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Mr. Turner’s eyes narrow, his previously casual composure quickly replaced by simmering intensity. “Your father isn’t who you think he is, Ana.”
“How the fuck would he know about NeoGen?!” I exclaim and bang my fist on the table in frustration.
“There’s been speculation in certain circles,” Tristan says, sounding just as stressed. “He might also be bluffing. We’ll erase all the digital footprints, for the sake of deniability.”
The team is watching and listening to the live feed in the hotel suite penthouse where Ana is being held against her will.
My Ana. Brave and fierce and beautiful. She’s alive. She’s alive and she’s incredible. Knowing she isn’t seriously wounded or in physical distress allows me to think more clearly.
As pissed as I am that this kidnapper knows more than he should about NeoGen, the way he’s using it is smart. With Ana within sight, I’m less likely to barge in there, guns blazing. Her ability to communicate with me, even if only one-way, can help her stay calm. A captive’s false sense of security is essential for their cooperation.
“What have you got on him?” I ask Adam.
“Nathaniel Turner, forty-five years old, grew up in Tampa Bay, Florida. Raised by a single mother who struggled to make ends meet with multiple jobs. But the kid was smart. Won a scholarship at a prestigious private school, captain of the academic decathlon and head of the entrepreneur club in college. That was a full ride too. He started Turner Real Estate by flipping houses and purchasing a real estate business for,” Tristan reads off a tablet and whistles, “for a price far below value.”
“Bingo,” Adam says. “Follow that money.”
“Mother is the only family?” I ask.
“She died about five years ago. Before that, yes, it was just them.”
I’ve got four screens open.
One for Adam’s surveillance team so he can report on the status of Kina and Jake, as well as supervise NeoGen’s first implementation outside our testing scenarios.
Another screen broadcasts Tristan in Los Angeles who is gathering intelligence and finalizing logistics of dispatching more agents to Norfolk.
The third screen broadcasts different parts of the Cornerstone Hotel from the lobby to the hallway of the penthouse floor.
Finally, there’s a screen fully dedicated to the sitting room in which Ana and her kidnapper are locked in a silent face-off.
“We need to find Turner’s connection to her family. Has he ever met anyone from Petrov Shipping at all? Are his properties linked to any of Petrov’s assets?”
“Nothing has come up yet.” Tristan’s face is red with frustration because he’s a control freak who hates being in the dark.
“How about organized crime? Can you connect the dots to the purchase of the real estate company? It’s a good money laundering scheme, all those property renovations prior to sales,” I prompt. “Is Turner associated with any of the gangs operating in Florida or up the coast?”
“Apart from a few dodgy lobbying tactics—funding campaigns and securing government contracts, that kind of thing—there’s nothing that jumps out yet. But we’ll figure it out eventually,” Tristan assures me.
“We found them!” Adam bursts so loud, the speakers crackle. “Kina and Jake were dropped off by a swamp in a National Wildlife Refuge. Middle of nowhere and heavily sedated. They followed the old tire tracks out of the swamp. Without their mobiles, they had to flag someone down to get to a phone.”
Their trackers had gone down around the time I was talking to Ana’s kidnapper.
“Put them through.”
“Bryce!” I hear Kina from Adam’s video feed. “We were ambushed outside the building. Two men hauled Ana into a vehicle. Jake and I were administered a fast-acting sedative. Fuck, boss. I’m sorry. Have you found her?”
She sounds frantic. “Is she—”
“She’s alive,” I say. “Adam will fill you in. Both of you get your asses back to Ana’s house where I’m set up. There’s a meeting tomorrow. How’s Jake?”
“His jaw is broken.”
“Fuck. Get a car, drop him off at a hospital, then meet me here. More agents are on their way. As far as I can tell from the footage, Turner hired no more than eight men spread out at the hotel and in the hallway of the penthouse suite.”
“Goddamn it, Bryce. We fucked up,” she mumbles.
“You didn’t. I’m the one who left Norfolk. I’ll fill you in on Wolfson when you get here.”
