adjusted his girth, straining the limits of the leather belt encircling his hips and said, “No more talk about Scott being framed. We don’t need that kind of contamination on the investigation. Bring him in so we can prosecute. End of story. You hear me?”
Conrad nodded, but everything about how Platt was acting felt off. But Platt was his boss so he couldn’t risk losing his job over Scott. Maybe Scarlett was wrong and her man was guilty.
Hell, he knew it sucked to find out that someone you trusted was a bad apple—been there, done that—but sometimes it happened and you just had to roll with it.
Still, Conrad couldn’t help but mention, “You know Xander Scott is a highly decorated veteran, and he served multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Did you read that in his file?”
Platt flushed and his gaze turned shrewd. “Yeah, it’s a shame. Sometimes even the best of us screw up or snap.”
The words rang hollow. Conrad knew better than to keep poking at this particular spot but he was feeling reckless. He nodded, seeming to accept Platt’s answer, adding, “True enough. Just a pity, though, you know? He served our country with honor. Seems wrong to chase him down like a rabid dog.”
“Guilty men don’t run.”
“I guess you’re right.” Or men who know they’re being framed don’t stick around to negotiate. “I’ll make the necessary calls to put a team together.”
“Good. That’s what I want to hear.”
“However, I should remind you that Xander isn’t going to be easy to find. He’s good at disappearing, going off the grid. He doesn’t use a bank so he’s traveling with cash.”
“No one truly goes off grid in this day and age. He’ll leave behind bread crumbs and you’ll find them.”
Conrad would have to call Scarlett and let her know he was out of options.
“And keep me in the loop.”
That last part surprised Conrad. Platt rarely took this much interest in cases like this. Arrest warrants didn’t usually trip his meter. “Sir?” Conrad questioned with a frown. “How deep would you like to be in this case?”
“All the way,” Platt answered, moving to the door. “We all answer to someone, Griggs. That includes me.”
Platt let himself out of Conrad’s office, leaving behind a wealth of questions. Something felt off.
He picked up the phone and called Scarlett’s office but got voice mail. He tried her cell with similar results.
Conrad left a quick but vague message for Scarlett to call him back and then he grabbed his coat. He needed to satisfy the questions in his own head before he sent a team off to bring in Xander.
Listening to his gut had saved his life more times than he could count.
Right now, his gut was saying dig deeper.
So that’s what he was going to do.
Scarlett realized her phone was dead and plugged her charger in. She never let her phone get so low that it completely died but then Xander had thrown off her game.
She wasn’t in a habit of breaking rules but here she was, sharing a roach motel with a federal fugitive. Funny how things changed in a blink of an eye.
Grabbing the burner phone from her bag, she called Zak to check in.
Zak answered on the second ring. “It’s about time. I was starting to freak out. Did you find Xander?”
“Yeah, he caught a plane to Tulsa. I snagged the same flight. Tell CJ he owes you a beer.”
CJ had been sure that Xander wouldn’t fly, that he’d grab a rental or better yet, an old sedan from a used car lot. But Zak had agreed with Scarlett that Xander would take the most direct route, given the time crunch. The two had argued and then bet against one another.
Zak chuckled. “Damn straight he does. So are you with Xander now?”
“Yeah, I convinced him that it was better to work together, not against one another. He agreed. We’re holed up in a shitty motel in Tulsa. It’s a good defensible space but the accommodations are worse than that hotel in Basra.”
“That bad?” Zak asked, shuddering. “I must be getting old because that no longer sounds like an adventure to me.”
“Same.” Scarlett was going to miss her bed but she just had to keep reminding herself she’d slept in worse. “Xander wants to meet up with a local journalist to find dirt on McQuarry. He thinks that might be the best way to find out who’s framing him.”
“Not bad. Journalists always have the dirt. Even if they can’t print it, they know it.”
“It’s risky, though.”
“No argument there but this gig isn’t going to be a cakewalk no matter how you slice it. Risk is part of the detail.”
“You’re right. So here’s what I need you to do. I need you to make contact with Special Agent Conrad Griggs over in the Washington, DC, FBI office. He’s the one keeping the heat off Red Wolf while we figure this out. I need to know if there’s anything he can send to me about this case that might not be common knowledge. Seeing as this is the FBI’s case, they should have more intel than we do.”
“And you think he’s just going to hand it over, nice and sweet?”
“Conrad is a good guy. He and I go way back. He’ll help if he can.”
“All right, if you trust him...” Scarlett heard the question in Zak’s voice but he moved on. “How’s Xander holding up?”
“He’s fine.” Damn man acts like he’s on vacay, not fighting for his life. “Nothing gets under Xander’s skin for too long. Remember, don’t use my regular cell for anything related to Xander. Also, go ahead and give Conrad my burner number. I have my personal laptop so he can send any files he’s got to my Dropbox.”
“Be careful, TL. Assuming Xander is innocent—which I’m sure he is—the fact that someone is willing to go to such lengths to frame him means they won’t stop at killing to get what they want. Don’t step into the crossfire.”
“Head on a swivel,” Scarlett assured Zak. “In the meantime, keep me in the loop but watch your surroundings. You never know who could be watching and listening.”
“Paranoia is my favorite pastime,” Zak drawled, coaxing a smile from Scarlett. “Don’t let Xander do anything stupid.”
At that, Scarlett laughed. “That’s like asking the wind to stop blowing during a hurricane.”
“True, but if anyone can stop him, it’s you.”
Scarlett’s smile remained even as she clicked off. Xander showed up five minutes later, no longer scowling, holding two bags of fast food.
“Sorry for being a dick,” he said, tossing a bag her way. “You’re
