Don't Look Down

Chapter 15

By the time Wilder had the Jeep started and had caught up with Lucy, she was a hundred yards down the road and moving fast. "Come on, Lucy," he said again, as he pulled up beside her with the Jeep in first gear, his foot working the clutch to keep pace with her stride. "Get in here."

She didn't look at him at all, just kept striding along.

Okay, so he worked for the CIA and he'd been married. Technically, the CIA were the good guys here, and hell, he was divorced. She should be happy. Wilder could never figure women out. He guessed that was why he had exes. Thinking of that reminded him of his next move.

"I'm sorry."

Lucy's head swiveled, and he was appalled to see her blinking back tears.

"Lucy!"

She kept walking, her face stony. "Sorry about what?"

Crap. Lying to her? Getting married twice before he met her? Get-ling sucked into this mess by the CIA? Being born?

"Anything I did to hurt you." That should cover it. "Don't cry."

Lucy came to a halt and turned and faced him, so he shifted into neutral and the Jeep rolled to a stop.

"I'm not crying," she said, and her voice was steady. She stood there for a minute, digesting his words, turning them over, probably deep-frying them. Women. There was a reason he was in the Special Forces with other manly men. Then she said, "Okay. I'm upset."

No shit. He nodded, wary.

"I know I'm overreacting but…" She shook her head. "No but. I'm overreacting, period. You're right, last night was just last night, nothing to get upset about."

She looked at him narrowly, like she was waiting for him to say something, and he nodded again, not sure what to say but pretty sure whatever he said would be wrong.

Lucy cast her eyes to the sky in exasperation. "Oh, stop looking like that. I know you don't have a clue what I'm upset about." She looked at him, straight on. "Do not lie to me again."

Wilder's shoulders relaxed. "Never."

"Because in spite of your ex-wives…" She took a deep breath. "I really do trust you, you bastard."

Wilder nodded. "You can."

She swallowed. "This movie. These people. My family. I'm responsible for them. It's like…" She hesitated. "It's my mission."

Wilder nodded again.

"Which is why I'm not going to let the CIA hijack my set and endanger my team. The team is more important than the mission. I'm shutting down the movie, J.T."

Crap. "Get in the Jeep, Lucy," he said, keeping his voice gentle.

"No more lying."

"I didn't lie," he said. "I just didn't tell you the whole truth."

"That counts," she said and got in.

He shot her a glance. "Then you lied to me too."

She snapped to look at him, scowling. "I never-"

"Daisy's not your sister," he said, knowing she couldn't be. They were just too different.

"She's my sister in every way that matters," Lucy said coldly.

"Adopted?"

Lucy swallowed. "Same foster home."

Shit. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Lucy faced forward again. "It was a good home. Nobody hurt us. We were fine. And she's my sister. She is absolutely my sister."

Yeah, Wilder thought. Foster kids always have a good time. Boy, does this explain a lot. "Look-"

"Daisy and I have been sisters since she was one year old and I was five. That's twenty-nine years and that's good enough for me."

Okay, then. "Fasten your seat belt," he said gently.

"J.T., we were fine," Lucy said, but she buckled herself in just as a black car came from the direction of base camp and swerved, screeching to a halt in front of them and blocking their way. Wilder recognized Crawford behind the wheel, dressed in a suit and looking older than the kid he'd been in the diner. Crawford stared at him, a cold look, different from any expression he'd shown before.

"Who the hell is he?" Lucy asked.

"I don't-" Wilder caught himself. "My CIA contact. Name is Crawford."

"What's he doing here?"

"I don't know." Okay, this truth thing is working okay so far. Two for two. "Listen, I wasn't lying when I came on the set. Bryce did hire me. Everything was aboveboard as far as I knew. But the CIA set it all up. That guy"-he jerked his head at Crawford, now coming toward them-"called me out of the blue to meet me after the first day. That was the appointment I went to that day, the day I got Pepper the Wonder Woman doll. He told me about Finnegan."

