Chapter Thirty-Four

Friday night was decent.

That was what Leah was going to tell Jacob once he picked up the phone. Thankfully, she'd only have to wait a couple of rings. "Hello, my fellow partner-in-crime," she said into the phone as she examined one of her fingernails before carefully painting it; for the past few months, she had been practicing the art of nail polish application.

She was now at the competent-level.

Progress.

"Who died now?" he responded in lieu of a greeting, voice understandably groggy. "Did someone die? I bet someone died." He noisily sat up in his bed. "Damn it, why can't the dead be discovered during normal hours?"

"Calm down, Black," Leah said, amused at her partner's dramatics. "No one died."

"Is this an emergency?"

"No emergency."

Jacob groaned. "Leah Clearwater, do you understand that it's one in the morning?"

Leah glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. 12:58 am. Fuck, she hadn't realized it was so late. What had happened between 10:00 pm and now? Thank goodness, tomorrow was Saturday, and therefore, barring anything murder-related happening, she'd have the whole day to herself.

"Oh, shit. Didn't notice the time. Sorry about that," Leah said with sincerity, and then, "Hold up, you said you wanted a full account of my night."

"Yeah, during the damn thing," Jacob pointed out, adding a yawn. He made no effort to end the phone call, though. "Why tell me this now? Unless…"

Leah could practically hear Jacob's smirk forming on the other line. She rolled her eyes as she painted her ring finger. How fitting. "I'm at my mother's house," she said. "Nothing happened."

"Verdict?"

Leah blew onto her newly-painted nails. Lavender—she was trying to do something different. Something that wasn't her usual neutral tones; Aisha and Anita, her go-to nail tech, would be proud. "Well, I'm currently painting my nails out of boredom, so…"

"Damn. Okay, tell me everything. First, more importantly, how was the food?"

"Wonderful. We dined at this great steakhouse on Grand," Leah said, smiling at the memory of that medium-rare steak, hot and juicy on the table in front of her. It was delicious, though she was pretty sure it would've been incredible if completely raw—she hadn't wanted to scare off her date.

Not that it mattered now, she realized.

"How was he?"

"He was…" Leah trailed off, trying to find the right words. Well, for one, she hadn't been catfished. The only difference between him in the photo and the person was the attire. "Nice."

"Oh, Lord."

Okay, maybe that sounded bad.

"He was," Leah insisted, moving onto her middle finger. "It was just… there was nothing. No spark, no whatever… No nothing. It was like having a conversation with someone during a dinner party, just talking to pass the time. Not that he was boring or anything. He has an exciting life, but there was nothing."

"So, I'm guessing there's no second date?"

"He asked. I haven't responded yet." Leah stopped mid-stroke and swallowed. "Am I wrong for not responding?"

"When he did message you?"

"At midnight, I think."

"Congratulations, Leah," Jacob chuckled; it was music to Leah's ears. "You made his night memorable."

"Oh, go fuck yourself—How do I reject a second date without crushing his heart and sounding like an asshole?"

"Crushing? Look at you being a heartbreaker. Wait, you want me to help you break up with your what-ever-he is? Is this where we at in our relationship?

"You know I'm not good at this shit. And you're a guy. How would you want to be told, I don't know, this isn't going to work without getting offended?"

"This isn't going to work?" Jacob offered, and then groaned once again, "One in the morning, Leah? It's one in the morning."

"I know what time it is," Leah grumbled. She did feel bad, but she didn't want to hang up. "But I didn't want to wait until 7:00 am. That'd be inconsiderate. I don't want him to way that long. I don't want to ghost the guy—he was charming. What if he had hopes for something more? What if my late-rejection response ruins his day?"

Maybe she was being a bit dramatic.

But then again, it was past one in the morning, and she might be a bit tired.

"You think was that into you? Damn, what did you cast some spell on him?"

"Jacob."

Jacob let out a theatrical huff. "Okay, fine." He was quiet for a moment. "Now, according to the experts on Google—"

"You cannot be serious."

