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  “True,” Cam added, “but J.T. and Curt haven’t been partners for a year. There had to be a trigger for the person calling the shots to suddenly come out of the shadows.”

  Hopkins took his turn. “Okay, let’s begin with the cases that Curt and J.T. were primaries on. They led the investigation and most likely made the arrest themselves. Also, focus on anybody who was personally shot or sent to prison by either of them. Those files should hold us over until morning.” He jerked his head at Agent Lewis. “Bill, start making calls. I want every agent who doesn’t need eight hours of sleep to get down here immediately. Let’s get started. Agent Pearson?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Show Agent Monroe where we keep the files that Curt and J.T. worked on between 2011 and 2016. Bring all of them in here, and we’ll begin. I’ll get Maureen to start a few pots of coffee. We have a long night ahead.”

  Joe from the tech department knocked on the door. I was shocked to see him still at work.

  “Sirs?”

  “Go ahead, Joe,” Hopkins said.

  “I was able to pick up camera footage of the van for three blocks, and then it disappeared into a residential area. There aren’t any cameras along the streets in that quadrant.”

  “Anything that stood out?”

  “Nothing that will help us. I didn’t get the driver in any frames, and I didn’t see the plate number since the view was always from the side. All I can say with certainty is that it was a panel van, likely five to eight years old. Nothing else stood out, and I can’t even tell you the make or model. Every other streetlight leading out of downtown was shut off, and still is, due to the energy saving initiative Milwaukee has in place. Also, at that hour, the only places lit up on a weeknight are the bars, which are few and far between in this area of downtown.”

  “Let’s get that information on the news, anyway. Somebody’s neighbor may have a black or dark blue panel van. The more eyes helping us look for that vehicle, the better. We find the van, we’ll likely find the people responsible for Curt’s death and J.T. and Julie’s kidnapping,” Hopkins said.

  I entered the file room behind Agent Pearson. As we worked our way through the cabinets of archived cases, she explained that she was a recent graduate of the FBI training course in Quantico and hoped one day to be a profiler. I told her about Amber’s aspirations too as we filled a cart with every file folder with J.T. and Curt’s cases between 2011 and 2016. I pushed the cart out of the room and waited as Agent Pearson—or Sandra, as she liked to be called—locked the door at our backs. I wheeled the cart down the hallway and snugged it against the wall just outside the conference room door, then we began placing folders on the table.

  “We have five and a half years’ worth of cases. How should we divide these up?” I asked.

  Spelling scratched his chin as if in thought. “Let’s go year by year and pull out the folders where serious consequences took place. Don’t forget, agents, these men worked in the Violent Crimes Division. All of the crimes were serious, but not all led to death or a lengthy imprisonment for the offender. Let’s begin with any criminal who died in gunfire then see what their crime was. Maybe we can link that to something current, like an anniversary of their death, if you get my drift. There has to be a trigger. Cam, pull up anyone who was released from prison this year who was incarcerated directly because of an arrest made by J.T., Curt, or both of them.”

  We gathered around the table in a somewhat organized state of chaos. Each agent paged through, and stacked, the folders that contained the most violent cases and placed the other folders to the side.

  With a pot of coffee at the center of the table and twelve agents digging into the folders, we spent two hours perusing case files. We narrowed the stack, concentrating on only the worst offenders in eleven archived cases. There were three in 2011, two in 2012, one in 2013, three in 2014, two in 2015, and none in 2016.

  We would spend the rest of the night trying to connect the dots and figure out how the Pirelli brothers were involved—and who was calling the shots.

  Chapter 19

  “Open your eyes, Fed. You wanted to see your sister? Well, here she is.” Anthony kicked J.T.’s leg with enough force to break his kneecaps.

  “Please, leave him alone. You’ve already beaten him to a pulp. He’s unconscious, for God’s sake!”

