The Intelligence Unit Series
The Guardian Chapter 9

One look at Delia's shell-shocked expression told Garza that he'd jammed his size twelve directly in his f*****g mouth.Again. But for Chrissake, his delivery was never going to be graceful, and it wasn't like he was wrong. Delia was the key to blowing this case wide open, and he'd been too blind-or maybe too stubborn-to see it.

"Okay." Sinclair ran a hand over his gray-blond crew cut, his expression marked with deep thought. "First thing's first. We're going to need to replace that laptop."

Yeah. They could file that directly under easier said than done. Not that Garza wasn't going to try his damnedest.

"The guy who stole it definitely knew what he was doing," he told Sinclair. He didn't miss the way Delia crossed her arms over her chest as he recounted the details of the robbery for the team, but he'd have to deal with her ire later. Even if it was jabbing at him now. "It's going to be a long shot, but we might get lucky with street cam footage outside of Sweetie Pies."

"Pull it, along with any footage of the block near the parking garage from the time of the robbery," Sinclair said. "I take it we pinged Delia's stolen cell phone?"

"Shut off directly after it was taken," Garza answered.

Maxwell made a noise of displeasure. "Figures. The thing is probably at the bottom of the Red Run by now."

The thought of the evidence they so desperately needed being in the murky depths of Remington's largest river made Garza's stomach clench. "What about the laptop? Delia didn't power it down before she put it into her bag."

Capelli's eyes lit up. "Tell me there's tracking software on it."

"Yes and no," Delia said, explaining the keycard security feature. "So, without a Wi-Fi connection, the software won't work, and without my keycard, there's no way to get a connection."

"As far as most people are concerned, that's true," Capelli said, and the pointed silence that followed made Garza's heart move faster in his chest. "You aren't most people."

Capelli tilted his head in concession. "I am not. If the machine isn't powered off, there's a chance I can still track it, even if Delia isn't logged in"-he lifted a hand-"but that's only if whoever stole it didn't turn it off, or, worse yet, destroy it. And it's going to take time."

Another long shot that Garza would take, and-thank f**k-Sinclair was in agreement. "Do what you need to," the sergeant told Capelli. "In the meantime, let's pull everything we can replace on Peyton Willoughby. Phone records, financials-we need a solid connection to Bianchi, the sooner, the better. Same goes for Kent Cromwell."

"What?" Delia gasped, shock dominating her pretty face. "You can't possibly think-"

"We have to cover all our bases," Hale said gently. "And Kent has access to everything that you and Peyton do. It's more to rule him out than in."

They were going to toss the guy under the same microscope as Peyton, of course, but Garza wasn't about to say so. Especially since Hale's words seemed to ease Delia's mind.

"I suppose that makes sense," Delia said. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

"We'll need to review your statement from Friday night," Maxwell said. "Just in case there's anything there that connects to this new information."

It was SOP, and smart, to boot, but all the same, Garza winced. "I'll take that. If it's okay with you, Sarge," he added, because A) Sinclair was a badass, and B) Garza was gruff, not stupid. But he'd been the one to take her original statement, and he didn't want to miss a single detail the second time through.

Sinclair nodded. "Of course. Capelli, let's get on that laptop. Maxwell, you and Hale run background on Willoughby and Cromwell, and Hollister, you and Isabella run point on that surveillance video. Let's see what we can turn up." "Excuse me?" Delia raised her hand halfway, looking at Isabella as everyone in the room paused. "I just wanted to apologize for interrupting your baby shower."

"Are you kidding?" Isabella laughed. "An active case is the best present ever. Plus, we've got an hour before everyone gets here. There will be plenty of time for cake once the good stuff is done."

"And that's a damn good thing, given how many firefighters are showing up," Hollister said. "Don't even get me started on those docs from Remington Med. I swear, Connor Bradshaw can eat an entire sheet cake with room to spare." The reminder that they were going to have a roomful of people, many of whom were coupled off and happily procreating and all of whom would be oooohing and ahhhhing over all things baby, made Garza's chest squeeze.