"Do you want my help or not?" Jacob didn't wait for an answer. "Okay, how about: You're awesome and deserve someone great. However, I don't think I'm that girl for you? Throw in: I know you'll find someone great?" He let out a laugh. "Oh, look, Cosmo has an entire series on this…"

Leah's eyes widened in horror. "No! No, don't you dare!"

She cursed when the bottle of nail polish tipped onto her carpeted floor. Thankfully, the liquid only made a small stain. She poured some nail polish remover and scrubbed out the spot with a paper towel with her unpolished hand.

"Pipe down, Clearwater, don't want to wake up your mother and little bro," Jacob scolded, adding a tsk. He was teasing her again. "Oh, come on, you don't want advice from the writers of the Pulitzer-acclaimed: Size Matters: Do Women Care about Poop Size? It Turns out They Do?"

Leah tossed the soiled tissue into the garbage can a few feet away from her.

"You read Cosmo?" The thought was horrifying. There had been a time when Leah was into the magazine… but that was years ago. She had been, like, fifteen and incredibly naïve. Most of those "sex-tips", she'd later find out, were complete bullshit. "I thought you were better than this, Black? I, for one, am extremely disappointed and will certainly inform your sisters and maybe the pack about this new, alarming development."

"For your information, Clearwater, I'm simply searching through the most ridiculous Cosmo headlines. How about this one: Not Sure What to Get Him for Valentine's Day? How About a Chocolate Butthole—Yo, there's an actual picture of a chocolate-butthole!"

Leah almost dropped the nail polish brush onto the same spot she had just cleaned. "What? That has to be fake."

"According to the article, Top Ten Dumbest Things Cosmo Ever Published, it real—Okay, in all seriousness: how about: I think we're better as friends? Or: I don't think we're a good match. Good luck with everything?"

"Alrighty, I'm texting him that right now…" Leah bit her lip as she quickly did what she had promised. "Now, being a guy, how would you feel if you receive this text?"

"Are we seriously psychoanalyzing a rejection text message? After one date?" Jacob was probably running a hand down his face, his go-to gesture when he was frustrated. "God damn it, stop overthinking everything."

"I'm not overthinking—" Leah stopped and pressed the submit button before she second-guessed herself. "Okay, I sent it."

"Good. Now toss your phone aside and go to sleep."

Leah gasped as she heard a familiar beep coming from her phone, indicating she had received an alert. She quickly checked it and gasped, "He responded!"

"That quick?" Jacob groaned. "Why isn't anyone sleeping at this time?"

"Aren't we usually running through a forest at this time, at least three times a week?" Leah remarked. She quickly read the text. "He said: I completely understand. Thank you for a wonderful time. I wish you well on your future endeavors…" She placed a hand over her heart, relieved. "Jacob Black, you're a motherfucking godsend."

"So, I've been told," Jacob said with a low chuckle. "That'll be one hundred bucks plus tip. Payments are accepted with cash, money order, check, or Cash App. You know what? Do Cash App; it's much more convenient."

Leah snorted. "Dude, all you're getting is a free breakfast sandwich and maybe a coffee on Monday," she said before adding, in a much softer voice, "Thanks for everything. You don't understand how much I appreciate your help in this dire matter."

"No problem, and yes, I fully expect breakfast on Monday. Now, for the love of everything holy, go to sleep."

Unfortunately for Leah, sleep couldn't come until her handiwork was dried. She blew on the nails on her right hand before moving to her left. The difficult task, due to her being a lefty. All she had to do was take her time.

"You got it."

"Antonio Montoya aka Monty Python aka Tony Montana aka Scarface," Jacob said Monday afternoon as he headed towards the middle of the squad space with Martinez in tow. They had both spent the past couple of hours following up on Fangs-related leads. Leah had stayed behind, working with Aisha and Embry on the information Tia had given her the previous week.

"And yes," Martinez added, laughing at Leah's, Aisha's and Embry's expressions. "At one time, he was called Monty Python. I appreciate the pop-culture reference."

Aisha shook her head. "These people and their nicknames."

