Page 50 of Now or Never
Jax wandered over. “Just some random papers. Probably nothing we can get anything from, since we have that packet anyway.”
“Why did you go there?” Maizie asked.
“The car is outside, so we had to come back and get it,” Kenna said. “And the Baltimore police detective investigatingSteven Braughton’s murder isn’t available for another hour and we needed something to do.”
“Okay, that makes sense.
Kenna moved to the nearest desk and sat on the edge. She wanted to unzip her coat and peel it off because it was warm in here but also didn’t want to stay long enough for that. “And we were here before the Secret Service kidnapped us and still wanted to take a look at the place the lawyers were working.”
Maizie said, “How can we prove they didn’t do what the FBI is accusing them of?”
“Good question,” Jax replied. “We can find evidence it was a setup and take the proof to the US Attorney’s office. Fight fire with fire.”
Kenna nodded. “Whoever they have as lawyers will be provided with all the evidence they need to make the US Attorney look like an idiot for filing charges. He’ll drop it because it won’t be worth the fight and put the blame squarely on the FBI for messing up so royally.”
Maizie groaned. “Sounds like politics, not justice.”
Jax smiled.
Kenna winked. “She gets it.”
“I’m so proud.” Jax chuckled, then glanced around. “Let’s get out of here.”
Kenna nodded. “We can get a smoothie on the way to meet the detective. What were the papers you were looking at?”
“Printer toner invoices. Pay stubs. Couple of supply lists, but they’re not for anything you’d do in an office.” Jax shrugged. “On its own it’s nothing. Trying to put it together would give you a load of theories with not much substance to back it up.” He frowned. “Maizie, is there anything in the packet that can indicate what they were doing for the think tank, or who hired them for it?”
“I’ll dig more into who owns the Denari Foundation. That might tell us. So far, the packet the lawyers handed us doesn’t say anything about who was behind it, or the scenario they were supposed to come up with. Right now, it seems like a bunch of different things, but it had them on the street where the bomb detonated in the few days before the attack as well as on the day itself.” Maizie made ahmmsound. “And it looks like they’re scouting the location—because that’s exactly what they were doing. There’s also a whole dossier about destabilizing a treaty being signed on US soil. But it doesn’t say which treaty.”
“So all in all, it doesn’t look good for them.” Jax frowned. “Someone handed the FBI everything they needed to arrest the lawyers for trying to assassinate the Croatian President.”
“We should go talk to them,” Kenna suggested. “Find out what they can tell us.”
“I can find out where they’re being held.” Maizie paused. “See if you can get in for a visit.”
“Do that.” Jax shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We’ll meet with the detective about the murder in the meantime.”
Chapter Twenty
“Thank you for agreeing to see us.” Jax held out his hand. “Oliver Jaxton. This is my wife, Kenna.”
The detective seemed wary, his dark gaze shifting between them. An African American man, he wore a smart watch and shined his shoes. He had short hair and a tidy suit that didn’t look expensive. There was nothing flashy about him. “Jordan Langley. I’m hoping we can be upfront with each other, so I’ll tell you I was given no choice but to offer you both my full cooperation.”
Kenna didn’t like the sound of that, or her ideas about where those orders might’ve come from.
Behind Detective Langley, the brand-new apartment building in an area where commuters traveled into DC for work was overshadowed by the gray sky above. A young woman in athleticwear exited, keys in one hand and a dog leash in the other. The tiny Yorkie trotted over to the detective and sniffed his shoes before she tugged the dog along with her.
Jax said, “I’d love to know where the order to cooperate came from.”
Detective Langley shrugged. “Want to see the place or not?”
“Thanks,” Kenna said. “We appreciate your time, regardless of whether you had any choice in the matter.”
The six concrete steps up to the entrance preceded a long hall with mailboxes down one side and a rental office to the left. To the right were the first floor of apartments and the hall split in a T shape like a hotel.
The detective walked them up carpeted stairs to the second floor, and halfway down the hall he used a code on the lockbox before ducking under the police tape and entering the room. “The victim, Steven Braughton, was twenty-six and he’d worked admin at the Pentagon for the past eight months. No roommates, no family we could track down. But I’m guessing he didn’t spring out of the ground with no parents.”
Kenna nodded. “You think maybe it was a fake identity?”
