived in the company of several goons and a chauffeur. It could be Escalante.”
Marc remained quiet as they rifled through the photos. The idea that he was looking at drug lords—at men who held his fate in the palm of their hands—had taken the spark right out of him.
He glanced down at the picture in his hand and almost passed it by. Then the reality of what he was seeing hit him. “I can’t believe this. Jasmine, have you ever seen this man before?” Waving the picture at her, he forced himself to calm down and try to hold the photo steady.
Both women looked at it. “Actually, that man did look familiar to me,” Jasmine replied after she’d checked the photo in his hand. “But I haven’t been able to place him. I do remember that he showed up at the coffee suppliers office just before dawn twice in the last month.”
The anger swiftly blasted past his normal reserve. “Son of a bitch.” Marc handed the picture to Dana. “This is David Chastain. He’s an assistant federal prosecutor for our district. And he’s in charge of prosecuting my case.”
“Well, that makes him a very interesting man in my book,” Dana said calmly.
“Interesting?” He tried to keep his voice steady but tiny cracks of tension burst through. “Don’t you see what this means? Chastain must be working for the cartel. He’s the one that helped them frame me.”
“Again,” Dana began. “Interesting premise. But you don’t have any proof.”
“Proof? Why else would a federal prosecutor be sneaking into a known cartel front? And before dawn at that?”
Dana laid her hand on his forearm. “Calm down, Danforth. We’ll run a background check on him. That’ll give us a start. Then we’ll check his bank records and credit lines.”
He knew she was just trying to placate him. “All of that is circumstantial,” he ground out. “And besides, it’ll take too long. You heard Ian. We’ve only got a couple more weeks to get my name cleared or Ian gives in to the cartel.”
“We can’t panic here and ruin the investigation,” she said softly. “Let’s just take each step as it comes. We’ll find the proof we need to clear your name.”
Marc muttered to himself, knowing it was useless to argue with her. But he would be damned if any fresh-faced prosecutor was going to get away with bringing down the Danforth family. He would just have to think of something.
Dana made arrangements with Jasmine to copy all of her notes to turn over to the FBI. Then she wrote her a receipt for the photos. Meanwhile, Marc stood up and paced the room, trying to come up with a plan.
“Jasmine,” Dana said at last. “Something just occurred to me. Where were you when you took these pictures? In a vehicle on the street?”
Jasmine shook her head. “No. I considered that. But I came to the conclusion that I’d be too exposed.”
“Good thinking. So where were you?”
“The newspaper just happens to own one of the warehouses across the street from the cartel’s office,” Jasmine told her through a grin. “They store newsprint and extra equipment there. It was actually quite comfortable too…except for an occasional rat.”
“Hmm. Do you think you could get me a key to the place? Without giving away who wants it, that is?”
Jasmine shrugged a shoulder. “Probably. I can try.”
The afternoon was nearly gone, and Marc didn’t want to hang around the office any longer. So he thanked Jasmine for all her help and told Dana to get ready to face the reporters downstairs.
On their way down in the elevator, he could feel her trembling beside him. “Just don’t say anything to any of them, slick,” he murmured. “You’ll be a big hit if you simply stand there and smile. The cameras will love that face of yours.” He took her hand and squeezed it to give her a little bit of his own strength.
“Smiling will be the hardest part,” she told him. But he also noticed that she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin with a determined grimace.
As it turned out, there were only a handful of reporters hanging around by the employee entrance. Most of them seemed to be photographers and not terribly interested in getting long quotes.
“When are you two planning on tying the knot?” one of them yelled out, amid the click of shutter lenses.
“As soon as we can,” Marc replied with a casual air.
“Aren’t you afraid the nuptials might have to be held in the slammer?” someone else asked.
Before he could answer that one, Dana turned to the man with a wide smile. “Not at all. In this country, innocent people don’t go to jail for crimes they didn’t commit.”
That got a huge laugh from the crowd, and the flashbulbs popped around them frantically. He bent over to whisper in her ear. “Nice save, sugar. Thanks.”
After twenty more minutes of nonstop smiling, Marc thanked everyone and helped Dana into the passenger side of the SUV. He drove away slowly, watching the reporters disperse in his rearview mirror.
“I imagine that ought to hold them,” he told her.
“I hope so. I think my face is permanently stuck in this position.” She rubbed her cheeks with her palms.
“How about if we go home and I fix us a little something to eat? I’ll give you a back rub after dinner—as a reward for a great save with the paparazzi.”
She
