Page 58 of Draven

“Yeah. Oh, and just to stick the knife in further, her boss told her at her sister’s funeral. Nice, huh?”

“What an asshole.”

“That’s putting it mildly. Look, I need intel on what might be going down here. Something smells off to me, and when that happens, I usually find a stinking pile of shit. For instance, why didn’t the FBI have a tail on Shala? I discovered his existence within twenty-four hours, so don’t tell me they weren’t aware. And if they were aware, then they could have found the women easily. So, why didn’t they? I don’t like it, Ciaran.”

Rubbing his lips together, he nods. “I’m inclined to agree. But if this does mean there’s an issue with this particular branch of the feds, we could be tipping him off by calling him. Not that I think this guy could ever get involved with something like that, but do we really know anyone?”

“I know you.”

“Yeah, but we’re unique.”

“Amen to that.” I indicate Ciaran’s phone on the coffee table. “Just call him. It’s worth the risk. Put it on speaker. I want to listen in.”

“Ears open, mouth shut. Got it? If the FBI is pissed at you, word will have spread, and I’d kinda like to keep this contact.”

I grimace, then jab a finger at the phone. “Stop jabbering and make the fucking call.”

Ciaran shakes his head in an exasperated, if resigned, fashion. He’s used to me.

The ringing tone sounds, then the call is answered. “Well, well, Ciaran O’Reilly. Long time no speak. I hear you’ve jumped ship for the civvy life. How goes it?”

“Pretty good. No regrets. Is this a bad time?”

“Never a good time in the FBI. What can I do for you, Ciaran?”

“Appreciate it, Pete. I’m in need of a little intel. On the QT.”

“Shoot. No promises.”

“A friend of mine recently broke a trafficking case. Fifteen or so women taken from various locations in Jersey. An Armenian named Arjan Sh?—”

“Arjan Shala,” Pete interrupts. “Yeah, I’m fully aware of the case.”

Ciaran meets my eye and arches an eyebrow. “Good. Then I’ll shortcut this and get straight to the point. I’m hearing on the grapevine that the case goes wider than Jersey.”

“You’d be right,” Pete says. “Try nationwide. Possibly even international.”

My forehead creases, and my eyes widen. I make a ‘keep going’ gesture to Ciaran.

“What else can you tell me?”

“Nothing. I shouldn’t have told you that much.”

Ciaran huffs through his nose. “Come on, Pete.”

A pregnant pause comes down the line, then a hefty sigh. “Look, strictly on the down low, we think the gang are getting help… from the inside.”

“Dirty cops?” Ciaran asks, his gaze cutting to mine.

“Yeah. Except so far, every rock we turn over has already been cleaned out. We’re chasing our tails on this one. Whoever is involved isn’t some low-level trooper. And if I had to take a punt, I’d say we had more than one piece of filth involved.”

Ciaran runs a hand over his face. “Jesus.”

I roll back my shoulders. Dirty cops piss me the fuck off. There’s nothing worse in my book. Law enforcement is a hard enough job without your own pulling against the tide.

“I appreciate the share, Pete,” Ciaran says. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t touch you.”

“You’d fucking better.”

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