Page 23

CHAPTER 23

Kilo

T he next morning, I was already on the way to the clubhouse as the sun was rising. I’d stayed up most of the night, sifting through the reports, and I needed to talk to Flir. I knew he’d already be at the compound. He liked to get there first and double check his counts from the previous day before Bolo got there and got started for the morning. Bolo and Flir were employed by the club. They handled pretty much any job that needed doing, so they were at the compound most days.

I pulled in and killed the engine on my bike. Digging the Marshal’s folder out of my saddle bag, I strode inside. My eyes zeroed in on Ruck, Bolo, and Flir where they were sitting, having a cup of coffee.

Ruck looked up at me and sighed. “Don't.”

My steps hesitated. He was my president, so if he meant it, I’d turn my ass right back around and as much as it killed me, I’d wait until later.

He saw the indecision on my face and groaned. “Dammit, do you know what time it is?”

“Five twenty-two,” Flir answered. He took a drink of his coffee, unbothered by the fact that Ruck was now glaring at him.

I was still standing in the middle of the clubhouse, waiting to see what Ruck would decide.

“Stop standing there like a fucking idiot and get over here,” Ruck muttered.

From the hours of about nine a.m. to about three a.m. Ruck was a caring man who would flay himself alive for those he loved. But from three a.m. to eight fifty-nine? It was up in the air as to whether he’d care if you were breathing or not. Anything in the five o'clock hour was a gamble.

I walked over to the table, sat down, and opened up the folder.

“What’s that?” Bolo asked, craning his neck to try to read the papers I was sifting through.

As soon as I found what I was looking for, I set it in front of Flir. “It’s the FBI record on Kruzman and Camila’s father.”

Ruck let out a whistle. “Do I want to know how you got that?”

“Believe it or not, I just asked,” I said with a shrug.

“The dirtbag Marshal?” Bolo asked.

I nodded. “I might have to give him some fucking points for caring enough about the girls to bend the rules.”

“That’s more than bending,” Flir said, picking up the pages. His eyes lit up when he saw the columns and rows of numbers. “It’s full on breaking them. Are these Kruzman’s books?”

“They are. Could you do me a favor and look through them?”

“You think Camila’s father was cooking the books?” Ruck asked, eyebrows raised.

“I was thinking about it. What does Kruzman care about more than his freedom?”

“Power,” Bolo said.

“Money,” Ruck replied.

I pointed at them. “And money is power,” I said. “It clicked around two in the morning. If he’s not worried about going to prison, maybe he’s worried about money.”

Flir was already muttering to himself as his eyes scanned over the page.

Ruck sighed. “Great, he’s going to be doing that all day.”

“Going through the numbers?” I asked. “He’s pretty fast-”

“No,” Ruck interrupted. “The muttering. I always know when he’s done our books for the month because he mutters to himself for at least four to five hours afterward.”

I chuckled at that.

“It’s a pattern,” Flir said, looking up at me.

“Huh?” I asked, looking over at the other guys. They just shrugged.

“There’s a pattern here.”

“Okay,” I replied, drawing out the word.

But he wasn’t listening to me anymore. There was a deep frown etched into his forehead as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started punching numbers into the calculator function.

“Just let him go,” Ruck said. “When he can’t do it in his head, then you know it’s big.”

“Want coffee?” Bolo asked, getting up and pouring himself another cup.

“Yeah, thanks.” I took the cup he handed over and sat back in my chair. I’d stayed up most of the night, once Camila had fallen back asleep, to pour over that file. I was relieved that I didn’t have to try to go through those fucking numbers. If it was left up to me, my hunch would forever go unsolved. I wasn’t a whiz with numbers the way Flir was. I wasn’t a moron, but he was on a totally different level, or spectrum, than most people.

We sat and talked, drinking our coffee, while Flir tackled the books. Ruck was looking more alert by the minute and far less grumpy. It took a little over an hour before Flir looked up at me. “Four million, seven hundred and twenty-three dollars. And seven cents.”

