Page 17 of Philly
Glancing at the clock, she calculated the time on the West Coast. Far too early to call Chad in Mystery Lake and ask if he could set up a meeting between her and someone in the DC office. Drumming her fingers on the windowpane, she began making a plan. And as the plan took shape, so did the certainty that this wild, so-unlike-her move was the right one. Even if HICC didn’t agree, she needed to do this. She needed to finish what Liza started.
But she needed to be smart about it.
Two hours later, dressed in her usual business armor, she sat at her Bureau desk, methodically taking pictures of the files and notes she’d accessed or kept on Liza’s investigation. Callie had considered downloading them to a USB, but if the techs ran forensics on her computer after she left, she didn’t want to leave that trail or give them a reason to come after her. Re-creating the files would be a pain in the ass, but while she might be crazy, she could be smart-crazy.
Once she finished that task, she uploaded the pictures from her phone to a secure drop box, then deleted both the pictures and the link to the storage app. It wasn’t likely they’d check her personal device when she turned in her resignation, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.
Thankfully, she’d had the foresight to store everything she and Lyda had translated on her personal computer.
Moving on to step two of her plan, she looked up two addresses—one for Michael Quayle’s business and one for the DC office of Nolan Enterprises. She doubted either man, Michael Quayle or Aiden Nolan, would be in, but it was her lastchance to visit while she still had a badge, and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. Maybe nothing would come of it, but she had to try.
Quayle’s office was closer, so she headed there first, but the well-trained receptionist knew better than to let the FBI in—no matter how friendly—without a warrant. One swing and one miss. Although, thanks to the loose lips of two young men leaving the building, she did learn that the weapons broker was currently on his private island in the Caribbean, hosting a meeting of people the men only speculated about. If all went well with HICC, she’d look into the “meeting” once she had the private resources.
The receptionist at Nolan Enterprises wasn’t quite as savvy as Quayle’s, which came as no surprise—clothing manufacturers didn’t come onto the radar of the FBI in the same way arms dealers did. Or with the same frequency.
Unfortunately, the middle-aged woman with the sleek brunette bob and air of efficiency relayed that Aiden Nolan had left the night before to attend meetings in their Paris office. She could, however, make an appointment to see him when he returned.
That wouldn’t work for obvious reasons, so Callie tried one last-ditch effort.
“Is either Joseph or Rian Nolan available?” she asked, expecting a concise shake of the woman’s head.
To Callie’s surprise, she clacked a couple of keys on the computer, then glanced up. “Joseph is expected in an hour, but he’s in meetings until four. Rian also has meetings, but the first doesn’t start for fifteen minutes. He may be busy preparing, but I could call and ask if he has a few minutes?”
Callie smiled, though not too brightly. “Thank you. A few minutes of his time would be appreciated.”
“And this is regarding?”
“An ongoing investigation into a third party. He’s not obligated to speak to me, but I’d be grateful if he did,” she replied.
Callie took a few steps away as the receptionist held a hushed conversation over the phone. Less than a minute later, she waved her over and handed her a visitor badge. Callie nodded her thanks and calmly clipped it to her jacket lapel, but inside, she did a little jig, feeling as if she hit one out of the park this time. Or at least made contact with the ball. How far it went, she’d see once she met Rian Nolan. Laura’s husband.
“That will get you through the turnstiles and to the tenth floor,” the woman said, nodding to the badge. “Once you’re there, ask for Rose at the front desk, she’ll take you back.”
Callie thanked her, then, feeling like a kid sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night—not that she’d ever done that—she hurried through the turnstiles and into the waiting elevator.
She didn’t let her mind question her choices as the car rose smoothly to the tenth floor or when Rose walked her back to Rian’s office. She had a moment of hesitation when Rian Nolan rose from his desk, then circled it with his hand out. The man looked as if someone had entered the terms “all-American, blond, blue-eyed businessman” into ChatGPT and his was the image it spit out. Tall with hair long enough to curl over the tops of his ears but not be considered shaggy, eyes that reminded her of the azure crayon she loved as a girl. And his build. Well, she couldn’t say for certain since suits could hide a lot of flaws, especially custom-tailored ones, but her first impression was that it didn’t hide anything at all on his lean but solid frame.
He almost looked too pretty to be the brains behind what Liza had thought she was onto.
“Agent Parks. Rian Nolan, what can I help you with?” he asked.
As his hand closed around hers, she gave herself a sharp reminder not to judge a book by its cover. “Thank you for seeing me today,” she replied.
“Care for a seat? Water? Coffee?”
She shook her head. “I won’t take much of your time.” He frowned, then leaned back and perched on his desk, crossing his ankles. “Are you familiar with the Operation Nationalists?”
He cocked his head. “The right-wing group based in France?” She nodded. “I know of them, of course. The bombing four years back was front-page news for days.”
“We’ve come across information that the group might have received funds from US interests.”
To his credit, Rian didn’t say anything, although he did raise an eyebrow.
“Nolan Enterprises does a lot of business in the region. You have a lot of contacts.”
He almost smiled. “We work in fashion. Primarily. Europe is sort of our ground zero.”
“That’s why I’m here. While doing business there, have you ever heard any rumors linking US companies to that terrorist organization?”
