Chapter 7

"That's the preliminary report," Trevors said, handing Samson an envelope. "Who's the girl?"

Samson lifted his eyes as he opened the envelope. "I told you, I met her at the gym."

"Not Rebecca."

"You mean the waitress?"

"Yeah."

"She's a project of mine."

"Does she know that?"

Samson sniggered. "I'm pretty sure she does."

"She doesn't look impressed."

"She's not."

"That has to be a first."

"I don't know. You're never that eager to see me."

"I have a wife and kids at home, so my interests lie elsewhere. No offense. You're a very handsome fellow."

Samson laughed. "Thank you for your kind words."

"I've never seen anyone get to you before. Who is she?"

"The waitress. And she hasn't gotten to me."

"No?"

He lifted the file he'd taken from the envelope. "Can we get back to business? You've got somewhere you need to be, remember?"

"All right. I won't torture you. There's a gang in this area that has recently come on our radar."

"Which one?"

"It's led by a guy named Marc Rubin."

"I've heard the name. I thought he was small time. How'd he get your attention?"

"It's his recent associates and their activities. There have been several murders. None of which we've been able to pin on him. But we don't think he's doing it on his own."

"Hired gun?"

"We believe it's something like that. It's connected to extremist activity, but he doesn't fit the profile. We think he's in it for the money."

"But you're sure it's him killing people?"

"As far as we can tell from what we've put together. But it's not enough to make an arrest."

"Ouch. That's tough. So, what's the purpose of the murders? You said extremists? I take it there are drugs involved if you're on the case."

"That's one of them. And the murders are complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Where do I start?"

"How about with the latest incident?"

"It was at a church. A drive by."

"A drive by at a church? They weren't happy with the sermon?"

"If it had been a one off, I'd say it was connected to their fears about the Armenia mafia moving into town."

"The Armenian mafia have come to a church in Virginia?" Samson pressed himself back into his seat. "They've never operated in this area before. Do you have any intelligence from the West Coast?"

"That's the thing. If it was a bunch of hits ordered on the mafia, I wouldn't need you. We don't think they have any intent to move their operation here. What we do know is there was a marriage between the daughter of one of the mafia group to a man here in Virginia."

"Armenian?"

"No. But suspected of some shady business deals. Art fraud, weapons, and more."

"That sounds to me like Marc was hired to remove the competition."

"Except our intel suggests that the hit wasn't connected to their crime activities."

"For what then?"

"That's where the other murders come in. It looks like they're targeting the church."

Samson's stomach tightened. "Armenian Christians?"

"That's how the puzzle pieces are fitting together."

"And the reason your evidence is weak?"

"Diplomatic immunity."

"Are you saying there are people from the Armenian embassy targeting their own people?"

"No. It's come out of the Turkish embassy."

Samson shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I told you it's complicated. And we believe weapons and drugs are being stockpiled for something big. We just don't know what."

"You think they'll attack on U.S. soil? Why aren't there other agencies involved in this?"

"I'm liaising with them. They thought it would be best for me to connect with you because we have a relationship."

"Aww, that's sweet."

"Yeah, my wife thinks so."

"I take it you've already spoken to a representative at the embassy?"

"Yeah. We're being stonewalled by the Consul General."

Samson flipped through the file until he found what he was looking for.

He had to let the name process before he could say it. "Burak Demir?"

"That's him."

"Is he making your life difficult for the sake of it, or do you believe he's involved?"

"Hard to say. He's very good at keeping his hands clean. He said they'll investigate themselves and let us know what they find."

Samson scoffed. "Let me guess, he hasn't gotten back to you?"

"I know your background. You don't have any connections inside?"

"My dad's Armenian, not Turkish."

"But your family fled the Ottoman Empire during that time."

"You think someone is trying to finish what they started back in World War One?"

"It's one thought I had, for lack of a better explanation. We've got someone with ties to the Turkish embassy taking out Armenians."

"That's a long grudge to keep."

"I thought you might know someone."

"My mother's background is very American. English and Irish way back. Besides some Armenian DNA, I have nothing to do with Armenia."

"I thought you had something going years ago."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"People talk. Rumors that have substance tend to stick around."

"That was a long time ago."

"About ten years, wasn't it?"

"Fanatics were targeting Armenian businesses. People were being killed. I intervened."

"And?"

"And more people got killed."

"Christians?"

"Some."

"How come I haven't heard more about this?"

"It was very low profile. Strategic murders. It was more about who than how many, and it wasn't confined to one state."

"But it's still happening?"

"People all over the world are killed for their beliefs every day. I did what I could to help those on American soil, and now I've moved on."

"Do you think your thing could be connected to this?"

Samson's jaw flexed. "No."

"Well, this thing I'm working on has a pointy end on it. Once they've got what they need, they're going to make their move. No more drive bys. It will be big. I had hoped you knew Demir, but I still want you involved."

"The name's familiar, that's it."

"Familiar?"

"Demir is a common name in Turkey. What about Marc Rubin? That's not a Turkish name or Armenian."

"He's not either. That's why we think he's hired muscle."

"Then how is he hiding behind immunity?"

"They're protecting him."

"You're sure?"

"We have surveillance photos of him going into the embassy."

"He must be valuable. They wouldn't offer him protection out of the goodness of their hearts."

"Maybe he can get things others can't."

"What about the embassy itself? They can't all be crooked. How're they doing this under the noses of all the people working there as legitimate employees?"

"They're not." Trevors reached across the table and pulled a picture out of the pile. He stabbed at it. "That's the embassy."