“What?” I asked him, blinking at the number.

“That’s how much Camila’s father stole from Kruzman.”

“What?” we all asked this time, shocked.

“See?” Flir said, sliding the book over to me and stabbing his finger down at a number. “It’s a pattern,” he repeated. “Anytime a number ends in three, he skimmed some off the top. Made exactly point zero three percent of that transaction disappear.”

I stared down at the numbers. I didn’t see shit. “He stole from Kruzman...a fraction of a percent at a time?”

Flir nodded and grinned down at the book. “Fucking smart. He didn’t do anything so overt that Kruzman would notice immediately. He stole from him slowly over the years. And here?” He pointed again. “These numbers aren’t accounting numbers.”

“What are they?” I asked, squinting down at them.

“Each of these numbers is a ‘minor mistake’. If you subtract seven from the odd numbers and three from the even? They’re a routing and account number.”

“Was this guy your long lost cousin?” Ruck asked.

Flir just blinked at him, too absorbed with the numbers to get the joke.

I looked up at Flir, my mouth dropping open. “You’re telling me that you know where this money is?”

He nodded. “That routing number belongs to a local bank in Philly.”

“You know the routing numbers of banks?” Bolo asked.

Flir rolled his eyes. “I looked it up, asshole.”

Bolo muttered something under his breath and went back to drinking his coffee.

“Wait, so... You’re telling me that Camila’s family has over four million dollars?”

“Well, if we kill Kruzman she will,” Ruck said with a grin.

“We could make a trade,” Flir pointed out. “The money for their lives.”

“Fuck no,” I said with a shake of my head. “I wouldn’t trust that asshole to keep his end of the bargain. He’ll want to make an example of her, or some other super villain shit.”

“I don’t trust him either,” Ruck replied. “We stick to the plan.”

“Can I keep this?” Flir asked. “I’d like to make sure I didn’t miss anything. He has codes built into codes.”

“Jealous?” Ruck asked.

“A little.”

“Make a copy of it,” I told him. “I’ll have to give it back to the Marshal.”

He nodded and took the papers with him. He didn’t care about the rest of the file, just the numbers.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I shook my head. “This is insane.”

“Why do you think he did it?” Bolo asked.

“Probably trying to set his family up so that they wouldn’t have to worry about money,” Ruck answered before I could. “Odds are he was trying to cut ties with Kruzman and that probably made Kruzman suspicious. You know how it goes. Ordinary guy gets too good to be true job offer, gets in too deep, wants a way out.”

I nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking too. Kruzman must have had someone else double check the books. Found the discrepancy, and killed Camila’s father.”

“Desperate men will do whatever they have to for their families,” Ruck added. “You gonna tell her?”

“Yeah. How can I not?” I asked with a shrug.

Flir came back and handed me the papers, which I put into the folder. “Thanks man,” I told him. “You just blew this thing wide open.”

“No worries. When you want the routing and account number, just let me know.”

“I’ll see you guys later,” I told them as I left. I wanted to get back home and tell Camila about what we’d found.

This was going to hurt her. To know that your father was murdered because he’d stolen from someone to try to provide a better life for his family? Yeah. That was definitely going to upset them, but at least this way they’d know what happened. They’d know why he was taken from them. And they could put to rest the idea that their father might have been a bad man. He wasn’t. He was just a guy who loved his wife and kids.

I had a hunch we were right. Didn’t know it for sure, but I trusted my gut. It hadn’t let me down yet. And if we never found out the rest of the truth, at least this would eventually ease the women’s minds. They could look back on their father’s memories without a dark cloud of guilt that they were loving a monster. There was something to be said about that.

I could at least give them that peace of mind. And who knew? Maybe they’d be four million richer by the time this was all over. But whatever happened, I planned to remove Kruzman from the equation. I wasn’t going to let him continue to be a threat to Camila and her family.