Lucy tensed. "What about Finnegan?"

Hell, where to start with that? Wilder opened his mouth to answer, but then Crawford was there at his door. He flashed an ID, and Wilder squinted at it. It said Crawford was a Special Agent with the FBI. What the fuck?

"Sir, may I speak to you?"

Wilder couldn't resist. "What?"

"Please step out of the vehicle," Crawford said with a straight face. Either he was very good or he didn't get it. Wilder wasn't so sure anymore.

Wilder opened the door and got out. Crawford put a hand on his arm and directed him away from the Jeep.

"What the hell happened?" Crawford demanded once they were out of earshot. "There's a police report on an accident with a van from the movie shoot."

"The assistant to the director of the film, Stephanie-" Wilder realized he didn't even know her last name. "She took the stunt van to stop the picture from shooting tomorrow because she thought the stunts didn't belong in the movie. Nash has the stuff from the van back."

"Good," Crawford said.

" 'Good'?" Wilder echoed.

"The movie goes as scheduled."

"Why?"

Crawford ignored the question and nodded toward the Jeep. "Who's she?"

Wilder looked back at Lucy, watching them with her arms folded and her eyes narrowed. "That's Lucy Armstrong, the director."

Crawford nodded and dismissed her. "So you ran this Stephanie into the bridge?"

Yeah, and then we waited for the EMTs. "No. It happened before we got there. We called 911 and then waited for them to show."

Crawford nodded. "Just checking. The cops say it looks like she lost control."

Wilder didn't say anything.

"There's no sign of foul play," Crawford continued, filling the silence. He stared at Wilder. "Do you have any reason to suspect otherwise?"

"Other than the situation?" Wilder shook his head. "Armstrong's going to cancel the shoot."

"No. I told you. Everything goes as scheduled."

"And I asked you why, and you ignored it, so I'm ignoring you," Wilder said even as his brain supplied the answer: Because you know Finnegan is close, you asshole.

Crawford fixed Wilder with a stare that added ten years to his personality. "That's an order."

"You can order me," Wilder allowed, "but you can't order her."

"I can order you to persuade her."

"How?"

"Use your imagination," Crawford said. "If you haven't already."

Wilder didn't take the bait, and Crawford backed up slightly. "Listen, this is very important." He nodded toward the Jeep. "You get her back to wherever she belongs. Meet me at the diner in two hours. I'll explain it to you. For now, you need to maintain your cover."

Covers blown, kid. Wilder shook his head and walked back to the Jeep.

"What did he want?" Lucy asked when he was sitting beside her again.

"He wants to meet me in two hours." He looked over at her. "That gives us plenty of time to roust Mary Vanity."

"Only if you tell me about Finnegan. I want to know everything."

Wilder put the Jeep in gear and drove north. "Finnegan was IRA-"

"Oh, hell." Lucy took a deep breath. "Sorry. Go on."

"Then he went freelance and now the CIA thinks he's laundering money through the film."

Lucy frowned. "So why don't they arrest him?"

"They don't have any proof, and they don't know where he is."

"Oh, just hell."

"They told me Finnegan wasn't even in the country. So either that's wrong or they lied to me, and right now I'm kind of evenly split on which it is." Wilder shook his head. "But there's something wrong with their theory because Finnegan needs fifty million, which he's not going to get from the movie."

"God, no. Nobody's going to get fifty million from this mess. What does he need it for?"

"He owes it to the Russian mob. Or at least part of it."

"The Russian mob?" Lucy said faintly.

"Finnegan stole fifty million dollars worth of Pre-Columbian jade phallic symbols for a Russian mob boss named Letsky who thinks they cure impotence. Then he lost them. And somehow what Finnegan's doing with this movie is going to help him make amends with Let-sky."

Lucy looked over at him, dumbfounded. "We're going through this hell because some Russian mob guy can't get it up?"

Wilder thought about it. "Yeah."

Lucy still seemed dazed. "Pre-Columbian what again?"