"How does one go from Monty Python to Scarface?" Leah wondered. In terms of badass nicknames, that was a significant jump.

"Can we have nicknames?" Embry asked, sounding hopeful.

"We can have a naming ceremony once this investigation is over," Jacob said. No one knew if he were serious or not. He then pulled out a handful of pages from a folder and dropped them on Aisha's desk. "Eviction notice from earlier this month. Notification of phone service cancellation. A declined gym membership payment… all signs of Montoya not being around for quite a while."

Leah nodded. "So, he either dropped off the face of the earth or his bones were inside that ditch."

"We gotta get to the wife."

Paul's comment wasn't exactly what Leah could call profound. Of course, they had to get through Maria, Ricky's widow, but there was one problem, "She fears that talking to us will get her killed," Leah explained. "Disguise won't help her. These vampires, these shapeshifters, we remember scents. And I'm pretty whoever killed Ricky knows of her."

Jacob nodded in agreement.

"How is she still alive?" Paul wondered. "The Velasquez Cartel usually has a scorched-earth policy when it comes to people who screwed them over."

"Well, she was in the DR when everything went down," Leah offered.

"Surely, they knew that."

Leah shared a surprised glance with Jacob and then asked, leaning forward, "Are you implying…?"

"I'm not implying anything," Paul maintained, fooling no one. "Just find it interesting that she hasn't changed her routine. Had a couple of guys check her out—still living in the same apartment, still working at the same job. Same car. Same everything. If you were fearing for your life, would you be that comfortable?"

"So, either she was involved, knew about it or was paid off," Jacob said. He looked at his partner to the right. Leah had come to the same conclusion. "She wouldn't be the first person."

"Tia, you know the woman who was making a scene earlier, told me about Maria," Leah said.

"Is she reliable?"

"As reliable as one who doesn't want to serve time can be," Leah told her captain. "Her information checked out. Provided us with many leads. I wouldn't cut her loose yet."

"And she talked with Maria recently?"

"Yes."

"We'll use her, then," Paul decided.

"People are going to notice," Jacob argued. "Namely, the bad guys."

"I'm pretty sure they already have," Paul said. "Which is another thing: Tia has been blabbing her mouth as if she knows she can't be touched, and so far, she's been right. Why?"

"I'll look into it," Leah vowed.

She was wondering the same thing herself.

"Still roaming the streets, are we?"

Tia quickly turned around, adjusting her low-cut top as Leah drove up to the curb closet her. She looked at in both directions; the nearest working girl was several yards away, talking to a potential customer. Visibly satisfied, Tia sauntered towards the car. "Gotta make my money somehow," she said, leaning over the passenger side window. "What can I help you with?"

"Get in the car," Leah said, leaning across the seat to unlock and open the passenger door. She looked up at the woman expectantly. "I'd like to have some of your time."

Tia's smirk grew as she ran a hand along the top of the partially opened window. "Didn't know you were into the ladies." She chuckled. "My rate starts the moment I get into the car," she informed Leah before entering the vehicle.

"We'll see how it goes," Leah said, driving off.

The women ended up a secluded location, nearly a large alleyway. It was nighttime, chances of anyone else making an appearance was slow to none. She stole a glance at the unconcerned working woman as she pulled her car to a stop.

Leah turned off the engine and relaxed in her seat. She turned her attention to her passenger. Tia had her sights on Leah, smirking as she slowly lifted the hem of her tight shirt. Leah cleared her throat; the other woman was pretty, no doubt, but the detective wasn't here for that."

"Are you still in contact with Maria?"

Tia froze, then released the hold on her tank top. She blinked, taken aback by Leah's question. "So, this isn't a tumble in the car?"

Leah shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

Tia sighed and flopped against the passenger seat. She dug a cigarette out of her skirt pocket, lit it up, took a long drag. "Like I told you," she eventually said. "Maria's not gonna tell you guys a damn thing." She held her arm outside of the open and tapped her cigarette a couple of times before taking another drag. "She took of silence, and it doesn't look like she's breaking that anytime soon.