"It's under construction?"

"Major renovations. They've all but cleared out the place. Minimal staff, all of which we believe are connected to what's going on. Everyone else is using another government building in the meantime. But they're both considered Turkish soil."

"Do you have any other photos?"

"Yeah. That USB has everything. I haven't left anything out. Once you go through it, you'll understand why we're having trouble."

"Any photos of the guns and weapons?"

"No. I'm hoping you can help with that."

He looked at the photo of the building Trevors had singled out. "I know I'm good, but this? Unless they walk me through the front doors, I don't think I can get in there."

"Maybe not, but you do stuff others can't, and that's what we need here."

When Samson had walked away from the mission ten years ago, he'd sworn he would have nothing more to do with anything related to the Armenians. But last time, he'd had too much to lose.

They'd changed all that, and in the process, they'd gotten him to back off, but not before he hit them hard. Now there was nothing else for them to take from him. Maybe this was his chance to finish what he'd started all those years ago.

"Okay," he said. "Leave it with me, and I'll find out what I can. I'll start with this guy Marc and see what I can shake out of him."

"Be careful."

The side of Samson's mouth lifted in a grin. "When have I ever been careful?"

Trevors shook his head. "Fine, then, just don't get too cocky. Cocky will get you killed."

"Hasn't let me down yet."

"I don't know how you do it. You're the only man I know who can get away with that kind of attitude."

"My mom always told me I was one of a kind."

"You do know moms are supposed to say things like that to their kids."

"I'm aware."

"I gotta get going. I'm already late for dinner. My wife is gonna kill me."

"She's not used to the hours you have to work with your job?"

"Yeah, but I promised her I'd be on time tonight."

"Then you'd better get going. Have a good night."

Samson sipped his water and grimaced, looking at the glass. He needed something stronger.

He gathered the file and moved to the bar.

"Whiskey?" Bruno said.

Samson nodded and sat on the stool, ignoring the pang of watching Trevors going home to his family. Samson had that once.

Bruno set the glass in front of him, and he knocked it back. "Give me another." Life had dealt him a different hand, and he was here to make the most of it.

He flipped through the file again, pulling out a photo of Demir.

It wasn't just a common name in Turkey. His dad had told him about a man named Demir who had tried to stop his great-great-grandfather from fleeing the country. But that wasn't the only Demir that had a connection to him. This one—Burak—had crossed his path ten years ago when Samson still believed that God had called him for a special purpose. There had been a time when he'd been convinced, as his dad still was, that God had called him to something great. That he had been placed on the earth to save his people.

He'd never been able to prove that Burak Demir or his associates were responsible for the murders he'd been investigating, and he still couldn't be sure how Burak had been connected to them, but trying to prove it had cost Samson the life of his wife, and that hadn't been his only loss.

A figure appeared beside him. He looked up at Delilah's frown. "You okay?" she said.

Her concern startled him. Normally, he'd use it to his advantage, but he was too raw right now.

"Should I not be?" He regretted his tone as soon as it came out.

"Sorry for asking." She put her order in to Bruno.

"I didn't know you cared."

She looked back at him, but her frown deepened at his mischievous smile.

"It's none of my business." She took the drink Bruno brought her and stepped away from the bar, but Samson grabbed her free hand.

"Don't do that to me," he said.

"Do what?" She pulled out of his grasp.

"Walk away." He swallowed back his temper and let his desire for her take control. "You came to check on me. That was generous. I'm just not sure why."

"The look on your face."

"You were watching me?" His voice was light and seductive.

She sighed. "I glanced over at the right moment. It was fleeting, but it was there. I know torment when I see it. You may not be my favorite person in here, but I'm not cold-hearted enough to ignore someone in distress."

"Ah, so you're warming up to me."

"That's not what I said."

"You know what would help?"

"What's that?"

He tried to stop himself, but the words came anyway. "If you'd come home with me tonight."

Her reaction was the one he'd expected. It was the one he'd been going for without meaning to. It wasn't about pulling her in anymore. Now she'd gotten in too deep, seen things he didn't want anyone to see. So he pushed her away when what he really wanted was to hold her close.

"Sorry I asked." She moved out of reach and deposited the drink on a nearby table before disappearing into the back.

"I've gotta get out of here," he mumbled as he threw back the last of his drink.

"What was that all about?" Luca said when he found Delilah leaning against the wall.

"I'm having a short break. I'll get back out there in a second."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Am I not allowed to have a break?"

"Don't play coy with me. I see all in my restaurant. Did Samson say something to you that I should be aware of?"

"No. Samson did what Samson does. I shouldn't have been surprised."

"Don't tell me you're taking an interest in him."

"No. That's not what that was."

"Then what was it?"

"I told you it was nothing. He looked distressed. I wanted to make sure he was okay."

"Why?"

"I'm asking myself that same question. It was a stupid thing to do. It won't happen again."

"What'd he say?"

"He wanted me to go home with him to make him feel better."

Luca laughed. "Of course he did."

"I don't know what I was thinking. Obviously not much." But she did know what she'd been thinking. She had begun to wonder if his confidence was an act, and she'd wanted to see if she could find the man underneath it all, only to discover there wasn't any. "Don't worry. It won't happen again."

"Oh, right. No, I get it."

"Get what?"

"Girls have a thing for broken men. You all want to fix them. I'm surprised you fell for it."

"I didn't fall for anything. I saw something that wasn't there. That's all."

"If it's no big deal, then why are you hiding back here?"

"I'm not hiding. I'm taking a break. It's been a long night."

"If you say so."