  Anthony laughed. “Religious are you? I’d leave God out of this because there isn’t a damn thing he or you can do. We’re getting information out of your brother come hell or high water.” His laughter echoed off the walls. “Get it, hell? If you think God is going to save his sorry ass, think again. The only thing that’s going to save your brother is him giving us the information our boss wants.” Anthony kicked J.T. in the shoulder. “Wake up, pussy!”

  J.T. writhed in pain as he began to regain consciousness. Even lifting his head off his chest took every ounce of strength he had. His body had endured a severe beating over the course of the last few hours.

  “Who do you think you are, anyway—MacGyver?” Antonio shouldered Anthony and jerked his head toward the mangled enclosure. “Nice work getting out of there. Let’s see how you do being chained to these support posts. Have fun trying to eat when your arms are stretched so far apart they’re nearly ready to snap. I bet that’s pretty uncomfortable. Right, Fed?”

  A voice at the back of the building spoke up. “Nice to see you survived the night, Agent Harper. Your sister may not be so lucky if you don’t wake up and answer my questions coherently. I want your log-in and password to the archived case files you and Agent Belmont worked on in 2014, and I want it right now. You have one minute to provide that information correctly or the beating will begin.”

  “Beat me all you want. I don’t care. I think your goons already started that hours ago.”

  “That’s apparent, Agent Harper, but I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about Julie.”

  J.T. wrenched against the chains. “Leave her out of this. She works at a hospital, for God’s sake.”

  “Here we go again bringing God into the mix,” the voice from the back said. “Anyway, your minute begins now.”

  J.T. lifted his head and squinted. Julie sat on a chair twenty feet in front of him. Anthony and Antonio stood to either side of her like matching bookends. Dried blood coated her face and matted her hair. She had already been beaten.

  “Sis, are you—”

  “I’m okay. I’m sure I look worse than it really is. Head wounds bleed easily.”

  “Stop the chitchat. You have twenty-seven seconds before she gets a severe blow to the face, and believe me, it will be more than a simple flesh wound.”

  “Fine, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just leave her alone.”

  “Wise decision, Agent Harper. Anthony, go get the laptop.”

  Anthony crossed the open expanse to the other side of the warehouse. J.T. watched as he entered the fourth room on that side. That was the final room, the one where J.T. remembered touching the doorknob before everything went black.

  That must have been the room they were waiting in. They ambushed me the second I turned the knob.

  Anthony returned minutes later with a laptop tucked under his arm.

  “Go ahead, Agent Harper. Tell Anthony your FBI log-in information, and do it now!”

  J.T. told them his login information and said his password was “untouchable.” He smirked at their expressions. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s funny to all of you thugs.”

  “Actually, it’s quite amusing. Thank you for that bit of humor in an otherwise gloomy day. Anthony, make sure the log-in is working properly.”

  Anthony jerked his head at Antonio, and Julie was swiftly pushed off the chair.

  “Hey!”

  “It’s okay, J.T. Don’t piss them off.” Julie brushed off her scraped knees and remained on the floor.

  Anthony took a seat and tapped at the keyboard. “I’m logged in to the FBI’s site, Mr. Vetcher.”

  The low chuckle
increased in volume until the sound filled the room. “That’s wonderful. Now how do we access the cases from 2014?”

  J.T. panned the room from left to right without a visual on the voice. The man didn’t want to be seen, and there had to be a good reason.

  “Who are you hiding from, mystery man? Do I know you? Is there something that will stir a memory for me if I catch sight of you? Why don’t you show yourself?”

  “In due time, Agent Harper, in due time. Antonio, lock up his sister for now. She may come in handy later if he decides to stop cooperating.”

  Without warning, Antonio grabbed Julie by the hair and violently jerked her across the room. She screamed, her hands clinging to her head as he dragged her away.

  “You son of a bitch, leave her alone!” J.T. stomped the floor with his heels.

  “Let’s continue, Agent Harper. We can certainly take care of your sister if she becomes too much of a distraction for you. Do we understand each other?”

  J.T. hung his head. “Yes.”