A vow of silence—Leah nodded. She figured that was the case. The first time she and Jacob had met Maria, she had been singing, but now… Yeah, she had been paid off. Or threatened. Or both. Most likely, both. "Can you talk to her?"

Tia snorted. "About what? Now, I'm gonna look suspicious."

In all honestly, Tia looked suspicious the moment she had marched into the station the day before, fighting with a cop before spilling the beans to a detective outside at a very public location.

"Just a small conversation," Leah insisted. "Nothing major."

"What, while I wear a damn microphone?"

"I can make arrangements."

"Ay, Dios."

"Is that a yes or a no?" Leah looked outside her window. She heard some movement, was ready to act until she realized it was just a raccoon trying to get inside the open dumpster. "I'm sure Maria knows a lot more than she's letting on."

"No shit."

"Well?"

"I'll have to think about it."

Leah nodded. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but then again, it wasn't a complete rejection of the offer. She'd take it for now. "Another thing: who's protecting you?"

Tia sputtered around her cigarette. "Excuse me?"

"You've been very coy during your cooperation with us. People usually wear disguises, meet in secluded locations, but not you," Leah explained, eyeing the other woman, looking for a nonverbal answer. She wouldn't get one. "So?"

"I've been doing this for a very long time, Detective," Tia said, voice full of pride. "I know these streets, these people. Good and bad. To answer your question, I'm damn good at what I do."

"And what do you do?" Leah asked with a raised eyebrow. "Something tells me you're not just some streetwalking, aspiring arms dealer."

Tia let out a sharp laugh. "Now, what good would come out of telling you all of my secrets?"

Leah drew in a breath and averted her gaze. A million thoughts ran through her head as she tried to maintain her composure. When she turned back around, Tia was looking in the other direction. Thank goodness, she wouldn't see Leah's perplexed expression quickly turn into one of realization and wonder.

The detective cleared her throat as she ran her hands along the steering wheel. "Not a damn thing," she said.

"Not a damn thing," Tia said. She watched as Leah pulled out a couple of bills from her wallet, and then offered the money, she put up a hand and shook her head. "Don't worry about it. You've earned yourself a free ride."

Leah rolled up all of the windows and checked the outside surroundings. No one was around within a quarter-mile radius. No other machine was around, not even the beep from a recorder or a wire. The coast was completely clear. Good. This was just what she needed.

Leah answered Jacob's question before the man even asked. "Tia's undercover," she whispered, not that it mattered. No one else could hear her.

Jacob drew in a breath; his response was understandably delayed as he processed the newest bombshell. He leaned closer to his partner, blinking a couple of times. "Excuse me?"

"Tia, Ricky's girlfriend," Leah clarified. "I'm pretty sure she's working undercover."

"Like undercover-undercover? Like Ben?"

Leah shook her head. She hadn't, and probably would never, receive confirmation of her suspicions. But that last conversation with Tia from the previous night had her convinced. "Deeper," she speculated. "For one, she's not breaking character. Something tells me she's been doing this for a while. Years, maybe."

Jacob slowly nodded. "Which agency?"

"Don't know."

Jacob ran a hand down his face and let out a deep breath. "Holy shit."

"Sentiments exactly."

"So, what do we now?"

"As far as she's concerned, all she's just a pros who fell in love with the wrong, married man and got busted for telling to sell an off-the-market bullet," Leah said, turning the key in the ignition. They had to leave. "It's been working well so far. Why change things now?"

"Don't see a reason," Jacob said. "This conversation never happened."

Leah adjusted the gear to drive, then checked her side and rear mirrors. "What conversation?" she replied before driving off.

"How did your date go? I recall you mentioning something about a date on Friday night?"

Leah took a sip of her latte. Double-shot, usually something she didn't take at 5:00 pm, but she had a long day and was fighting her fatigue. Thankfully, she'd be taking public transportation home and not driving. Or perhaps, she should just use Uber.

She took a couple of more sips until she remembered that Dr. Murad had asked her a question. She placed her cup aside. "It was fine," she said.

