Page 66 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “It seems these guys, whoever they are, have sticky fingers everywhere. I might have gone to the moon, and they would have found me there.”

“We did a raid on Benson’s business in Queens and found even more ties to the mafia, but there is no indication of the money being funneled into the coffers of the local caporegime we do know about or the Don.”

We shared a look. “Who could it be then?”

“We’re looking into it, but our best guess is the Drayton Conglomerate. We found a loan from them in the sum of five point five million. I don’t think you know about this, but they’ve been on our radar for months. We’ve found that they like playing both sides of the coin; they make bunkers, and they make missiles, that kind of thing.”

“I know they built the company on legit pharmaceuticals,” Warrick said, brows lowering. “Are you telling me they’re selling illegal drugs too?”

“Bingo.”

“Goddamn,” I whispered. Clearing my throat, I asked, “What about the clinic I reported to you? Are they involved in that, too?”

“Same shell company, different M.O. This time, they were using government funds to make illegal drugs. And they would have gotten away with it for years if you hadn’t stumbled onto it.”

My knees went out from under me.

“We suspect Benson has been appraised of the situation and is about to flee the country, so we’re keeping eyes on every port of entry, even the private ones. My guys are still following the convoluted paper trail, and they will tell me the moment they hit into something,” Boyne replied. “We’re almost there, Zoe. Don’t take any chances.”

“I won’t,” I told him. “I promise.”

I hung up and nudged my phone to the side. “That’s…something.”

“All roads lead to Rome,” Warrick replied. “I have been through some shit in my life, but this takes the cake. What are the odds that you uncovered an illegal clinic, almost got killed for it, ran halfway across the country to escape that, only to be dropped in the same town where the men who are behind that clusterfuck are alive and kicking?”

“I have the worst luck,” I shook my head. “Had I told you that when I was five, my mom gave me money to buy a Home Alone DVD, I went home, opened it, and it was porn? When I was nine, I walked my dog to the park, saw a squirrel, and stopped to feed him some of my trail mix. That dog got excited and ran off…with me holding the leash. The worst thing, it had rained the night before.”

Warrick snickered. “Got yourself a mud bath, eh.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “My folks were blue-collar on the south side of Queens, and I got myself a scholarship to NYU.”

“Was journalism your main ambition in life?”

“For a kid who practically lived in the library, yes,” I replied. “I love to read; I am curious beyond reason, so yes, I decided a life of sticking my nose into things that were not my business should be my life. I guess curiosity does kill the cat after all, or at least attempts to do it.”

Another phone rang, Warrick’s, not mine. He answered, “Donovan here.”

I looked at him, wondering why he was frowning.

“Whoa, whoa, Sheriff, slow down. What?” He set the cell down and pressed speaker. The other man’s voice came through.

“You ain’t going to believe this, Donovan. Benson ran into the station, his suit ripped and a deep laceration in the side of his belly, telling me that some of his men tried to kill him.”

“What? Why?”

“His boss isn’t happy, and that is all he will tell me about that,” he said. “He says he wants to talk to you and mentioned your little lady up there, Miss Zara. He says he has information about her that you would like to know. Can you get yourself down here in twenty?”

Warrick stared at me as he spoke, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

My heart lodged into my throat as Warrick said, “I’ll go and see what they have to say, Zoe. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Are those FBI guys near?”

“I’ll check if they are,” I replied.

He tugged on some boots, shrugged on a jacket, and headed out with a kiss on my temple. After he left, I wandered into the kitchen, filled a bowl with fruit, and took a paring knife with me to the back porch.

A thin sliver of a moon was rising over the horizon, and I began to pare the oranges and tangerines apart when a tall form began to emerge from the gloom. I assumed it was Frankie; that was his build and his pace. Even that hat lowered over his face told me it was him. I didn’t pay attention as he stepped up on the porch.

“Hey Frankie, do you want?—”

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