  “I didn’t hear you. Please repeat that.”

  “I said YES!”

  “Good, now continue on. How do we access the case files that you and Agent Belmont worked on together in 2014?”

  “What’s so special about 2014?”

  “Not your concern. Now go ahead and don’t make me ask you again.”

  “On the left sidebar is a tab that says archived case files. Click on that, and the drop-down menu will show each year. Click on 2014, and the page will open with a list of cases Agent Belmont and I worked on.”

  “Are the full reports, including every detail, contained in each case file?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect. Anthony, follow his instructions and bring me the laptop.”

  “I’m pulling up 2014 right now.” Anthony nodded. “It’s all there, sir.”

  “Exactly what I wanted to hear. Let’s take a look.”

  Anthony walked to the back of the room and disappeared around a stack of crates.

  “Why are you afraid to show yourself? You’re nothing but a coward.”

  “Antonio, make Agent Harper shut up.”

  J.T. received a melon-sized fist to the face and slumped over into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 20

  Cam reentered the conference room with his findings and glanced at the clock. The hour hand had just hit six a.m. He had been working alone in the computer lab, searching the database for any recently released criminals from federal lockup who might have a connection to J.T. and Curt.

  “I have a few names but nobody who would seem to pose a serious threat to Curt or J.T.,” he said.

  Spelling perched his reading glasses on top of his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, and gave Cam a nod. “Go ahead. Let’s hear what you have.” He poured tepid coffee into his cup.

  We all leaned back, stretched, and regrouped as Cam read his report.

  “Of course, we already know that Antonio Pirelli was released a few months ago, but he never had a direct connection with anyone at the Milwaukee field office. He’s just a hired gun. There’s Brad Derringer, who served fifty months for five ATM thefts. He got lucky and was released two years early because of prison overcrowding. Vaughn Moss robbed two check-cashing stores in 2011 and was just released in April, minimal take. Then there’s Pedro Martinez, who with his brother, Marco, held up two liquor stores and pistol-whipped the owners. They were released after serving five years each. The only reason they didn’t get more time is that the robberies netted them under three hundred dollars. That’s it as far as the recently released cons. Nobody stands out as somebody who would go to the extreme of murdering and kidnapping federal agents.”

  Hopkins fisted his long yawn then added his opinion. “Okay, let’s set the released prisoners aside for now. What else do we have?”

  Bill Lewis took the lead. He had been with the FBI for fifteen years and had seniority. He also had been working with Curt on nationwide internet predator cases during the past year, according to Hopkins. They had been close friends. We sat back and listened.

  “Out of the eleven most violent cases, three resulted in our agents killing several of the individuals, and five involved life imprisonments. Now, any of those could be cause for retaliation from family members for whatever reason. We need to check for anniversary dates that came up in the last two days. They could be the dates of the crime, of a death, of a conviction, or even the date the individual began their prison sentence. Let’s look through those files for June, with the dates of the second, third, or fourth being noted.”

  We took a five-minute break and dug back in. Several agents took half-hour nap rotations.

  Spelling gave me the eyebrows. “Jade, you good to go? Don’t feel bad if you need a quick nap.”

  “I’m fine, sir, but I could use some strong coffee. I’ll make a fresh pot.” I rose and took the carafe back to the lunchroom, washed it out, and started a new pot. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. I began to drift off and had to force myself to stay awake. The twenty-four-hour mark was almost here, and we had nothing other than a dead agent who was thrown out of the back of a moving van. I pressed my fingertips against my temples and rubbed.

  “Anxiety or overly tired?”

  The voice made me jump. I hadn’t noticed Cam entering the lunchroom. I shrugged with discouragement. “Both, I guess. Do you think we’ll figure out something today? The hours are ticking by. Isn’t time our enemy?”