Murad raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

"Fine," Leah stressed, crossing her arms. "What else do you want to me say? He was a nice guy. We dined at a fantastic restaurant."

Murad nodded. "I assume the date was one and done, then?"

"He was a nice guy."

"But not for you."

Leah dropped her gaze to her lap and sighed. "No."

She didn't know why she was so disappointed. She didn't even want to go on the date, only accepting to keep Sue off her back. Maybe she had some hope? Friday night was just so weird. It was as if she had to learn the dating, romance-process all over again.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Murad insisted; she must've sensed Leah's change in mood. "That's the beneficial thing about dating, I suppose, you can see what works and what does not—that's good that he was nice, though. How did you meet?"

Leah lifted her gaze and dropped her arms, finally relaxing on the couch. "We met Friday night. He was the son of a family friend's friend. My mom made some calls—you know, good old-fashioned match-making," she explained. "She thinks I'm lonely."

And Sue wanted grandkids.

"Are you?"

Leah didn't think so. She had her family, her friends, her pack. Goodness, it seemed that she had made more connections with people outside of work during these past eighteen months than she had in the past ten—that was what she told Murad.

Murad nodded, then asked, "Was this the first date your mother arranged that you accepted?"

"In history?"

"Since the divorce."

"Yes."

"What made you accept the offer this time?"

Leah bit her lip—she had to think about that. Leah had offers, even before her divorce was finalized. Turned down every, single one of them save for the last. Seconds passed, and Leah still couldn't think of an answer. "I honestly don't know," she said.

"Do you crave intimacy?"

Leah shrugged. "Don't we all?"

"Touché," Murad replied, crossing her legs. She folded her hands over a knee. "Though the definition of intimacy ranges from person to person… Have you made any other efforts?"

"Nothing too serious," Leah maintained. She wasn't looking for "serious"; she had been dealt with "serious" for almost ten years, and she needed a break. "I don't mind having some fun. Nothing too risky, of course. Something not serious could work for now—" she stopped, then frowned. "I didn't answer your question, did I?"

Murad shook her head.

"The answer is, I have been," Leah said. "I mean, admittedly, I could've put in some effort, but with work and everything… it's so goddamn tiring. However, during the few times… you know, some months back, Jacob and I made this pact.

"Did you?"

"To be each other's wingman," Leah said, flashing back to that UNO card game from, she believed, February. One of the many times she had kicked her partner's ass in that game. "We've done it several times, just recently a couple of weeks ago. We've been successful until, you know, the most important part. But never can seal the deal—Wait, that's not true. Vegas happened."

"Vegas was a few months ago."

"Not a few years ago, though. I know, our sex-life is virtually non-existent, but that's not from trying. Well, at least on my part. Jacob's been evading dates like the goddamn plague since forever. I know because his sisters complain to me about it."

"You seemed concerned."

"He's my friend," Leah said. "Of course, I'm concerned. As the great Andy Bernard said: I don't care if you're gay, straight engaged, whatever, a guy needs to get laid." She could feel her face heating up from embarrassment. "Sorry, I've been on The Office-binge for the past week."

Murad gave an amused smile. "It's a very good show."

Leah matched the therapist's grin. "Isn't it?"

She had finished season five this past weekend. If everything worked out, she'd be done with season seven this weekend.

"In regards to Jacob, perhaps he prefers to be alone?"

"I know the man. Probably more than I should." Leah reached for her neglected caffeinated drink and downed half of it. It had lost most of its heat, sitting on the small table next to the couch, all alone. "That's not the case."

Murad shifted most of her weight onto her armrest and leaned back with a hand on her chin. She had her psycho-analyzing face on. This did not bode well for the other woman in the room. "Hm," the therapist said, nodding. "Interesting."

Leah frowned. She didn't like the look on the therapist's face or the tone in her voice. "What?"

Murad sat up straight in her chair and waved away any concerns. She then gave her client her patented, polite smile. "Nothing. I was only making an observation," she said before segueing into another, completely unrelated topic.

