The Rescue(38)

“He’s not holding up his badge,” said Decker. “I’ve dealt with him a lot in the past, and he’d flash the damn thing at a dog if he thought it might be involved in one of his cases. And then there’s the fact that he hasn’t brought a SWAT team down on our heads. My head.”

“Dammit,” said Harlow, activating the intercom. “How can I help you, Special Agent Reeves?”

“Good evening, Ms. Mackenzie. I was hoping to have a word with you and Mr. Decker.”

“The name sounds kind of familiar,” she said. “Maybe I’ve heard it in the news?”

“Or you just drank a beer with him on your balcony,” said Reeves. “I’m not here to arrest either one of you, yet. I just want to have a friendly chat. If I wanted to arrest you, I’d go about it in a drastically less friendly manner.”

Harlow holstered her pistol and proceeded to the door, disabling all of the locks before opening it. Decker stood several feet behind her, a neutral look on his face.

“Decker,” Reeves said, nodding in his direction.

“What can we do for you?” said Harlow.

“May I come in?”

“I don’t consent to a search,” she said, backing up a few steps.

“This is strictly a courtesy call.”

“Nothing courteous about you, Reeves,” said Decker.

“I’m not here to trade barbs.”

“Then what are you here for? If you’re not here to arrest me.”

“Can I come in? I imagine the last thing you want to do is draw attention to this apartment.”

“Is that a threat?”

Reeves sighed, turning to Harlow. “I would never purposefully jeopardize one of Second Chance’s safe houses. You and I are doing the same work.”

“He’s on the same side, too,” said Harlow, looking back at Decker.

“I’ll respectfully disagree, and leave it at that.”

Harlow stepped aside, letting the agent pass. Reeves motioned toward the dining room table.

“Can we sit?”

“Why not,” said Harlow. “Beer?”

“It’s a courtesy call, not a social call,” said Reeves, sitting down.

Decker remained standing while Harlow took a seat across from the FBI agent.

“So. What’s this about, Reeves?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“You’re not here to take me back to prison?” said Decker.

“I’d love nothing more than to escort you back to your prison cell, but by all accounts, you’re a free man,” said Reeves. “That could change at any second, but it appears that all of your paperwork is in order. The warden at Victorville has no recollection of petitioning the Bureau of Prisons for a compassionate release in your case, but it’s kind of hard to walk this kind of thing back.”

“Well. If it’s any consolation, I have no idea—”

Harlow caught his attention before he could complete the sentence, shaking her head. Damn. Reeves almost got him to admit that he hadn’t initiated the compassionate-release paperwork. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to invite him inside.

“I’m not trying to trick you into admitting anything,” said Reeves. “Unless you want to make this easier on everyone and come clean. I’d have to Mirandize you first, so please let me know if you plan on confessing anything.”

Decker decided it would probably be in his best interest to remain mostly quiet for the rest of this bizarre meeting.

“I don’t think we should say any more,” said Harlow. “I just need to know how you found us so I can assess its future viability as a safe house.”

“Fair enough,” said Reeves. “Did you hear what happened to Viktor Penkin?”

Harlow cocked her head. “The Viktor Penkin? Russian mob boss?”

“Suspected head of the Solntsevskaya Bratva’s Southern California crime syndicate,” said Reeves. “Runs one of the biggest human-trafficking networks in the United States, but you already knew that.”

She shrugged. “What happened?”

“You really didn’t hear?”

She shook her head.

“The two of you must have been really busy today,” said Reeves. “Someone shot up one of his clubs last night, killing nine of his associates. Not only that, they grabbed Penkin.”

“I was supposed to testify against Penkin and Kuznetsov, but the case went away somehow,” said Decker.

“We’re still scratching our heads about that, but it doesn’t really matter anymore,” said Reeves. “On a wild hunch, I sent a few agents out to Hemet this afternoon. Apparently, Viktor Penkin shot himself in the head after dumping gasoline on himself.”

“That’s some hunch,” said Decker.

“Well, when we heard about Penkin and examined the scene of the kidnapping, I couldn’t help thinking you had something to do with it. Sounded crazy to me, too. How could a man locked away in prison kill nine Russians and kidnap a high-profile Russian mobster? Impossible. Right?”

He waited a few seconds for a response before continuing.

“I know. It’s the kind of story that leaves you speechless,” said Reeves. “But it gets better. I decided to call Victorville, to verify that you couldn’t possibly have exacted vengeance on Penkin, only to find that you’d been transferred to the Metropolitan Detention Center to testify in a case that was dismissed three days earlier. Crazy, right? No need to answer.