Page 46 of Billion-Dollar Ransom

“And you just trusted them? What, do you fall for every internet phishing scam too? Come on, Ian.”

“Well, phishing scams don’t usually drop five large into your bank account.”

Mike Hardy considered this. “And you just gave them your account number?”

“They already had it. They knew all about me. Another reason I took them seriously.”

“Then give me the number they called you from.”

“There wasn’t any number! When they texted, the contact was completely anonymous. I did what they wanted, and I got paid.”

“And you have no idea where the money came from.”

“Like they’d give me a receipt? Come on, Hardy. You want to track some routing numbers, have fun.”

Ian had an answer for everything. That was concerning. The last time Mike and Ian had done this dance, this little twerp had cracked quickly under pressure. What if the task force had gone through all this trouble to corner this creep—and he was no use at all?

CHAPTER 49

IAN COUGHLIN HAD one card to play—and he wasn’t going to use it until he receivedexactlywhat he wanted. If what he suspected was true, his life literally depended on him getting it.

He swore and vowed to repeat this to himself until the end of time:There is no such thing as easy money.

“Listen, like I said, it was completely anonymous. But I might have heard a name. One I wasn’t supposed to hear.”

“Go on.”

“No, Hardy. You and I know how this works. I want something in return.”

“That all depends on the name.”

Here was the tricky part. Ian Coughlin suspected thatcopswere behind this whole triple kidnapping.

It was the only thing that made sense. Only two types of people knew to reach out to Ian in the first place: cops andcareer criminals. The follow-home robbers in his circle were nowhere near ambitious enough to pull off something like this; they were either junkies looking for a quick score or gang members looking for bragging rights.

That left one other option: the cops.

Ian’s first thought when the original text showed up on his phone wasThis is Entrapment with a capitalE.

I mean, who else would make such a ludicrous proposal? Twenty-five grand for watching a back alley in Beverly Hills?

But the mystery texter had offered to send a small good-faith payment. Only five grand, but at the time, Ian was flat broke (after months of being watched by Hardy’s stupid task force), and even if itwasthe LAPD messing with him, he really needed the rent money.

“Ian?” Mike said now. “You still with me? Just give me a name and we’ll take it from there.”

This was the problem, though. Since Ian was convinced cops were somehow involved in this whole crazy scheme, the question was: Was Hardy one of those cops? Ian didn’t think so, otherwise Hardy wouldn’t look so frustrated.

“Ian? Come on, man! Innocent lives are on the line. You’re about sixty seconds away from being completely useless to me.”

Ian stared up at his interrogator. “But can I trust you? Because you’re probably not going to like the name in my head.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Ian stared at him. Then: “Tim Dowd.”

Mike stared right back at him. “Nice try. I know Sergeant Dowd.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, not breaking eye contact, as if he were trying to tell him something by telepathy. “Iknowyou do.”