"Jade phallic symbols. Basically, jade penises."

"Oh." Lucy nodded. "This is probably not the time to ask this, but what the fuck is wrong with you map."

"Uh…"

"Nash is screwing everything that moves, Bryce is screwing everything that moves and asks for his autograph, LaFavre is screwing everything whether it moves or not, and now the Russian mob has hired Finnegan to make sure that-" She shook her head. "Even the Pre-Columbians had a dick fixation. What's next? Mother-of-pearl boobs?"

Damn good thing she doesn't know about Ginnie, Wilder thought.

"I just don't understand how you guys got control of the world," Lucy said. "Half the time there's no blood in your brains, and you're still in charge of most of the governments in the world, most of the companies, and all of the military." She blinked. "Which actually explains a lot, now that I think of it."

Wilder glanced over. She was staring through the windshield. He decided to go the opposite of the sledgehammer and remain silent.

They were passing the strip clubs that lined the road just before they hit the bridge and Georgia. The signs were old and worn, boasting totally nude entertainment, which was redundant to Wilder. He was sure LaFavre knew the interiors of all of them.

Probably not the time to mention that to Lucy.

Also, a good time to drop the CIA, Finnegan, and the Russians.

No discussions about foster care, either.

Nor anything about ex-wives.

Fuck, Wilder thought. This is not good.

They hit the ramp for the Talmadge and began climbing. To the left, coming upriver, was a cargo ship, the deck stacked with containers, a couple of tugs keeping it in the channel as it made its way to the port, to the right. That would be a good job. A simple job. Just keep a ship going in a straight line. No dealing with the CIA and Finnegan and whoever else was behind the scenes; he could do without all of them.

He glanced over at the passenger seat.

But not without Lucy.

It was a strange thought, the idea that he could see a future with her, maybe not as clearly as she could, but a definite possibility once they'd had some time together. That's what he should have said. Crap. He was just no good with women.

The two ex-wives were kind of a tip-off there, he supposed.

They crossed over the bridge in silence and pulled into the crew hotel parking lot before she spoke again.

"I think Stephanie took the rope."

"From Bryce's cable rig?"

Lucy nodded. "I think Nash sabotaged the rope and she took it to protect him or blackmail him or something. I sent her after the cable and when she brought it back the rope was gone, and I think she took it to use it to control him to save the movie. I think that's why he wrote her off. He wouldn't tolerate that." She shook her head. "We're not any brighter than you guys, when you get right down to it. Sex makes us all stupid. Love's even worse."

That sunk in. "I'm sorry."

"About what?"

He shifted in his seat. "Nash and Stephanie."

"That they were sleeping together?" She shook her head. "She could have him with my blessing. They deserve each other. But she didn't deserve this, and she didn't deserve to have him walk away from her like that." She looked over at Wilder. "I really want to bring him down. Him and Finnegan."

"I'm working on it." Wilder got out of the Jeep.

"How do you want to handle this?" Lucy asked.

"What?" Damn, he was sounding like Crawford now.

"Mary. What do we do?"

Wilder paused. His experience in interrogation had been in places where people shot at each other and the bad guys didn't wear uniforms. Probably not the best tactics to use on Mary. "Uh, Good Cop, Bad Cop?"

Lucy nodded. "Okay. Listen, I'm still really mad at you so I'll be the Bad Cop."

Wilder opened his mouth to say something, but Lucy was already heading for the door.

"Okay, then," he said and followed her in.

The first person Lucy saw in the lobby of the crew hotel was Bryce, trying to sneak out.

"I don't believe it," she told J.T. "I'm pretty sure he started the evening with Althea."

"Well, at least we know Mary Vanity is here," J.T. said.

"Bryce," Lucy called, and the actor jerked back so hard he almost levitated. Then he smiled weakly and waved at her. When she didn't wave back, he came over to join them.

"Lucy," he said, trying to fake delight.

"So how's Mary?" Lucy said, thinking, Is there any guy left in my life with blood in his brain?

