Stolen Read online

  “Look, Noah, I’m trying to understand you. I get that you don’t like me, that you don’t like what I’ve done, that you think I’m getting away with something. Just because I don’t regret what I did then doesn’t mean I’d do the same thing now. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense to you, but I don’t know how else to get you to trust me.”

  “Ironically, I do trust you most of the time. The law means something to me, Sean. It means more to me than it does to you. Just—do what you need to do, but remember that this is my op, and I make the calls. If I shut it down, it’s shut down, got it?”

  “Got it.” Sean knew this conversation wasn’t over, but it was for now. He glanced at his phone. Hunter had left him a message. “Back to work. Hunter called.”

  Before Sean walked out, he turned to Noah. “What are we going to do about Paxton and Russo? Maybe I should check out Paxton’s apartment.”

  “Stay away from him,” Noah said. “He could be here on legitimate government business. Congress is in recess.”

  “Or he could be here because of PBM.”

  “I’ll check on Paxton.”

  Sean raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think he’d find it a bit suspicious if he saw you in New York?”

  “I’ve done surveillance a few times,” Noah said.

  “Really?” Sean said in mock surprise.

  Noah shook his head and cracked a brief smile. “Watch your back, Rogan.”

  “You, too, buddy.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sean listened to Hunter’s message as he walked up the stairs to his apartment.

  “I found something really weird, and you’re the only one I trust. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m freaked.”

  Hunter was paranoid by nature, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a reason to be paranoid now. Even Sean had been antsy ever since he cloned the badge, and now that Hunter was nervous—especially after they talked this morning—Sean was doubly concerned.

  He hit Hunter’s number on his cell phone. No one answered. Hunter didn’t have voice mail set up. Sean disconnected. Hunter sounded scared, not paranoid.

  Sean grabbed his go bag from his closet and slung it over his shoulder. It had everything he might need if he couldn’t return to the apartment.

  He tried Hunter a second time; again, no answer. He went down the back stairs and called Noah. “I’m going to Hunter’s. He sounds spooked.”

  “Do you need backup?”

  “No—I’ll send a nine-one-one if I have a problem. Find out everything you can on Paxton, Bonner, and Lynch—and that boating accident.”

  “I’m working on it.” Noah disconnected.

  Though Noah was still Mr. Law and Order, Sean understood him better. It took guts for Noah to bring Sean into this investigation. And he was relieved that Noah wasn’t after Lucy. Sean had always worried that if something happened between him and Lucy, she’d turn to Noah because he was there.

  Sean didn’t want to wait for the subway, so he grabbed a cab to Murray Hill, where Hunter had an apartment that had been in his family for half a century. Hunter said his grandparents had owned the four-story townhome and had sub-divided and sold off floors over the years to pay for their three kids to go to college. Hunter had been the only grandchild. The top floor was still in the family and worth many times more than the original building had been.

  Sean had visited Hunter’s flat many times when they were in college, even lived in the basement for a few weeks one summer. A hidden staircase went from the top floor to the basement. In the twenties part of the building had been used as a speakeasy during prohibition. The basement had an old bar along one wall, a remnant of its past, along with a tunnel that led to the house three doors over.

  Sean buzzed Hunter’s apartment. No answer.

  Maybe Hunter hadn’t called Sean from his apartment. Except that earlier today, when they parted at the park, hadn’t Hunter said he was going home? A loner by nature, he wasn’t one for crowds and socializing. If he wasn’t here, he was at Colton’s.

  “Come on, buddy, answer,” Sean muttered.

  He glanced around. It wasn’t quite dark but late enough that there weren’t a lot of people on the street in this quiet midtown neighborhood. Park Avenue was a block west and bustling.

  The door worked on an electronic release, easy for Sean to pop. He took out his phone, ran through a series of codes, and thirty seconds later the door clicked open. He slipped in and closed the door.

  A central staircase on the south side of the building led to each flat with wall sconces faintly lighting each landing. He quietly went up to the fourth floor.

