Page 6 of Ace of Spades
CHAPTER THREE
“No rumblings from any of the biker gangs about this?” Rothmire asked, after they’d taken seats in the conference room.
Nate shook his head. “Not even a hint, and I don’t recall her ever making an appearance at Aces and Eights with Ramirez.” Aces & Eights was the biker bar he and his brothers owned. It was also a cover for their covert operations. No one suspected that the owners of a biker bar were FBI agents. Although that might change with Rothmire’s decision to make him the lead on this case.
“Well, if she was his”—Taylor made air quotes as her lips curled in distaste—“‘old lady,’ why didn’t he report her missing?”
“I’ll see what I can tease out of him next time he comes in,” Nate said. “In the meantime, you and Rand need to pay him a visit. Find out what he has to say about her.”
According to the report from the detective on the case, the first prostitute, twenty-seven-year-old Alana Gilmore, had been an on-and-off girlfriend of Hector Ramirez, a.k.a. Stud. A member of the Cubanos Motorcycle Club, Hector had the looks to go with his handle. Unlikemany club members, he’d never once brought a woman with him to Aces & Eights.
The second victim, Stacy Wimberley, age twenty-two, had been reported missing by her roommate, another prostitute. The last anyone saw of her, she was getting in a car that might have been dark blue, dark green, or black.
“I’ll go with Taylor to interview him,” Rothmire said.
Huh?Nate glanced at the boss. “Why not Rand?”
“I’m having him lie low for a while.” At Nate’s raised eyebrow, Rothmire shrugged. “I have my reasons. He’ll still work on the case, but from behind the scenes.”
He looked at his watch. “Gotta go. My daughter’s a fairy princess in her school play. If I don’t make an appearance, you’ll be investigating my murder instead of this one. My wife and daughter aren’t women I want to cross.” He grinned as if two murderous women were the most awesome things in the world.
“And rightfully so,” Taylor said.
His grin grew wider. “Considering Gwen’s the first black princess in her school’s history, they wouldn’t have to kill me. I’d shoot myself if I missed such a momentous event. Figure out how to catch this bastard. Keep me informed.” He stood, then turned his attention on Nate. “When this case is closed, we need to talk.”
“Yes, sir.” Talk about what? Why was he the lead on a case that would likely expose him? And why was Rand being kept on the down low? But until Rothmire was ready to share, all he could do was nod.
Rothmire was Nate’s second bureau chief since he’d joined the FBI. All his first boss had cared about was advancing up the ladder, taking the credit for his agents’ successes while blaming them for any failures on his part. Fortunately, that man was now sitting at a desk in the basement at headquarters, analyzing meaningless emails, after one of his agents had been killed because of his ineptitude. Good riddance as far as Nate was concerned.
Rothmire was the best thing to ever happen to the Miami bureau. He was sharp, didn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit, and always had his agents’ backs. Nate loved him, but he was leery of his boss’s devious mind.
“What does he want to talk to you about, and what’s the deal with Rand?” Taylor asked after they were alone.
“Beats me, but I’m quaking in my boots. He always has something up his sleeve. Just wish it wasn’t anything to do with me or mine.” “Mine” meaning his brothers. They loved what they did and were good at it. Nate didn’t like the thought of his boat being rocked, which Rothmire excelled at doing.
Nate studied the photos of the three victims, pictures of the latest one sent over by the M.E. only minutes ago. Hopefully, she had an arrest record and her fingerprints were in the database. In the meantime, Taylor and Josh Sheridan, their newest agent, would be hitting the streets tonight, showing her photo, hoping to find someone who knew her.
He wished he could team up with them, but with his new assignment, he was already exposing himself more than he should. Like being sent to this morning’s crime scene where anyone paying attention could have seen him.
The boss was cagy, cunning, and devious, and Nate’s Spidey senses screamed that something was up. But until the boss deemed it time for him to know what he had going on in his mind, Nate knew he might as well wish to touch the moon for all the good it would do him.
The plan they settled on was to release the photo of their latest victim to the news stations. As soon as her death became public, he’d be able to talk about it at the bar, see what he could turn up.
He tapped a finger on one of the photos. “He’s targeting blondes with blue eyes.”
“We’re sure our bad guy’s a he?” Taylor asked.
Nate looked at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman sitting across from him, not liking the shiver that snaked down his spine. The someone-just-walked-over-his-grave kind of shiver. He gave himself a mental shake. Just because Taylor shared the same hair and eye color with the dead women didn’t mean anything.
“Aren’t you?” he said.
Her gaze fell to the photos, and he knew the sadness in her eyes was for her mother. “I’m sure, but we still need to keep open the possibility that it’s a she.”
“Agreed, but our killer’s almost certainly a male. This is about something from his childhood, something that messed with his head.”
Taylor nodded. “Something he’s trying to make right. In his mind, anyway.”
“You left out sick. In his sick mind.”