"Aw, Lucy," Bryce said. "You know-"

"What I know," Lucy said severely, "is that Althea cares for you, that she's ready to settle down with somebody she loves, and that you're cheating on her. Now, what do you know?"

Bryce blinked. "Settle down?"

Lucy sighed. "Bryce, you could have the wedding America dreams about. Stop screwing around and think about Althea." When he still looked confused, she added, "Think about your career. Pick a magazine to do the exclusive on the wedding."

"Oh." Bryce looked thoughtful. "I hadn't thought about the PR. I was just thinking about the effect on the box office. Could be bad."

"So could discussion as to why you're thirty-seven and not married," Lucy said.

"Oh," Bryce said, looking even more thoughtful, which was obviously a strain.

"Stick with Althea," Lucy said.

Bryce nodded without so much as a backward glance in the direction of Mary Vanity's room. "Thanks, Lucy. I'll-"

"There's something else," Lucy said, and Bryce drew himself up, probably prepared to play the outraged star if she went too far. "Stephanie's been hurt," she said and watched him deflate. "She's in the hospital. She had an accident in Nash's van."

"My God," he said, but she could see the wheels turning even while he looked shocked, concerned, and saddened, all appropriate emotions he could project at the drop of a hat. He took her hand. "You know, Stephanie loves this movie. She would want us to keep filming."

Right, Lucy thought and took her hand back. "Do me a favor. Go back to the cast hotel and tell Althea and Rick when they wake up. You're the star, they'll want to hear it from you."

She watched him expand again.

"We're still shooting tonight, right?" he said. "I can tell them that?"

"Yes," J.T. said.

"I don't think so," Lucy said, ignoring him. "I'll know more later."

"Well," Bryce said. "We should keep shooting." He stopped, as if not sure what to say next, and then collected himself and said, "I'm glad you're here, Lucy. You're doing a great job, handling everything for us like a real pro. We know we can depend on you. I think I can speak for the rest of the cast when I say we all appreciate what you've done for us, and we know you'll be there for us tonight."

"Uh huh," Lucy said, not particularly gratified to know she existed to serve. "Thank you very much." She nodded toward the door. "Best get back to the cast hotel before anybody wakes up."

"Right," Bryce said and then stopped. "How did I find out about Stephanie?"

"I called you," Lucy said. "Because-"

"-I'm the star!" Bryce said, nodding. "Thanks, Lucy."

"You bet," Lucy said and watched him go. She thought about what his face would have looked like if she'd started rattling off the nightmares that had their fingers in his movie. "The CIA is not SAG, Bryce," she could have said. "The Russian mob is not looking for a piece of the back end."

And the Teamsters had not taken out Stephanie.

Lucy took a deep breath.

"Now we go squeeze Mary Vanity," J.T. said.

"I'm pretty sure Bryce just did that," Lucy said and followed him across the lobby.

When Mary Vanity answered the door in her robe, she was beaming. Then she realized they weren't Bryce.

"Hi," Lucy said, feeling guilty about sending Bryce oft to Althea until she remembered who Mary had been talking to. The hell with her, the little mole. "We have a few questions."

Mary's face had fallen when she'd recognized them, but now it hit the floor. "I have a right to my private life," she said, chin down.

"Of course you do." Lucy pushed past her into the room, where the bed showed every sign of having been slept in by one person. No romping. Poor Mary. "It's your phone life we're objecting to," she said, turning in time to see J.T. look at her in warning. Yeah, yeah, okay, partnership, but I'm the Bad Cop. "Captain Wilder has some questions."

He looked startled and then recovered enough to smile at Mary. He looked about as comfortable smiling at Mary as Mary did having them in her room. "We know you've been talking to Mr. Finnegan, Mary."

Mary flushed and ducked her head lower. "Have not."

This should be good, Lucy thought, folding her arms. Rambo meets Jessica Simpson.