  Hunter’s door was ajar.

  Sean retrieved his gun from his bag and crept into the apartment.

  Nothing appeared out of place. Sean tried to convince himself that Hunter had gone out for dinner or run out for beer, or some such excuse, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

  The apartment was cluttered but compulsively tidy. Hunter was a bit OCD about his space—he collected a lot of junk and arranged it methodically. His Star Wars LEGO collection was displayed in the dining room, complete with staged battles that Sean suspected Hunter, at thirty-one, still played with. Sean liked video games, but Hunter had always been obsessed. He’d designed many but never sold anything. His skills were the back end, not making the game pretty, and Hunter was hard to work with. Like a lot of computer geeks Sean had known over the years.

  Except Sean had always liked Hunter. He picked up a LEGO Han Solo and smiled. He’d always liked Han Solo best.

  Sean hesitated to call out, in case someone other than Hunter was here.

  He walked quietly down the hall, senses fully alert, listening with more than just his ears.

  He smelled blood before he opened the door to Hunter’s office.

  Hunter was dead at his desk, blood pooled under his head, dripping to the floor.

  “Shit!” Sean whirled around, pushing back the tortured rage that tore through him at the brutal murder of his friend. He quickly ascertained that no one was in the room.

  He went to Hunter’s desk—his laptop was gone. His laptop was his life. What had Hunter learned that had gotten him killed? Could Colton have done this?

  Sean didn’t believe it. Colton wasn’t a killer. But Evan—Sean hadn’t trusted him from the beginning. Was he willing to kill to keep his secrets hidden?

  Sean assessed his surroundings, looking for any evidence of who could have done this. Hunter’s cell phone beeped behind Sean, and he turned around. The phone was on a high shelf, charging. It beeped again, a message across it flashing:

  Security Alert Code 2

  Sean had no idea what that meant, but he remembered that Hunter had said he’d set up a system to alert him if Deanna Brighton was caught in Hunter’s security net.

  Sean pocketed his gun and grabbed Hunter’s phone, hoping he could access the cloud network through it, since the laptop had been taken. Maybe the information that had spooked Hunter was backed up in cyberspace.

  A noise from the living room startled Sean. He froze, looked at all possible exits. There was only one. The way he’d come in. The door was partly closed. He went to it, looked through the crack, saw movement, but it was slow and cautious.

  Straight across from the den was the kitchen, and the back door that led directly to the basement.

  Now or never.

  He bolted across the hall.

  “FBI! Freeze!”

  Sean recognized Deanna Brighton’s voice before he saw her. He didn’t hesitate. He ran through the small kitchen and opened the escape door, as Hunter had jokingly called it back in college.

  Sean didn’t trust Brighton, and that she was here, in Hunter’s apartment, meant either she already knew he was dead or she’d been following Sean. It made no sense for an FBI agent, even one as crazy as Brighton, to kill Hunter. But she may have staked out the place, waiting for Sean to show up. Either way, he was in trouble and he couldn’t risk being out of commission—no
t when he and Noah were so close to nailing Senator Paxton. And if Paxton was responsible for Hunter’s death, Sean would kill him.

  You’re not a killer.

  Maybe not, but under the right circumstances …

  “Rogan! Stop! I will shoot!”

  It didn’t help that he had a gun on him, but he was glad he’d pocketed it before she’d seen him. As he ran down the dark, hidden staircase as fast as he dared, he stuffed the gun and phone into his go bag. He was banking on the fact that he knew this building and Brighton didn’t.

  “Gannon! Catch him downstairs!” Sean heard. Her partner?

  She fired her gun into the dark corridor. What the hell? She was shooting at him! How was she going to explain a bullet in his back?

  He prayed the door leading into the basement office was unlocked. He hadn’t thought of it until now, but in the past there had been a lock to keep people from going upstairs, not from exiting.

  Sean considered himself lucky when the heavy wood door creaked open. He immediately closed it and heard another gunfire burst as he slid the bolt.

