Page 90 of Love Undercover
She remained silent, wide-eyed as she took in the space around them.
Kesterson frowned as he turned to sit in a well-loved recliner, flinging his hand out to invite them to the couch. He was remarkably relaxed about Chase showing up on his doorstep.
And anything that easy made Chase wary.
“So, son of Lundgren, you need my help,” Kesterson said, his voice grating like it had been rolled around in a can with gravel.
“Yes.”
Thick, bushy eyebrows rose, lifting stacked lines on his forehead. “With what, pray tell?”
Chase looked at Sadie, but before he could continue, Kesterson turned his attention to her.
“Who’s your lady friend?”
She cleared her throat. “Um. Sadie Powell.”
“She’s part of the reason we’re here,” Chase added.
Kesterson steepled his fingers and waited.
Now or never. Chase suddenly held a fear that this man could’ve been compromised, too. Maybe that was why he felt so uneasy. But he was already here, already on Zimmerman’s radar as a possible problem, and he was not an idiot. He’d come in armed, knew he needed to be prepared for anything.
“What do you know about Lazlo Zimmerman?” he asked.
Kesterson didn’t react. But Chase remembered the man’s poker face, even this many years later.
“He’s a white-collar mob type, isn’t he?”
Chase nodded, weighing Kesterson’s tone and body language. No warning bells went off, but he was already wired, and his eyes shifted to open doorways where anyone could jump out at them.
Kesterson’s eyes glittered with understanding. Or was it satisfaction? He was likely reading Chase’s nerves incorrectly.
“You in over your head with him?” Kesterson asked, unbelievably relaxed about the situation.
Chase grimaced and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yes, but not in the way you might think.”
The eyebrows quirked.
Chase sighed. “Yes, I’ve been working for him. But in an undercover capacity for the FBI.”
Kesterson sat forward now, eyes zeroing in. “If that’s true, then what do you need my help with? I’m retired.”
“I’m counting on that fact.”
Kesterson shook his head. “I’m old, kid. I don’t have skin in the game, and I don’t much care about a mobster that came to power after my time.”
Desperation burned in Chase’s gut. “Does it matter to you that he’s got his handsinthe FBI?”
Kesterson stiffened. “What do you mean?”
He’d gotten him. Now he had to reel him in. “I have some evidence that he not only has my boss under his thumb, but a couple of higher-ups as well.”
Kesterson’s lips pursed, skepticism bringing those heavy lids low over his eyes. “Who?”
“Jared Gibson. Hank Jeppesen. Larry Fink.”
Kesterson sat back with a low whistle, worry etching an extra line under the crags in his forehead. “That’s a pretty serious allegation. Your proof has to be irrefutable if you’re going up against them.” The muscles around his eyes tightened. “Unless. . .”