"I have something for you," Jane told the Leah the following morning as she leaned over the railing of a bridge overlooking a barely-lit suburban park. "You'll appreciate it," she said, taking a step back to pull out a large enveloped from her purse. She handed it over. "Look inside."

Leah opened the envelope and poured the contents onto the hood of her car. Photographs. About a dozen of them. All pictures of various men and a few women; none Leah could recognize at first glance.

"I assume they can subject of your investigation," Jane explained, catching sight of Leah's inquisitive expression. "Or rather, should be."

Leah sifted through the photos again. "Where did you get these from?" she asked. The photographs did not show anything glaring, like a clear indication of a crime. But they were something, and at this point in the investigation, Leah would accept anything.

Jane's mouth twisted into a smirk. "It pays to have friends in high places."

Ain't that the truth.

"Members of the Volturi?"

Jane dropped her smirk. "Only one I recognize. The rest, I believe, is linked to the Velasquez Cartel," she said, walking away from the railing and to Leah's side. She peered at the photos. "All based in Washington State. Tacoma, to be more specific."

"They traveled all the way here for an execution?"

"People have done worse. I assume they were the ones handling the shipments from Washington to Chicago and then to Moldova. Maybe they all have gotten wind of the heist and decided to investigate themselves."

"Someone in Chicago opened their mouth."

"Checked the third photo," Jane suggested, pointing at said-picture. "That woman is a baggage handler for Midway Airport. Human, strangely enough, with ties to the Velasquez. I believe her the man claimed to be her brother is a high-ranking hitman."

Leah raised an eyebrow. "Claimed to be?"

"He is a vampire from back in the 19th century. I hear he used to work with Jasper during the Sicario's time in Mexico," Jane explained. "For obvious reasons, he's currently known as the baggage handler's brother. His name Sancho Alvarez and her, Alicia Rivera."

Oh, Sancho Alvarez. Leah knew exactly who he was.

So did the feds.

But she had no idea that he was a vampire.

Leah gathered the photos and returned them into the envelope. "Thank you for this," she said. "We'll look into it."

"I am glad."

Silence fell between the two women as Leah tossed the envelope into the car via the driver's window. "Still mad at your former coven?" the detective eventually asked, stepping away from the vehicle.

"I am not upset," Jane insisted with a wave of her hand. "It is just business."

Leah wasn't convinced. "You basically gave me evidence of a conspiracy crossing state lines. I know you know what this now means," she said. "This can't only be about business."

Jane returned her usual spot on the bridge, resting her arms on the railing as she stared into the dark distance. "I was by his side for centuries, since the beginning. We have been through thick and thin, and now, I have to live the rest days without him," she said, dropping her head. "I could have ended it all, join him in the afterlife… but that would not be good enough. I will join him one day, but before then, I would like to settle some matters."

"You want to get even," Leah said. That was motive enough. People would spill secrets for far less. "They took something very important to you, and you want to do the same." She cocked her head. "But what are you accomplishing, in that sense, by doing all of this?"

Jane faced the detective. "Alec was my anchor," she responded, trying her best to mask the hurt in her voice, but it was evident enough. She knew it, Leah knew it. Jane cleared her throat as her expression quickly hardened. "Power is theirs."

"Congratulations. Your source quite literally delivered a goddamn treasure chest," Benjamin said with a wide grin, sitting on the hood of his car with said-treasure in his hands. He was impressed, just as much as of the detectives. "Pictures. Oh, I love pictures. Pictures are evidence."

Leah diverted her attention from the sun, rising over the abandoned buildings of western Chicago. "Recognize any of them?" she asked, stifling a yawn. It was a little too early for police work, but 5:30 am was the only time the detectives could meet with the agent before he disappeared for the rest of the day.

Benjamin picked up the second photo, examined it. "Yeah." He then pointed at a man dressed in a Miami Vice-inspired all-white suit with aviators large enough to cover half of his face. "Can't see much, but I know that outfit and car from anywhere: Sancho Alvarez. A cartel hitman and a mean sonuvabitch. There's this joint federal task force dedicated to bringing this one in, but it's practically defunct. Unfortunately, we haven't been too lucky."