  Cam squeezed my shoulder. “We’re trying, Jade, and I’ll be the first one to admit, this isn’t going to be easy. We aren’t working on an ongoing case. Hell, Curt and J.T. haven’t been in the same division for a year. We don’t know who committed the crime, so there isn’t a motive to expand on. We’re going in blind. We have an APB on the dark-colored van, and it’s on the Crime Stoppers segment of the news. Let me talk to Spelling. I think we ought to do the same with the gold Mercedes. We’ll talk to the person who owns the car the plates were stolen off of. Maybe the Mercedes will flip a switch with them, or maybe it was stolen randomly.”

  I heard the coffeemaker beep. “Mind giving me a hand? Grab a stack of Styrofoam cups and the packaged creamer and sugar. I’ll take the carafe and some napkins.”

  We returned to the conference room, and Cam suggested putting the description of the Mercedes on the news as well. Spelling agreed and shook his head. “We’ve been so focused on trying to figure out who kidnapped our agents and Julie, we completely overlooked that yesterday.” He turned to Val. “Get that description on the news right away along with the stolen plate number. Make sure the FBI’s 800 tip line phone number shows up on the screen.”

  Cam called the tech department and got the name and address of the person whose plates happened to be on that Mercedes sedan. We needed to know why the plates for a 2005 Nissan Sentra had never been reported stolen. He turned to me. “Maybe a drive will wake you up. Looks like the person who owns those plates lives in New Berlin. We need to have a talk with them now.”

  “Give me five minutes to freshen up.” I took my cup of coffee and headed to the ladies’ room.

  Ten minutes later, we were out the door and on our way to the western suburbs. We passed the city limits sign for New Berlin a few minutes after seven. I pulled up the address and led Cam to the front door of an eight-unit apartment building. I craned my neck to see the numbers above the front entrance. I nodded. “This is the place.”

  Cam parked along the curb, and we took the sidewalk to the glass doors. Inside the vestibule, a wall-mounted intercom contained every resident’s name and apartment number. I pressed the buzzer for apartment five.

  After I pressed the buzzer a second time, a man’s agitated, groggy voice answered. “Yeah, who’s there?”

  “FBI agents, Mr. Hadley, and we need to speak with you.”

  “Real funny. I’m not in the mood for pranksters. Who the hell is this?”

  I gave Cam an eye roll. “Either buzz us in or come down and
see for yourself. We have identification, and we need to speak to you immediately.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  He clicked off the intercom, and we waited in the vestibule for several minutes. The arrow above the elevator illuminated, and the doors parted. A young man wearing only sleep pants headed toward us. His bed hair told us he had just awakened. We pressed our badges against the glass, and he opened the security door.

  “Mr. Hadley?”

  “Yeah”—he rubbed his eyes—“that’s me. What’s going on?” He held the door open, and we passed through.

  I pointed toward the elevator then looked over his attire. “May we go upstairs where we can speak more freely?”

  “You sure you have the right Dan Hadley?”

  “Yes, we’re sure.”

  He scratched his head. “Okay, I guess. Come on up.”

  We rode the elevator up a short flight then walked the hallway to apartment five. Dan opened the door, ushered us in, and told us to have a seat at the kitchen table.

  Cam spoke up. “Live alone?”

  “Yeah. So, what is this all about?”

  I took over the questioning. “Do you own a 2005 Nissan Sentra?”

  “Yeah, except I haven’t had it for a while. Why?”

  “Then who does?” Cam asked.

  “My little sis. She just got a new job, and until she can afford her own car, she’s using mine. I work four blocks away from here and can walk. I told Deb she can use my car for another month and then I want it back.”

  “Has she mentioned that the license plates are gone?”

  “Gone? Not at all. You mean fallen off?” Dan placed a cup of water in the microwave and set the timer for two minutes. “All I have is instant coffee. Would you like some?”

  I politely declined. “No, thanks. Your license plates were stolen off your car, Dan. Do you know anyone who owns a late model, gold Mercedes sedan with blacked-out windows?”

  He smirked. “Hell no, I’m a simple guy. I’ve never even sat in a Mercedes. I am curious, though, why that’s an FBI matter.”