  He saw feet running in front of the narrow ground-level windows. He would be trapped in here, Brighton behind the door, Gannon in the front. They’d call in SWAT. Sean would have to surrender or get shot.

  Except Brighton had shot at him.

  He needed to escape and regroup. There were too many what-ifs and unknowns.

  Brighton pounded on the door. “You’re making this worse for yourself, Rogan!”

  He pushed aside the bookshelf that hid the tunnel. He did his best to slide it back into place, but it was obvious it had been moved, dusty books and papers strewn across the floor.

  He grabbed his flashlight. Brighton and Gannon were shouting, but their voices grew faint as he fled.

  He hadn’t remembered the tunnel being so narrow. It also reeked. By the smell, many dead animals had rotted along this path.

  Where did this tunnel lead? When Sean first knew Hunter, the passage had led to a residence, but he seemed to remember the building had been converted into a business. The exit could be blocked and then Sean would be trapped.

  But he’d been lucky twice. Third time’s the charm, right?

  He found the door. Pushed hard.

  It didn’t budge. He shined his light and fought with the knob, but cement filled the seams. Sealed shut. Shit.

  “What are you going to do now, dumb ass?” he mumbled to himself.

  He glanced at his cell phone but had no reception. He typed a message to Noah that would send as soon as he had a signal.

  Hunter’s dead. Shot in the head. Brighton is here with a partner, Gannon.

  She’s shooting at me. I’m running but might be trapped.

  The last thing Sean wanted to do was shoot a cop, but Brighton wasn’t giving him much confidence that he could turn himself in without injury. He was having a hard time accepting that she’d fired as he ran, and he hadn’t had his gun out, hadn’t returned fire, or given her any cause to shoot.

  Escape was his only option.

  Sean shined his light around the tunnel but didn’t see much of anything except algae growing on the damp brick walls. The foul, dank smell reeked of mold, over and above decaying rodents. The floor, that may have been cement or worn stone, was damp. Water dripped all around, and in the distance it flowed. Pipes? A sewer? He followed the sounds. They became louder as the tunnel narrowed. He’d never been claustrophobic—except when he’d been in jail—but this passage would give him nightmares.

  The tunnel curved slightly and cold air washed over him. There must be an opening up ahead. He walked as fast as he dared over the slippery, uneven ground. The passage narrowed as it curved until both his shoulders touched the walls. He shined his light and saw his escape hatch—a slim opening twenty feet away. Sean had to turn and go through it shoulder first, but he made it.

  Sean paused in the wider tunnel and shined his light around. An old, rusting metal staircase went thirty feet down. Sean had never explored the underbelly of Manhattan, but he’d heard of it. There were utility doors, subway exits, sewer access, and hidden passageways that led to the river. He just needed to find one that got him far from here.

  Rodents scurried away from his light.

  Shit. He hated rats.

  It was surprisingly warm and noisy as Sean descended farther down into the sewers. Rushing water he couldn’t see or feel, behind walls; electrical equipment humming, churning, working 24/7 to keep the city running. A subway train rumbled down unseen tracks, echoing throughout so Sean almost couldn’t tell where the sound came from.

  He could hide in here, but he didn’t know the tunnels well enough to elude a full-scale manhunt. He needed a way out before Brighton could call in a SWAT team or NYPD, who might know ways to shut down parts of the system. He couldn’t go back to his apartment; Deanna Brighton might have located him. And until Noah could get her off Sean’s ass, he had to disappear. Why had she started an investigation into Colton for mortgage fraud? That made no sense; it wasn’t Colton’s game. Why was she after Colton and not the rest of the group? Why had she been at Hunter’s? Was she primarily going after Colton to get to Sean? Did this have something to do with what happened at Stanford? Dammit, how long could someone hold a grudge?

  Would she follow him in here? Not if she was smart, not without backup. But she had proved that she didn’t have all her screws in place. Shooting at him—that pissed him off. And scared him. Stupid and against all FBI protocols.

