Storm's Cage by Mary Stone (uplifting novels .TXT) 📕

good luck on their case. Zane accepted the senator’s departing handshake and thanked the man for his time.

As soon as the silver doors of the elevator slid closed, Zane leaned against a handrail and crossed his arms.

Glenn also slumped against the elevator wall. Her lackluster smile revealed defeat even before she opened her mouth to say as much. “Well, you were right. Go ahead and say it.”

“That’s not my style. We had to see for ourselves, right?” For a beat, Zane considered telling Glenn about the senator’s peculiarities. But when he spotted a round lens mounted in the top right corner of the pristine elevator, he bit his tongue.

Rather than risk a sensitive discussion being overheard, Zane pulled the smartphone from inside his black suit jacket and unlocked the screen. As his eyes fell on an office-wide announcement from the FBI, he whispered a curse.

“What happened?” Glenn’s tone sharpened. “You okay?”

Zane held up the device for her to see. “This came in ten minutes ago. It’s an APB.”

Glenn dove into her purse to retrieve her own device. “An APB for Russel Ulmer.” She scanned the text on the screen. “Wanted for…” Her eyes widened. “For the murder of Carlo Enrico. Ulmer’s a corrections officer. Holy shit.”

“At least we got some useful news today.” Zane wished he could say as much for his own case.

Dropping the phone back into her handbag, Glenn snorted. “About time something worked out.”

As much as Zane wanted to celebrate the victory, a stone remained at the bottom of his stomach. He couldn’t help but think he and Glenn had just made a critical error by conducting an in-person interview with Stan Young.

Clenching and releasing his fist, he glanced back to the camera.

If Senator Young was half as corrupt as Ben Storey seemed to think, then one of his first inclinations would be to delve into Glenn and Zane’s records. The Bureau kept information about its agents under lock and key, but as a sitting U.S. Senator, Young had access to resources that could cut through the red tape.

How far through the red tape, Zane didn’t know.

If the senator accessed classified intelligence records, then there was a good chance he’d find one of the operations Zane had worked with the CIA. Zane had never been outed as an American spy, and technically, he could return to Moscow or St. Petersburg to be greeted with celebrations and lavish parties.

A couple phone calls from a corrupt senator could change that narrative.

Zane had wanted to make a clean break from his life in the Central Intelligence Agency. But as he and Glenn rode down forty stories to the chic, modern lobby of a skyscraper owned by the Young family, he already knew he had to renege on that promise to himself.

If Stan Young decided to investigate Zane’s past, he needed to know.

He needed to prepare himself.

20

A wave of fresh air rushed up to Amelia as Joseph pulled open the driver’s side door and slid into his seat. Like a stranded sailor who’d come across water for the first time in days, she took in as much of the scent of wet concrete as she could. But the chatter of the apartment complex’s sprinklers came to an abrupt end as Joseph pulled the door closed, and Amelia was back to more of the same.

She and Joseph had been stuffed in the compact car for close to four hours, and Joseph’s trip to the gas station across the street was the first time either of them had left their post.

Despite Amelia’s swift decision to send the city police to arrest Russel Ulmer, the CPD had arrived to find Ulmer’s apartment empty and his car gone. The news had elicited more than a few four-letter words from Amelia, but Joseph quickly reminded her that it was the correction officer’s day off. Just because he wasn’t home didn’t mean he’d fled town—he could have been running errands, visiting a friend, hiking, fishing, or camping.

An all-points bulletin for Russel Ulmer had been issued to city precincts and federal agencies across the city of Chicago. For good measure, she’d even extended the APB to where Ulmer’s sister lived in nearby Peoria.

With Waylon Erbach in the relative safety of MCC Chicago’s protective custody—which had only taken an hour versus the day it took for Carlo Enrico—and with a warrant secured to search Ulmer’s apartment, Amelia and Joseph had little else to do aside from wait for Ulmer’s arrest.

They waited beneath the shade of a towering maple in the corner of a parking lot. Their location gave them a clear view of the stairs leading to the man’s apartment door.

Aside from a cursory look through the surprisingly tidy home, they’d decided to hold off on a more thorough search. If Joseph was right and Ulmer was out and about, he’d drive right past his home if he spotted a crime scene van parked outside his building.

Provided he hadn’t already been tipped off by one of his detective pals.

For the six-thousandth time, Amelia swept her gaze over the worn lot to look for a new vehicle she might have missed.

And for the six-thousandth time, Russel Ulmer’s silver pickup was nowhere to be found.

“I take it I didn’t miss anything?” Joseph’s voice pulled her the rest of the way back to reality.

Joseph had abandoned his black suit jacket and matching tie, partly because they were trying to look nonchalant, and they’d been stuck in the front of a car for four hours. After he’d untucked his white dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up to the elbow, he looked closer to an off-the-clock banker than a federal agent.

Propping her elbow on the doorframe, Amelia let out an exaggerated sigh and rested her head in her hand. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”

“Too bad,” he teased with a smirk and held out a green bottle of soda. “Here. I would’ve gotten you coffee, but the machine was broken. Seemed like you could use a little caffeine.”

She straightened to accept the drink.