He turned to Delia. "We can use one of the interrogation rooms to review your statement," he said, the tug in his chest going for a double as her big, green eyes went impossibly wide.

"Oh. Okay."

Hale, who was still within earshot even though everyone in the room had kicked into action, leaned in and said, "It's for privacy, Delia. Don't worry. You're not in trouble."

This time, Delia's "oh" was laced with relief, and Jesus, had she really thought-"No. It's...it'll be better for us to talk alone. So there aren't any distractions," he added, and wasn't he just earning a gold star in f*****g things up.

If Delia noticed, though, she didn't show it. "Okay."

Garza stood, leading the way through the back of the Intelligence office and down the rear hallway until they reached the first of their two interrogation rooms. "Not very homey," he said by way of apology.

Delia eyed the dishwater walls, utilitarian metal table with two matching chairs lined up like soldiers, and timeworn linoleum floor. "I don't suppose it's meant to be."

Okay, she wasn't wrong there. He let her choose her seat first, wanting to give her at least one small comfort, then settled in across from her. Pulling his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, he let the facial recognition software do its thing so he could pull up her case notes. "Why don't we start from the top?"

Just as she had with Sinclair, Delia got through the beginning well enough. But again, when she got to the part where she'd left work on Friday night, her hands locked together and her gaze hit her lap.

What was she holding back?

"Is there anything else you remember?" Garza asked, watching her carefully. "A sound in the background, or a smell, maybe?" "No."

"You can take a minute if you need to," he said, and some odd emotion he couldn't quite peg flared across her face.

"I don't remember anything else."

"Anything you can add would be really helpful," Garza tried again. "Even if you think it's nothing."

An unsteady breath crossed her lips. "I've already told you everything. More than once."

"But you're still holding back."

He heard the accusation only after it was too late to curb it. But before he could figure out how to salvage things, Delia's gaze snapped to his. "Look, I know things like money laundering and extortion and assault are normal for you. In fact, you've probably dealt with far worse. But my normal involves things like analyzing cash flow statements and calculating capital gains from the very safe, very secure confines of my office. So, when my normal somehow becomes your normal, it's not normal, okay? I'm not holding anything back. I'm scared."

Realization shot up Garza's spine, swift and unrepentant. She hadn't been irritated with him earlier as he'd recounted the robbery for the team, as he'd thought. She'd been frightened. And he'd been so immersed in cop mode that he'd lost sight of the very real fact that Delia was a civilian. Who had stumbled across a crime of epic proportions. And who'd also been dragged into an alley and assaulted for her trouble.

He cursed internally, in both English and Spanish, for good measure. He could talk a meth addict into putting down a weapon when they were hell-bent on wielding it, no problem. But, Christ, he'd always been shockingly shitty with victim emotions-with any emotions-and wasn't the churning in his gut right now just case in point?

"Delia, I-"

"I found it!"

Capelli had barged halfway into the room before Garza's adrenal glands gave up the all-clear, and seriously, what the hell was with all these feelings?

"What?" he asked, but Delia was a step ahead of him.

"Oh, my God. You found my laptop?"

Just like that, Capelli's enthusiasm slipped. "In a manner of speaking. But you're probably going to want to take a look at this."

***

For the life of her,Delia couldn't remember what her resting heart rate felt like. Between the realization that she'd accidentally discovered a huge money laundering scheme, her boss's apparent connection with a highly dangerous mafia leader, and the memory of her assault being played on what felt like an endless loop in her head, her central nervous system was ready to tap out.

Don't forget verbally barfing out your freshest fear to your best friend's gorgeously grumpy older brother, who probably thinks you're ridiculous for still being afraid of something that's over and done. Because that totally happened, too.

Cramming down the thought even though she could still feel its heat signature on her face, Delia stood to follow both Matteo and Capelli back to the heart of the Intelligence office. Capelli's work space contained an impressively long desk that spanned most of the far wall, with six large monitors mounted above his desk to form an array.