"I realize you thought it was harmless," J.T. went on, his voice gentle. "But Mr. Finnegan is not a movie backer, he's a terrorist."

Mary jerked her head up. "No. No, he's Irish."

This is going to take a while, Lucy thought and sat down.

J.T. nodded. "Yes, he was with the IRA and now he's with the Russian mob. They're laundering money through the movie."

Mary swallowed. "I don't even know what that means. I don't know anything about this."

J.T. nodded again. "What he's really doing is using the movie as a front for the Russian mob."

Mary blinked. "I don't know any Russians."

"You do now," Lucy said grimly. "And these aren't fun-loving, vodka-toasting Russians. These guys kill people." She leaned forward. "And you're helping them."

"No." Mary moved closer to J.T., shaking her head. "No, no. I didn't do anything."

J.T. smiled, which Lucy supposed was intended as reassurance. He really had to work on that.

"Mary, we know you called Finnegan when Stephanie took the van," he said, his voice full of understanding.

"And you told him when Captain Wilder came on the set." Lucy made her voice as sharp as possible. "Bryce told you he was here, didn't he? And you told Finnegan, and then the next day somebody pulled a knife on them in a bar." She saw Mary's eyes flicker. "You almost got Bryce killed, Mary."

"No," Mary moaned.

"And yesterday when Bryce fell off the helicopter…" Lucy shook her head. "I don't know how he's going to take it when he finds out you're responsible for him getting hurt twice."

"No, wait." Mary stood up. Her robe fell open and Lucy expected J.T. to look politely at the ceiling but instead he looked into her eyes.

"We know you'd never hurt Bryce," he said, and Mary nodded like a bobble-head, stepping closer to him as she pulled her robe together.

That robe falling open was no accident, Lucy thought, and then remembered she was the Bad Cop. "How do we know that?" she said to J.T. "It's because of her that Bryce's been hurt twice. I think it's our duty to tell him about her. She's with the mob. She could be setting up an ambush in her room." Although why the Russian mob would want to take nut Bryce is a mystery.

Lucy straightened, trying for indignation. "She could be part of a plot to ruin the movie by killing Bryce."

"No, no, no" Mary said, blinking her false eyelashes as she moved another step closer to J.T.

Does she sleep in those? Lucy thought and then decided she probably did, in case Bryce stopped by.

"I'm sure Mary meant no harm," J.T. said, going for noble understanding. He was going to have to work on that, too. "Right. Mary?"

"Mr. Finnegan gave me ten thousand to tell him what was happen-ing on the set," Mary said. "He didn't ask me to do anything except tell him what was going on, if anything new happened, what Nash was doing."

Hello, Lucy thought. Doesn't trust Nash. Smart Irishman.

"And I really needed the money," Mary was saying to J.T. "Bryce likes big boobs and I'm only a B cup, but he doesn't like the cheap ones so I needed enough money for the expensive ones."

J.T. blinked. "There are different kinds?"

Hey, Lucy thought. Off topic here.

"It's really the surgery," Mary Vanity said, confiding in him. "In the cheap ones, they just cut open your boob and put the implant in so you can see the scar."

"And the expensive ones?" Lucy asked, not wanting to ask but helpless not to.

"They go in, like, through your stomach," Mary said. "No scar. Much better."

Lucy put her hand on her stomach. "Right." She looked at J.T. "I am never getting implants."

He looked confused. "Why would you?"

"Well, she's only a C cup," Mary said. "I mean, right?''

"Right." Lucy crossed her arms over her chest.

"Bryce likes Ds," Mary said, helpfully.

"Uh huh." J.T. was clearly sorry about the turn the conversation had taken. "I don't think there's any need to tell Bryce any of this."

"Oh, thank you]" Mary Vanity said, clutching his arm.

"As long as you give us Finnegan's phone number," J.T. said.

"Sure." Mary pushed past him to grab her bag, a pink leather number with the initial in on it, the hot trend in purses from 2003. "Here it is." She shoved a piece of paper at J.T.