"Just federal?" Jacob asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Until right now, I thought he wanted to avoid the United States at all costs," Benjamin said with a frown. "But this photo was from this past February. See, there's an ad about Superbowl LII in the background—Which, on another note, have I ever mentioned how much I hate the Patriots?"

"Everyone outside of New England and isn't a bandwagon fan does," Jacob said, earning a chuckle from everyone.

Once the laughter died down, Leah asked Benjamin, "Is there an arrest warrant on him? Is that why he's been supposedly staying out of the US?"

"Yes." Benjamin picked up another photo and held it to the sky. "Oh, this one: Jackie Chan." He flicked the page a couple of times. "Not even kidding, that's his name. Hailing from Guangzhou, China, he came to the US on a student visa back in 2000, obviously overstayed." He showed the picture to the detectives. "I think he worked for Napolitano's for some time before dropping off the face of the earth in 2016… until this past February."

Leah locked eyes with Jacob, both saying the same thing: the plot had once again thickened, and Gianna's case might be back from life-support. Jacob would be the one to specifically ask the agent about it. "Napolitano's… Do you think Jackie knew Gianna Castellano?"

"It's quite possible," Ben said, rubbing his chin. "He disappeared around the end of 2016. From my recollection, Gianna was already working there."

"You're gonna need to call your friend in Cicero," Leah told her partner. "Again."

Jacob dropped his arms and nodded. "I'll give him a call this morning." He then asked the agent, "What did Chan do for a living?"

"Don't have anything concrete, but I believe he was involved in the transportation business. He handled a lot of high-end clients' trips around the world, all linked to Napolitano's. Now, I don't know if this does you any good, but his cousin is on the LaPush's board of directors— If there is someone who would organize the transport of contraband through legal means, it'd be him."

"Noted," Leah said. "But unfortunately, interstate matters are not in our jurisdiction."

Benjamin gathered all the photos and handed them back to Leah. "Well, it is the Bureau's. I'd let them know about this if I were you," he suggested. "After you make authenticated copies."

"We will," Jacob vowed, earning a nod from Leah. "Do you know if any of those people could've been involved in the Green Lawn murders?"

"Explicitly involved?" Leah added.

Benjamin wasn't entirely sure. "I doubt Chan was there," he said. "He's a bit on the squeamish side, which should have been a dealbreaker for the working for anything Volturi-related." He shook his head. "The rest, I can't definitively say, but Sancho is a Sicario." He bit his bottom lip and then sighed. "Like I said: he's a mean sonuvabitch."

"Felix-mean?" Jacob asked. Felix, the main hitman for the Volturi, had a reputation that made even the most hardened criminals tremble. Fortunately for everyone, Felix was incarcerated at Alcatraz.

"Meaner," Benjamin said with a shudder. "That man would kill a kid without a second thought. Damn, he even did a hit on his own brother and family. All for the money." He shook his head. "Nothing but a menace to this world… So, arranging the execution of eight people and then dumping their bones? Completely possible."

"Another psycho." Leah ran a hand down her face. "Yay."

"What does this, any of this, have to do with the Volturi?" Jacob asked the agent. "What's the link between the cartel and the coven?"

"The Velasquez may appear like they've been entirely loyal to the Olympic coven, but none of that matters if there's money to be made," Benjamin said. "I know Sancho's been involved in Olympic-linked assassinations before. No one knew about it—" He cleared his throat. "I'd use that information wisely, and preferably not mention that to the media or have it on any official documents."

Meaning Benjamin wasn't supposed to say anything.

"Don't worry about a thing," Leah assured the agent. "And thank you for everything, as always. Keep us posted if your people have more information on these pieces of work?"

"Don't have to tell me," Benjamin said. "Ya Allah, just when I thought we've got a handle on this mess…" he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head. He let out a before telling the detectives, "Stay strong, the both of you. I have a feeling we're about to embark on yet another crazy ride."

Leah had a bad feeling, as well. "You, as well."

Jacob exchanged a fist bump with the agent. "Good luck, man."