Chapter 7: Across a Crowded Room

"The charges are a bunch of crap," Nathan Wheaton surmised.

Across the interrogation table, Goren laughed. The burning worry that was eating away at his insides didn't show in his eyes. He looked like a hardened, cold cop, capable of anything. "We found drugs on you, Nate. Considering your rap sheet-burglary, embezzling, dealing-no way you're getting a break on this."

"That was years ago," the suspect said. "I cleaned myself up. I got a real job, I'm keeping away from my old crowd. Man, I am trying to turn my life around. How can I do that with you cops breathing down my neck?"

"Maybe by keeping clean, Nate. How do you think we found you? You think we just happened to be looking in your direction when you did the drug buy? We know what you've been doing. We've been watching you for a long time. It's going to be a lot better on you if you cooperate with us."

"Hey, that was nothing illegal. How long I'm gonna be in here?"

"Do you have somewhere to be, Nate?"

"Maybe I do."

Goren sighed dramatically. "Look, do you think I like wasting my time with small fry like you? If you tell us what we want to know, we can have you out of here by tomorrow."

"I want my phone call."

Goren looked down at him intimidatingly. "What makes you think you get a phone call?"

"Maybe I wanna call my lawyer."

The detective paused. "When you were arrested, you said you didn't want an attorney."

"I said I didn't want one of your cheap-ass public defenders. I want to call my own lawyer."

Goren nodded and walked out. He met up with Ross in the observation room.

"That didn't tell us much," Ross said.

"We need to get Wheaton's financial records," Goren stated. "He shouldn't be able to afford an attorney on his own. We need to know where he's getting the money from."

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon at One Police Plaza. Goren was at his desk waiting for word on what Wheaton's financial records turned up. He was pretending to fill out some paperwork, trying not to look at Eames' desk.

His phone rang. He picked it up and took a deep breath. Please let it be Eames.

"Goren," he said.

"It's me." It was Agent King. "In five minutes, walk out the front doors and wait. Within a minute, I'll park a dark blue car in front of you. Get in as fast as you can. Don't tell anyone you're leaving. I've already informed Captain Ross."

Goren followed the instructions, and exactly six minutes later slid into the passenger seat of a dark blue car with tinted windows.

As the car pulled away from the curb, King began to explain. "At first glance, Wheaton's financial situation doesn't seem too unusual, but a more detailed investigation revealed that he had a series of lucky streaks in Atlantic City last year. You'll never guess what his favorite casino is."

"Dwight's."

King nodded. "All of his wins were under a thousand dollars, but they add up to over fifty thousand."

"That money didn't show up in his bank account?"

"No. Most of it he invested in the Zabka Hotel."

"I've never heard of it."

"Then you haven't read today's newspaper. It's going to be the city's newest upscale hotel, and its grand opening is tonight. The man behind it is Troy Zabka, a business prodigy from Virginia. Made his first million before he was old enough to buy a drink."

"A hotel...that sounds right up Dwight's alley."

"Exactly. Makes a great cover for prostitution, drugs, or identity theft. And if he's going into business with Zabka, it makes sense that he's doing it through a third party to cover his tracks."

"But if Dwight is in New York...I bet he's going to the opening."

"Possibly. He's bold. That's why I'm sending someone in undercover."

"Send me."

King glanced at him.

"I...I've done undercover before. I can do it."

"You have a personal stake. And if Dwight finds out we're onto him, he and his cronies are going to disappear."

"I can do it," Goren repeated, quietly but firmly. "Please. She's my partner."

"Is that all she is to you?"

A little stunned by the question, Goren shook his head. "I'm a cop...Nothing's more important than that."

"I understand," King said with the same cadence he would have used if Goren had confirmed his implication. "We'll have to go to the Bureau field office and get you your bona fides, and you'll need a new suit."

"And you need to run a background check to clear me for the operation."

King confirmed Goren's suspicion by replying, "I already have."

The Zabka Hotel was a large building perched on the edge of the ocean. Crystal chandeliers, gold-embroidered tablecloths, and a wall-sized window overlooking the water were just a few of the decorative touches adorning the large ballroom where the opening gala was held. Men and women in ensembles that cost more money than some people's annual salary drifted around the room chatting, drinking, sampling the hors d'oeuvres.

Goren stood near the window holding a glass of champagne that he pretended to sip. He felt out of place in spite of his fresh shave, Armani suit, and gold watch. In the hour and a half he'd been there, he had already been sucked into polite conversations ranging from foreign real estate investments to the comparative fashionability of various activist organizations. Thanks largely to things he had learned on cases over the years, he had so far managed to blend.

Another group arrived through the double doors at the top of the black marble staircase across the room. In the center was a man Goren recognized from photos as Bob Dwight. On his right was a younger man with dark brown hair, on his left a blond woman in a short blue dress.

Despite his assurances to Agent King, Goren wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself when he faced Dwight. He could imagine himself throwing the crook to the ground and demanding to know what he did to Eames.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself and quickly reviewing his cover story in his mind, he started toward the new arrivals.

Dwight spotted the night's host, Troy Zabka, and headed toward him. His entourage disbursed to enjoy the party until only the young man and the blond woman remained.

Goren was a few yards from the group when Zabka made a joke. The woman laughed.

It was the laugh.

Goren pressed his fist against his mouth to keep from calling out. He closed his eyes, then looked again. With the stiletto heels making her look taller and changing her walk, the tight dress, her hair pinned up in a delicate twist he'd never seen her wear before, and heavy makeup...he hadn't recognized his Eames at first.

She turned toward Dwight and caught sight of a familiar shape in her peripheral vision. Her eyes flicked in his direction, and her vacuous smile, for an instant, became real, and it was for him.