"I was able to tap in to the tracking software on your machine and pinpoint the last known location of your laptop." Capelli gestured to the center monitor in the lower row, and both she and Matteo leaned in to take a look.

"Forgive me, I'm new at this," Delia said, trying to make sense of the map on the screen and all the coordinates scrolling up the side of the monitor. "How exactly does it work?"

Capelli all but rubbed his hands together in excitement. "The software works quite similarly to the GPS devices in most cell phones. It's rather lucky that you left your laptop on, otherwise there would be no signal. And actually, there's no signal now." "But there was after the robbery," Matteo said, and Capelli nodded.

"It took a little maneuvering, but I was able to work around the lack of Wi-Fi connection to track a location somewhere in this area, right here."

He pointed to the map, and Delia's stomach dropped. "That's right at the waterfront."

"By the docks in North Point, yes," Capelli agreed. "The last ping came off a tower four blocks away at about two-thirty yesterday morning. After that, there's nothing. It's likely the battery died, although there could be other causes for the lost signal." "Like water damage. Or exposure to heat. Or"-Delia fought the urge to shiver-"maybe the guy who stole it smashed it to pieces."

"That last one's not probable," Matteo said, and something about his calm, quiet tone snagged her attention and held.

"It's not?"

He shook his head. "No. If he were going to smash it, he'd have done it right away. Chances are, he ditched it, same as he did with your bag."

Delia had to admit, that was logical. "But it could still be waterlogged or fried."

"Neither of those is necessarily catastrophic, though," Capelli said, looking up at them from his desk chair. "If the perpetrator had thrown the laptop into the river directly, it would've been submerged to the point of ruin. We'd have lost the signal far sooner than Sunday morning. While it's possible there's water or heat damage, it would have to be recent, otherwise, the signal wouldn't have lasted all weekend. Depending on the sort of damage, we'd have options for possible recovery. But with the timeframe of the lost signal in relation to battery life..."

"It suggests that the most likely scenario is that the battery died," Matteo finished.

Hope surged in Delia's chest as Capelli didn't disagree. "Which also means the laptop was likely discarded and not destroyed. The elements might be an issue. We did have that thunderstorm on Saturday night. But, as I said, even if the laptop got wet, if the internal components haven't rusted yet, it's entirely possible the hard drive can be salvaged."

"Okay, so what are we waiting for?" Delia asked, her pulse tap-dancing through her veins. "You know where it is, right?"

"We know where the last ping puts it," Matteo corrected. "But there's a lot of ground to cover."

Capelli nodded. "The location software isn't exact. We know where the tower is, but the laptop could be within a few blocks of it, give or take. And that's if it's still where it was when the signal was lost."

"Still, it's a lucky break," Matteo said, and Capelli lifted a dark blond brow over the rim of his glasses.

"Forensic technology isn't luck. It's an exact science. In fact"-the rest of his sentence met a quick death at Matteo's glare-"why don't I take this location and call for a patrol unit to begin a search?"

Matteo made a noise of approval, but didn't smile. "That would be brilliant. Have them call me directly if they replace anything."

"Will do, Detective."

"That's a good sign, right?" Delia asked as soon as Capelli had copied down the coordinates and headed down to the patrol desk.

Matteo lifted his chin in a quick nod. "It goes with the theory that your laptop was stolen to be disposed of rather than stripped or sold. But it will take a while to replace, then longer before we know if we can get anything from it, depending on the state it's in." "Oh." The thought of waiting lodged in Delia's belly. "Do you know how long?"

"None of this is nearly as fast as it looks on TV," he said, although not meanly. "Investigations take as long as they take."

Delia nodded. Of course, that made sense. You couldn't rush numbers, either-well, not unless you wanted errors in your calculations. Still, the thought of waiting made her vaguely nauseous.

Speaking of which... "I guess we should get back to reviewing my statement from the robbery."

She turned toward the interrogation room, making it three steps before she realized he wasn't behind her.

"Matteo?"