"It would be better if you didn't tell Mr. Finnegan we talked to you," J.T. said. "In fact, it would be better if you didn't call him again at all."

"Oh no," Mary said and swallowed. "Never again. Ever. You won't tell Bryce?"

"No," J.T. said.

"What about you?" Mary said to Lucy.

"My lips are sealed as long as yours are," Lucy said. "But if you call Finnegan again, Bryce gets the whole thing, storyboarded with sound effects."

"I won't, I won't." Mary's face crumpled. "Except I think he's going to marry Althea anyway. If I'd just gotten the money sooner, if I'd just had the boobs…"

"Maybe yours will be better," Lucy said. "Does she have the expensive ones?"

"Yes," Mary and J.T. said together.

Lucy looked at J.T. with what she sincerely hoped was contempt.

J.T. said, "We have to go now."

"We certainly do," Lucy said, glaring at him.

"Should I be on the set tonight?" Mary said, pitifully.

"No," Lucy said as J.T. said, "Yes," and Lucy glared at him again.

"We're probably not going to shoot tonight," Lucy said. "Stay by the phone and Gloom will call you if we need you."

"We're shooting," J.T. said.

"Stay by the phone," Lucy said and all but shoved J.T. out the door.

"I say we're not shooting," she told him when they were alone in the hall. "So stop undermining me."

"Lucy, you're going to have to," J.T. said. "Call Finnegan and set up a meet."

"What?"

"The people I work for would like to know where Finnegan is," J.T. said patiently. "Set up a meet for this afternoon."

"I am also the people you work for," Lucy said.

"Tell him if he doesn't meet, you won't shoot tonight," J.T. said. "You'll like that."

Lucy leaned against the flocked wallpaper. "You really think we really have to film tonight?"

"Not if we nab Finnegan beforehand."

Lucy took out her cell phone and held out her hand for the paper with Finnegan's number. "I refuse to do anything that might mean somebody is going to get hurt."

"Nobody's going to get hurt," J.T. began.

"I thought you weren't going to lie to me anymore," Lucy said and punched in the numbers.

"I hope," J.T. finished.

"Yeah, me too," Lucy said, and then Finnegan answered and she went to work.

Wilder dropped Lucy off at the camper so she could call the hospital to check on Stephanie and take Daisy and Pepper back to the crew hotel. Then he went to the diner to meet Crawford. He took the seat across from the agent and said, "So which alphabet soup are you?"

"What?"

Some things never changed. "Your ID this morning was FBI. You told me you were CIA. Or is it NSA? DEA? NRA? ASPCA?"

"Oh, I'm CIA," Crawford said. "I pulled the FBI ID because I didn't know who I'd be talking to. I'd just come from the accident scene and needed cover. People tend to get nervous when they see CIA."

Especially since the CIA wasn't legally allowed to act inside the borders. And if Crawford was carrying FBI ID, he was a leg up on the usual CIA clown. It meant he had official cover for action. "Was it an accident?"

"Yes."

"You sound very sure."

"The police forensics people went over the car and the accident scene. She hit the side of the bridge. Must have dozed off."

A rope breaks. A skid snaps. A driver dozes off. Three accidents. Three strikes. And now Finnegan was looming, which he imagined was the CIA's plan all along. Wilder tried to relax his back, resisting the desire to look over his shoulder. "Finnegan is coming this afternoon."

Crawford's eyes widened and Wilder glanced to his rear. Nobody with guns barging in.

"No shit?"

"Lucy-" He stopped. "Armstrong called him and told him she was shutting down the film. He insisted on meeting her. Today."

"Where? When?"

"We don't know yet. He'll call her back with that."

Crawford leaned back in his seat. Wilder watched his eyes. They were scanning the room even as he was thinking.

He didn't just learn that, Wilder thought. Fuck-head's been playing me so I'd be off guard.

"Okay," Crawford finally said. "Would she be willing to wear a wire and plant a bug?"