  Sean stepped in something wet and sticky, glad he couldn’t clearly see it. He kept moving forward. South? He hoped. There was a subway stop at 33rd, and there should be an access point. If he was going north, he was screwed, because north would take him into Grand Central Station. More cops, more people, more cameras.

  “You’re not thinking,” Sean muttered to himself. He reached into his bag and took out his compass. He’d never been a Boy Scout, but he packed like one—thanks to his brothers. Between Kane, Duke, and Liam, Sean had been well prepared to do just about anything—including navigating an old tunnel under New York City.

  He confirmed that he was headed south, and the sound of the subway increased exponentially the closer he got.

  Sean picked up the pace. The faster he got out, the better off he’d be.

  Somewhere behind him, a radio cut in and out. Sean immediately turned off his flashlight.

  Brighton had followed him.

  The tunnel forked; to the left was darkness, to the right security lights and electrical panels.

  She was close. Too close.

  He wanted to go toward the security lights, but he didn’t know if there were locked doors or people or another dead end. And Brighton might be able to see him.

  He turned left, feeling his way down the dark tunnel. He went down as far as he dared. He couldn’t see anything but didn’t risk turning on his flashlight. He took out his phone and set the light to the dimmest setting, then shined it briefly around the tunnel. It narrowed but was passable. There was an old doorway ten feet in. He pocketed his phone and slipped over the threshold.

  He heard Brighton at the fork where he’d been standing not two minutes ago. The radio cut in and out again.

  “Dammit, Gannon,” Brighton said in a coarse whisper. “I’m trying to find the bastard.”

  Gannon said, “You shouldn’t have gone down there alone! Backup is on its way—”

  She cut him off and called out into the tunnels, “Sean Rogan! I will find you!” Her voice echoed. “You ruined my career; you embarrassed me in front of my colleagues and my boss! You think you’re smarter than everyone, but you’re not smarter than me. I know everything about you. I know everything about your girlfriend. I will destroy you both.”

  Sean’s fists clenched. She was baiting him.

  Get your head together, Rogan. It won’t do Lucy any good if you get thrown in prison. Or killed.

  Brighton was moving away. Her radio clicked in and out again.


  “What?” she said.

  “Torres says get your ass out of the tunnels now. I’m here at the entrance. Backtrack.”

  “But—”

  “Now!” Gannon said. “I’ll protect your ass, but you need to get here and secure the scene. We’ll get this guy, but you can’t take him down alone.”

  “I’m coming,” she snapped.

  The radio clicked off, and Brighton let out an angry cry. “Fuck!” she screamed. “I hate you I hate you I hate you!” She fired her gun and Sean jumped but remained in his hiding place. She fired a second time. “Fucking rats. Rogan, you’re nothing more than a fucking rat!”

  She was losing it. But, by the sound of her voice, she was moving away from him. The radio clicked on.

  “Deanna! Report!”

  “I’m fine. That bastard shot at me.” Sean could barely hear her now.

  “I’m coming to you.”

  “No. He ran; I took cover and didn’t see which way he went.”

  The lying bitch! Sean didn’t move. No doubt she’d shoot him before she arrested him.

  “I’ll meet you.”

  Sean could hear the echo of voices but couldn’t make out the words. He stayed put. She could be setting a trap.

  He wasn’t going back that way. He waited as long as he could stand, three minutes, and didn’t hear anything but water and distant machinery. He shined his light down the dark tunnel and saw a door at the end, fifty feet from his location. E33AC-4.

  He had no idea what that meant, but E33 was likely East 33rd Street.

  The wall rumbled in front of him, a roar growing louder until his ears rang. His heart raced and he froze. He hadn’t realized how far down he’d gone, but that subway train was right next to him, on the other side of the wall. As it passed he took several deep breaths to collect his bearings.

  This must be a subway access door, a way for transit employees to get around in the bowels of the system.

  He had to risk it. If he spent any more time down here, the FBI would be sending dogs and their head bitch, Deanna Brighton, to track him.