Silenced

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

For people who were security conscious, the Jagers were very predictable.

Sean didn’t think they were very good criminals. He disabled the security cameras and used a standard lock-pick on the back door since the front was bolted and getting in that way would have required visible force. He didn’t want them to know anyone had been here until they checked on the locket.

Sean quickly assessed that the house was empty. There were two dogs—small Pomeranians who yapped up a storm when they saw him, but they were locked behind a child safety gate in the family room, where a dog door led to a small dog run. As soon as Sean disappeared from sight, they forgot about him and the house became silent again.

The Jagers had adjoining libraries, both bigger than most New York apartments. They, and the master suite, filled the east wing of the sprawling ranch-style home.

Devon’s library had pictures of her with, it seemed, everyone she’d ever met. In fact, there were more photos than books on the shelves. They filled the walls and all the surfaces. Her desk was glass and had no storage. She had a locked file cabinet built into the wall.

Sean pulled out his pocket computer and ran a program to detect hidden wires or trips in the room. There were none.

The file cabinet opened easily enough with the right tool, and Sean searched the contents. He smiled.

Devon Sullivan had files on every person she’d blackmailed. What she knew, how she knew it, how she used it or if she had plans to use the intel. There were hundreds of files in alphabetical order by last name. This was an FBI wet dream.

He immediately went to P for Paxton. There was a file.

Could it be this easy?

He pulled it out and opened it.

It was empty.

But judging from the permanent bulge in the folder, there had been a thick stack of paper in here at one point. Why had Sullivan removed it? Had the locket been in here?

Shit.

He skimmed the other names. He recognized a few—judges, politicians, law enforcement, business owners, union leaders, nonprofits—Devon Sullivan was one busy, busy lady. Sean would have loved to have photographed every file, but he needed to find the locket, so he only looked for specific names. Like his.

He had no file in the drawer, nor did any other Rogan. There was nothing on Wendy James or Hannah Edmonds/Ivy Harris, which was smart if Sullivan was the one who ordered them dead. He found Judge Robert Morgan and pulled the file. It wasn’t thick.

He opened it, took one look, and closed it.

Inside was an explicit photograph of the naked Morgan with Ivy Harris. Morgan was a hermaphrodite.

He put the file back.

If Sullivan blackmailed him for some reason—such as to rule on the side of the killer her husband was defending—with this photo, Sean could see how a distinguished judge might be driven to suicide. He didn’t want his condition revealed to the public, but he couldn’t let a killer walk free.

Sean went from disliking Sullivan to hating her.

It was close to nine and if Paxton was true to his word, he’d be calling Noah at nine. Even if they raided the place immediately, it would take them at least forty minutes to get here, realistically closer to an hour. Sean didn’t want to be here that long. He was about to close the drawer when he saw a very familiar name.

KINCAID, LUCY

Sean pulled the file and shut the drawer.

Inside was a complete copy of Lucy’s FBI file, more complete than the one Paxton had. There was also a disk labeled with a date seven years ago.

Sean’s pulse sped up. His hands clutched the file so tight he left marks. He put the entire file in his satchel. No way was he leaving it behind.

Lucy’s file was marked high clearance. Someone had copied the file for Sullivan. Who wanted to destroy Lucy? Who was in a position to do so? Why?

Sean needed to find the locket and get out. Devon Sullivan didn’t have it in her drawer of secrets, so he went to Clark Jager’s adjoining office. The space was darker and cooler, there were very few photographs, and the bookshelves were filled with books—90 percent law and nonfiction.

Trying to think like Jager, Sean quickly went through the room looking for a safe. Jager wasn’t the type of man to leave incriminating evidence in an easy-to-open cabinet.

Sean was right. He found the safe behind a picture of Jager and Sullivan on their wedding day.

It had the best security in the house.

“Damn.”

He took out his tools and got to work cracking the safe. It was going to take him at least ten minutes.