"You don't need to wire her."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm going to the meeting with her. And you're not wiring me either. Because you're arresting Finnegan, right?"

"Wrong."

"Why not?"

"Finnegan is just a piece of the puzzle." Crawford began to look less self-possessed. "We have bigger fish to fry."

Fuck. "You want Letsky. This whole circus is about Letsky."

"Right."

Lucy was going to be pissed. Wilder shook his head. "I don't see how-"

Crawford leaned forward. "Letsky has set up a meeting with Finnegan for midnight. We want that meeting."

Double fuck-Lucy was going to be really pissed. Not that she wasn't furious already. "Letsky's close by?"

"Given the timing of the meeting, yes. We suspect he's offshore, in international waters."

"So why don't you just go to the meeting place and take Letsky down?'

"We don't know where it is. We know when. Finnegan knows where. Could be anywhere within a couple hours' flying time. That's a big damn circle to cover."

"Why are they meeting?"

Crawford drummed his fingers on the table for several moments. "Finnegan owes Letsky and he's going to repay him."

"Fifty million?" Wilder asked. "Where'd he get that kind of money?"

"Not money," Crawford said. "Finnegan's giving Letsky the art he originally bought."

Wilder rubbed his forehead where a headache was beginning to pulse. "How?"

"Using the chopper in the movie stunt."

That's why they need the cargo net. But it still made no sense. "I thought the art was seized in Mexico. Where's it at right now?"

Crawford smiled. "You don't need to worry about that."

"What do I need to worry about other than you lying to me?"

"I didn't lie. I just didn't tell you the truth. You didn't have a need to know."

Wilder wondered how much more was going on that Crawford had determined he didn't have a need to know. Of course there was no point in asking that, because he didn't have a need to know. Spooks and their games.

Crawford reached under the table and Wilder tensed, but the CIA man pulled out a small metal case and placed it on the worn surface. He paused as the waitress came by and refilled their coffees. Then he opened the lid, revealing several objects set in foam padding.

" I racking transmitter,' Crawford said, tapping a dime-sized device, fie touched the cigarette-pack-size unit. "Tracking receiver." He pointed at two smaller white pieces. "Extra batteries for the tracker, You shouldn't need them. This will all be over within twenty-four hours." He shut the lid and slid it across the table to Wilder.

"What or who do you want me to bug?" Wilder asked.

"Finnegan, of course, since you're going to the meeting and you won't let us wire you. I was going to have you put it on Nash, but we only needed him to lead us to Finnegan. Now that you've got Finnegan…" Crawford shrugged.

Wilder felt three steps behind and he didn't like it. "What's Nash's role in this?"

"He's getting Finnegan to the meeting with Letsky."

Wilder shook his head. "This is a pretty elaborate setup just for a helicopter ride. He could hire anybody for that."

"Oh, Finnegan is indeed laundering money through the film," Crawford said. "Two birds with one stone. He still has to make a living. He's been paying Letsky enough to keep him off his ass long enough to make restitution. Finnegan needs the helicopter scene for that. Law enforcement tends to get curious about helicopters buzzing bridges and the swamp, but not if it's a movie shoot."

"So during the last stunt tonight, Nash and Finnegan are going to take the chopper and fly to meet Letsky somewhere?"

"Right."

"Why does he need Nash?"

"It's complicated."

No shit. "Why don't you just take down Finnegan this afternoon and squeeze him for the location of the meeting?"

"Because Letsky will disappear if word of the takedown gets to him. You know how dangerous those kinds of ops are. And what if the squeeze doesn't work?"

Everyone talks if you apply the right amount of pressure. "I don't-"

"I don't care what you don't, Wilder," Crawford said. "I've already told you more than you need to know. The rest is none of your business."

Wilder resisted the urge to punch him. Probably get him another check in the column marked problems dealing with authority figures. Although if he showed them Crawford, they'd understand.

"Do you understand me, Captain Wilder?"

"None of this is my business," Wilder told him and walked out.