"Actually, we can hold off on that for now. The team's got plenty to work with." He sent his stare around the office, where the detectives were all paired off at their respective work areas, busily clacking away on their desktops. "Your statement was pretty thorough. I should be able to work with what I've got."

Delia blinked past all the whaaaaaat filling her brain. "Are you sure? Because earlier, you said-"

"I know what I said," Matteo interrupted. "But it's fine. I'll go over everything today and let you know if I need anything else."

Relief rushed through her, pushing a smile to her lips. But it was short lived. "What about the other detectives? Do you think they'll need me to look at footage?" The idea of seeing the man who'd attacked her, even on camera, made Delia's heart start to race. "We'll cross that bridge if we get to it," Matteo said. "Like I said, this guy was no amateur. Chances are, we won't get very much, but I'll review whatever Isabella and Hollister replace once this baby shower starts."

"You're not going to the baby shower?" They seemed like such a tightly knit unit, all laughing and joking together even in the midst of an investigation, and, surely, they had to be close in order to face life and death situations together on the regular. "I mean, I know the investigation is serious, but..."

"It is serious. Isabella will understand. Plus, I'm not a huge cake guy, anyway."

Delia didn't think. Just spoke. "Yes, you are. You put down, like, half a tres leches cake at your abuela's seventy-fifth birthday party."

"You remember that?" The shock on Matteo's face was so complete, it stunned Delia into place.

"Of course," she admitted. Watching him enjoy that cake had fueled no less than seventy late-night fantasies. The way he'd smiled so freely at the first bite. His lack of inhibition at having a second piece. The slide of his tongue over the corner of his mouth, where the tiniest bit of sugary whipped cream had clung to his lips...

Girl, focus! And not on the memory of Matteo licking whipped cream from his sinfully sexy mouth.

"Uh," Delia grunted, and truly, the floor opening up and devouring her alive would not be a bad way to die right now. "I mean, that cake is delicious. My favorite, if I'm being honest. Pretty unforgettable. I could probably eat half of one, myself. So!" She smiled, because it was either that or cry. "What should I do, then? While you investigate?"

Matteo's expression was unreadable, but that was probably for the best. "Be normal. Not my version," he added, his black-coffee gaze on hers. "Your version. Go analyze cash flow statements and calculate capital gains from the very safe, very secure confines of your office." "That's it?" Delia asked.

The edges of his mouth hinted upward in what Delia would call the beginnings of a smile, if she didn't know better. "I told you, it's not like TV. Yes, that's it for now. I assume you got your cell phone replaced?"

Delia thought back to her sole trip out over the weekend. "Yes."

"Good." Extending a hand, Matteo looked at her expectantly, and understanding dawned in three, two, one...

"You want my phone?" she asked. But neither his hand nor his stare budged, so she pulled her phone from her pocket.

"Put in your passcode," he said, taking the phone from her a second later, after she did. "This is my number." His thumbs flew over the screen. "If you remember anything you think I should know, I want you to call me. If anything strange happens at work, I also want you to call me. And, most importantly, if you feel unsafe for any reason-"

"I get it." Okay, so interrupting him was borderline rude, but it was embarrassing enough that she'd admitted being scared. Now he thought she needed a guardian?

Rather than relinquish her phone to let her escape with a modicum of pride, Matteo tapped the call icon, his own phone buzzing from the back pocket of his jeans.

"And now," he said, pulling his phone into view to connect the call, "I can call you as soon as I have an update. Until then, no discussing the investigation with anyone. Not your father. Not Camila. No one."

She was a terrible liar, but as far as Camila knew, the case was closed, and she hadn't wanted to worry her father by telling him about the robbery. "I understand."

Taking her phone back from Matteo, she turned to leave. But he caught her just shy of the first step.

"Delia." His eyes glinted, beautiful even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, as he pinned her with a stare. "I mean it. I want you to call me if you run into trouble. Day or night. Okay?"

Delia's breath caught enough to soften her reply to a whisper, but she didn't look away as she promised, "Okay."